The Darkness of Evil

by Jacobson, Alan

  “Just sayin’. It does happen.”

  “I’ll be right back,” Vail said. “Which way to the restroom?”

  Kubiak hesitated a second. “Uh—”

  “Got a long drive back.”

  His gaze met Vail’s, which was intended to convey something like, “You’re actually thinking about telling me I can’t use your bathroom?”

  I can tell him I have my period, which would really make him squirm. His shoulders rolled forward slightly in acquiescence—body language that told Vail there was something in the house worth hiding from her. But is it in plain sight?

  “Second door on the right.”

  Vail stood up and glanced at Ramos, letting him know she was going to take a look around in case there was anything connected to Marcks lying out along the way.

  Instead of taking the second door on the right, however, she turned left, into the kitchen. Checked the refrigerator for a phone number, a name, anything that might indicate where Gaines was living. Several magnets advertised a local insurance agent, a pizza parlor, and a dentist. Another held a reminder note from Kubiak’s wife to her son to take the trash out on Wednesdays.

  Other things that had no obvious connection to their case were scattered across the countertop. She glanced around but saw nothing of value.

  A small oak rolltop desk sat in the corner with a corded phone on its left edge. She examined the spiral pad beside it and read the scribbles: a doctor’s appointment, by the look of it. Car repair reminder for tomorrow afternoon.

  And—something sticking out of a drawer. Vail leaned closer and saw a small plastic bag filled with white powder. Sugar? Flour? In a desk? She pulled her phone and turned on the flashlight and shined it inside. From what she could see, there were several others.

  She found a dishwashing glove draped over the sink’s drying rack and removed the protruding packet and held it up to the light. Won’t have to bother with a weak marijuana charge.

  When she returned to the living room, Ramos was sharing a laugh with Kubiak—something to do with their first teenage girlfriends.

  Vail held the bag up in front of Kubiak. “You supplying coke to the convicts? You a dirty officer, Lance? Are you getting paid to move this shit in and out of Potter by the inmates?”

  Kubiak was on his feet. “No way, that’s not me. I don’t do that shit.”

  “Then explain this. You’ve got a lot of packets like this in your desk drawer from what I can see. You saying this is your personal stash?”

  Kubiak’s dilated eyes danced from left to right, trying to fight through the beer and marijuana haze to reason a way out.

  “I’m tired,” he said, turning to Ramos. “I worked a full shift. I just wanna go to sleep. Can we talk about this tomorrow?”

  Ramos pulled out his phone and started tapping out a text.

  “Yeah,” Vail said. “We’ll definitely pick this up tomorrow.”

  “So let me get this straight,” Ramos said. “This cocaine is yours?”

  “Yeah, it’s mine. I’m not dealing.”

  Arresting him on a charge of cocaine possession was the better play here. The locals would not hold him long, Vail knew, but it would accomplish their goal: give them time to call an AUSA and make a case for rolling on a federal warrant for obstruction of justice and aiding and abetting a fugitive. That was where their real leverage was. If something was going to make Kubiak talk, that would be it.

  Seconds later, there was a knock at the door.

  “Who’s that?” Kubiak asked.

  Ramos shrugged. “Your wife?”

  “She’s got a key.”

  “Let’s go see.”

  Kubiak pulled the door open and a suited man was standing there, badge in hand.

  “Lance Kubiak, I’m Terence Linscombe, West Virginia State Police.”

  Vail held up the packet.

  “That what I think it is?” Linscombe asked.

  Kubiak looked from Vail to Ramos to Linscombe. “What’s going on here?”

  Linscombe pulled out a small black and white box marked “NIK Narcotics Identification System.” He opened it up and added some of the kit’s powder to a modified Scott Reagent tube. He looked at Ramos and nodded, then turned to Kubiak. “This is cocaine, sir.”

  Kubiak rolled his eyes. “I know it’s cocaine.”

  “Can you 10-15 him?” Ramos asked.

  “I can indeed. Lance Kubiak, you’re under arrest for possession of cocaine.”

  “Looks like there’s more in the kitchen,” Vail said. “Desk drawer. Plain sight.”

  Linscombe finished mirandizing him, then secured the handcuffs.

  “Cooperate with us regarding Marcks,” Ramos said, “and we’ll see what we can do about the coke.”

  Vail took a throw blanket from the couch and draped it over his wrists. “In case your wife and son pull up as we’re getting into the car.”

  Kubiak teared up. “I’m sorry.”

  Linscombe gave him a tug, leading him toward the door.

  “I’m sorry for your son,” Vail said. “This is going to be hardest on him.”

  28

  Vail’s Samsung buzzed as she navigated the interstate. She handed the phone to Ramos, who was on his own call. “Who is it?”

