The Darkness of Evil (Karen Vail #7)

“Not what I meant,” Hurdle said. “Shouldn’t you be at a hospital?”


Vail sat down at one of the workstations. “You mean because my head’s spinning? I’ll be okay. No time to sit in an ER.”

“You’re a mess. Your face looks like hell.”

“Thanks. Not what a woman wants to hear, ever. Remember that, Hurdle, and it’ll save you years of grief when you get married.”

“I’m divorced.”

“See what I mean?”

“Karen—”

“I’ll get some ice later. It’s just swollen.”

Hurdle looked at Curtis, who held up a hand. “Already tried talking sense to her, boss.”

Hurdle took a breath and cocked his head. “Suit yourself. Ramos and Tarkoff are on their way, just ran something down for me. Be here any minute. You should at least drink some water.”

Vail shrugged. “Okay. Why?”

“Stop arguing.” He poured her a glass from the refrigerator spout and handed it to her, then pulled out several ice cubes and dropped them in a Ziploc baggie. “Put this on your nose. And your jaw. And your eye.”

Vail took it and gently pressed it against her skin. “This feels worse.”

The door swung open and Ramos, Tarkoff, and Morrison entered.

“Great. Three of you. Grab a seat, let’s get caught up.”

They gave Vail a pat on the back as they passed her chair.

“So that Buick,” Ramos said. “It was sold from a used car lot on Fairfax Boulevard in Fairfax. Owner’s Oliver Aldrich. Old guy, pushing ninety-five. Pretty good memory, though. Remembers selling the car to a guy matching Marcks’s description. I showed him the mug shot and yeah, we got a positive ID.”

“We already knew that, more or less,” Vail said, moving the ice over her swollen jaw.

“Right,” Ramos said. “Paid a hundred twenty bucks, cash.”

“Did he seem stressed?” Hurdle asked.

“Marcks? Not at all.”

“Took it for a test drive,” Tarkoff said, “if you can believe that.”

“Marcks took the car for a test drive?” Curtis shook his head. “Jesus. That’s one cool dude. Not a worry in the world.”

“With me,” Vail said, “he was alert and in control, even when I had the knife against his carotid.” Too bad we didn’t hit a bump. “It’s like he’s steps ahead of us.”

Hurdle slammed his hand on the table. “Yeah, well, that’s our goddamn fault! We’re not doing our jobs.”

“All due respect,” Morrison said, “he’s had time to think this through. Years to plan it.”

“Bullshit. Bottom line is that he’s a felon on the run with limited resources. He’s just more resourceful than we are, apparently.”

Vail fought off a wave of vertigo and got up from her seat. “I think I should go lie down.”

“Finally, some common sense,” Hurdle said. “Curtis, drive her home.”

“I can make it. Just a little dizzy.”

“So much for common sense.”

“I don’t want to take any more resources away from the task force. I’ll be fine. I’m not that far. I’ll drive slow.”

AS SOON AS THE DOOR SWUNG CLOSED, Hurdle’s phone rang. He listened a moment, then said, “Text me the address.”

He hung up and gestured to Curtis. “You’re with me. They got an ID on the guy we found in Great Falls park. He lives—lived—in Falls Church. They went by his house and found his wife and daughter bound and gagged. They’re at Fairfax Hospital.”

THEY WAITED AN HOUR until the emergency room physician, David Pryor, came out to speak with them.

Hurdle badged Pryor and they identified themselves as federal agents on the fugitive task force tracking Roscoe Lee Marcks. That got the man’s attention.

The doctor swung his stethoscope around the back of his neck. “You think Mrs. Anderson and her daughter know something about Marcks?”

“That’s why we need to talk with them,” Curtis said. “Might be something they can tell us that’ll help find him. How are they doing?”

“They came in moderately dehydrated. Another day for the girl and a couple of days for the mother and you wouldn’t have had anyone to interview.”

“Are they well enough to talk? We’ll keep it short.”

Pryor made a mark on the chart. “You can talk with Mrs. Anderson. Cassie’s still undergoing treatment. Maybe tomorrow.”

“We’ll take what we can get,” Hurdle said.

Pryor led them to a curtained-off area and explained to Victoria who the men were.

“Thanks, doc,” Curtis said. “We’ll take it from here.” In fact, Curtis and Hurdle had agreed to have Curtis do most of the questioning, since this was his forte and they did not want to overwhelm Victoria.

“Five minutes is all you get,” Pryor said as he slipped out of the treatment area.

“Mrs. Anderson, I’m Erik Curtis, this is Lewis Hurdle. We—”

“Are you the ones looking for my husband?”

Alan Jacobson's books