“Already done.”
“Keep us posted.”
“Something else I wanted to mention,” Vail said. “Not sure if it’s relevant or not, but a weird forensic finding came up in another case I thought I should make you all aware of, just in case it becomes significant—or somehow suddenly becomes meaningful to our pursuit of Marcks.”
“And that is?”
“A series of arsons that have been going on for a while now, first one a year or two after Marcks started doing time in North Carolina. Last two were set after he escaped.”
“And why are we discussing this?” Tarkoff spread his hands. “What’s it got to do with Marcks?”
“Marcks used an anesthetic-soaked rag to subdue his victims. That same chemical was used as the accelerant in the arson cases.”
Tarkoff leaned forward, as if closer proximity would bring greater clarity. “The anesthetic is also an accelerant?”
Hurdle shook his head. “I don’t see the connection.”
“Hang on a second,” Morrison said. “What chemical was it?”
“Something unusual as far as accelerants go. I mean, it’s a fairly common chemical, a form of ether. Begins with an n, I think. I’m blanking on it. Or an h. Hydrogen or halogen something.” She rose from her chair. “Let me just get the file.”
“Where you going?” Hurdle asked, checking his watch.
“It’s in my car.”
“I’ve got a meeting in twenty minutes.”
“We can do it later,” Vail said. “It’s not urgent.”
Hurdle chewed on his lip. “Nah, let’s do it now while we’ve got everyone here. Double time it.”
“Be back in thirty seconds.”
VAIL STEPPED OUTSIDE and jogged over to her car, which was two rows away in the Mason District Station parking lot, pulling out the key fob as she approached.
She opened the back door, retrieved the file, and chirped the remote. As she turned back toward the command post, her eye caught sight of the ’64 Buick parked just ahead of her, about twenty yards away.
That’s the second time I’ve seen that car.
She tucked the folder beneath her arm and advanced on the sedan, which had been backed into a row of spots that fronted a stand of trees.
Has the driver been following me? An undercover? For what reason?
As she wondered if it was in any way related to the covert work she had done for the Pentagon—something she would not dismiss out of hand—she got a better view of the vehicle and could see that it was vacant.
Vail noted the plate and pulled out her phone to ask for a registration check.
She peeked in through the window, cupping her face against the glass to cut the glare, when something sharp and hard struck her in the back of the head, slamming her cheek into the doorframe.
Vail tried to turn toward her attacker but he kept her face and body pinned tightly against the car. She tried to grab her Glock but could not get her hand up to the holster. She writhed and twisted, trying to dislodge the man’s grip on her.
C’mon, Karen! Fight!
The car keys and file folder hit the ground and her handcuffs slipped off her belt as she again tried to wriggle out of his grasp—
Until he grabbed her hair and slammed her face one last time into the car window.
39
She’s not answering.” Hurdle lowered the phone from his ear and checked his watch. “This is the longest thirty seconds I’ve ever lived through. Curtis, do me a favor and go see what’s keeping her. Otherwise we’ll just do it tonight. Or tomorrow.”
“On it.” Curtis pushed open the command center door and walked down the two steps to the asphalt pavement, then glanced around. Vail was not in sight. He went over to where they parked, circled her car, looked in the backseat and did not see the folder.
“So she already got it.” He swung his gaze left and right. “Then where the hell did she go?”
He pulled out his cell and called her. It rang three times and—he stopped and looked to his right. Listened. Thought he heard something, but it stopped. The call went to voice mail.
He tried her number again, moving in the direction of what he thought sounded like a ringing phone. Straight ahead and a bit to the left. It was very faint, which made sense: Vail kept her volume turned down most of the time.
Again, voice mail clicked on.
He hit “redial” and started walking faster. About ten yards away he saw Vail’s Samsung lying on the ground alongside a set of handcuffs, a manila folder, and a stack of stapled papers riffling in the breeze.
He knelt down and looked it over, then swiveled on his heels and checked for blood or other signs of a struggle. But there was nothing.
Curtis dialed Hurdle and swung his head in all directions while he waited for the call to connect.
Hurdle answered on the third ring. “Look, I’ve gotta get going. Just forg—”
“You’re not going anywhere. Get everyone outside. We got a big fucking problem.”
40