  “Hang on a sec,” Ramos said into his handset, then glanced at Vail’s caller ID. “Thomas Underwood.”

  “Shit, I’ve been waiting for that. Answer and tell him to hold for a second.”

  As Ramos complied, Vail slowed and pulled onto the right shoulder. “Be right back.” Ramos returned to his conversation and Vail turned off the engine. She walked in front of the sedan, the headlights illuminating the immediate vicinity.

  “Agent Underwood, thanks for calling me back. I don’t know if you remember, but we met a few years ago, on the Richard Ray Singletary case.”

  “I do remember. And please call me Thomas. Sorry it’s taken me so long to return your call. I’m in Hawaii shooting an episode for my new cold case show. We’re on lunch break.”

  “Didn’t realize you were out of town. I’ve got some questions on the Roscoe Lee Marcks case.”

  “I heard he escaped. Been following the news alerts on my phone.”

  “I’m standing on the side of the road in West Virginia and you’ve gotta get back to shooting, I’m sure. Is there a good time to talk in the next couple of days? I’ve got some questions.”

  “I’m shooting for another week but I’m buried. Up against a deadline for a serial case I’m testifying in in Philly. So when I’m not filming I’m on trial prep conference calls with counsel.”

  “I saw that interview you did with NBC after the offender was arrested. Right in front of your house.”

  He grumbled. “Wasn’t my idea. I try to keep my work and personal lives separate. But they showed up at my door.”

  “You did a great job. Really nailed it. But I’m surprised they’re letting you testify.”

  “I’m actually appearing for the defense.”

  Um … okay. Not sure what to make of that.

  “Let me see what I can do when I get back. If I can’t meet with you before, definitely after I get back from testifying.”

  “Appreciate it. But can I ask you a couple of questions over the phone?”

  “I’ve got two minutes. Max.”

  Vail glanced at Ramos, who was still jabbering into his phone. “I’ve got a theory on Marcks—that he was homosexual. If I’m right—and we just got a witness account that, if credible, supports that—it’d give us a better line into finding him. But if I’m wrong, I don’t want to send the task force in the completely opposite direction.”

  “I had the same thought. Keep pursuing that theory.”

  “You did? There’s nothing in your assessment about it.”

  �
��I got a lot of pushback from the unit and my partner in particular. In the end, he talked me out of it. There are always exceptions to the rules, obviously, but I couldn’t ignore his arguments.”

  “But you were the senior profiler in the entire unit at the time. You were—are—well, a legend. Why would you allow yourself to be talked out of something like that?”

  “Because there were female victims as well as male. And because there were too many unanswered questions regarding the homosexual angle that couldn’t be supported in court if and when they found the UNSUB and the case went to trial.”

  “Good point.” A sharp defense attorney could pick apart a single weakness in the profile—and in doing so, discredit every conclusion Underwood reached, essentially rendering the entire assessment useless. It would not be worth the risk, especially in this case, where the circumstantial evidence ended up being relatively weak and only two of the cases had an actual connection to Marcks.

  Vail heard someone in the background through a muffled handset. “Who was the profiler you were working with? The one who changed your mind?”

  “He was with you when you came to talk with Singletary on the Dead Eyes case. Frank Del Monaco.”

  Vail couldn’t help but drop her jaw. Frank? If I tell him I know that he schooled Thomas Underwood, I’ll never live it down.

  “Gotta run.” Underwood again covered the phone with a hand, telling them he would be right there. “I’ll be in touch soon as I can and we can sit down with the case files, give everything a close look, try to poke holes in our theory.”

  “I’d love that.” Vail thanked him, then got back into the car.

  “That name, I know it,” Ramos said.

  “Thomas Underwood? A pioneer in my unit, one of its founding fathers. You probably know him as an author. He’s written seven books on serial offenders. All bestsellers.”

  “I think I read one. Anatomy of a Killer?”

  “Never read it but it’s supposed to be riveting.”

  “I’ve got another one on my shelf, called …” He looked at the ceiling of the car. “UNSUB. Yeah, I think that’s it. Haven’t gotten to it yet. So many good books to read.” He turned to her. “You think you’ll write one when you retire?”

  Vail laughed. “Who knows? I’ll worry about that when the time comes. But I’ve got plenty of material. That Dead Eyes case could fill a book all on its own. Then there’s the John Wayne Mayfield case in Napa, which was unlike anything the unit’s ever handled. That, too, would make an awesome book. And one I handled on Alcatraz.” Then there are the cases I can never tell anyone about, let alone write about. She turned the engine over. “Yeah, I think I will write a book or two.”

  “So was Underwood helpful?”

  “He’s out of town so I’ll need to meet with him when he gets back. But at least he confirmed that we appear to be on the right track.” She pulled back out onto the interstate and continued toward Fairfax.

  29

  Vail had just arrived at the command post and dropped Ramos off at his car when her Samsung buzzed violently in her pocket.

  So much for going home. She drove off toward I-66, headed for a wooded area that surrounded the banks of the Potomac River: Great Falls National Park in northern Fairfax County, where a dead body had been found.

  It did not sound like the deceased male was related to their case, but the task force was obligated to look into all area murders that could be associated with their escaped violent felon.

  While en route, her phone rattled again. She did not recognize the number.

  “Vail.”

  “Karen, it’s Jasmine.”

  “Hey girl, I was beginning to wonder about you.”

  “I’ve been following the news reports,” Jasmine said. “He’s been killing people again.”

  “As I expected,” Vail said. “That’s why I want you in protective custody.”

  “Karen, please. Let’s not go through this again. You saw what happened to the last cop you posted outside my house—to keep me safe. No thanks. I’m doing just fine. I’m moving every couple of days to a different place. Although I am eating away at my book advance.”

  “Look on the positive side. It’ll give you material for book two.” Ouch. That’s not fair. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make light of this.”

  “Of all people, you don’t have to explain your motives. I know you have my best interests in mind. But for now, I feel safer where no one knows who I am. Or where I am.”

  “I don’t like it, but I get it.”

  “Plus, it lets me be absolutely sure no one talked, voluntarily or involuntarily. My father’s not above torturing someone for information on my whereabouts. This way, no one can give me up. And no one gets hurt.”

  “That’s admirable, but—”

  “And I’m wearing a disguise.”

  Vail stifled a chuckle. “A disguise?”

  “Nothing elaborate. Just enough to keep people from noticing me. Maybe it’s silly. I was only on TV a couple of times. But I figured it can’t hurt. You any closer to finding him?”

  How do I answer that? “Closer? I think so, yeah. But I wouldn’t say we’re close. I’ll keep you posted. And you stay safe.”

  Vail hung up as she turned onto Route 738, then took Old Dominion Drive to the closed National Park Service entrance shack, where she was admitted by a posted law enforcement officer.

  In the parking lot sat Curtis’s Chevy sedan and Hurdle’s Toyota SUV. She pulled alongside them and saw a group of men huddled thirty yards away that looked like it included her task force members. Vail made her way over to the knot of personnel and joined the conversation.

  “So who and what do we got?”

  “No ID,” Curtis said. “Fit white male, early forties and wearing what looks like an expensive shirt and shoes. Nordstrom and Allen Edmonds, according to the ME.”

  “Nice wardrobe. But why are we thinking the vic is one of ours?’

  Hurdle shrugged. “That’s what we have to determine. Might not be.”

  “Cause of death?”

  “Strangulation. There’s bruising, pressure marks on the throat, neck, and behind the ears, consistent with a large hand. Hyoid bone may be broken. Petechial and subconjunctival hemorrhages. He said it’s likely to assume the assailant was a male because, judging by the bruises on the neck, those are two sizable paws.”

  And women don’t usually have the strength to strangle a man. “Anything else?”

  “Looks like he was raped,” Curtis said.

  A woman approached with a flashlight in hand. From the gait, Vail knew it was Leslie Johnson.

  “Raped how?” Vail asked.

  “There’s anal penetration,” Curtis said. “ME thinks he used a condom. He’ll know more later, but he’s fairly certain.”

  “Important to know ASAP,” Vail said.

  “Why?” Curtis asked, keyed in on her enthusiasm.

  “Something that came up in the last few hours. Remember I mentioned my theory that Marcks is gay? His murders may have something to do with that. I’m still working it through.” She turned to Hurdle. “But for purposes of the task force, I think we should put some guys at known gay bars throughout the county, even in the district.”

  “Okay,” Hurdle said.

  Even in the relative darkness, Vail could tell his facial expression was one of skepticism. “Look, I realize that’ll take a lot of manpower, but I’m confident enough in what I’m seeing to think it’s worth it. If I’m right, and we put undercovers at known gay bars and he shows, we may get our man.”

  “He’s gotta know we’d be looking for him there,” Johnson said.

  “I don’t think so, Leslie. Even before he went to prison, he kept his sexual orientation close to the vest—under the threat of violence. And his vics weren’t pure homosexual plays. H
e killed both men and women—which is unusual for homosexual serial killers. Well, for any offenders. They have their victim type and generally don’t deviate unless they have to—but they always go back. That could be what happened here, but I don’t think so.”

  Johnson tilted her head in thought. “So you’re saying that because he was careful about hiding his sexual preference, he won’t think we’re hip to looking for him at known gay establishments.”

  “Right. And straight people don’t hang out at these places. So for him, these may be safe havens. Where he doesn’t have to worry about law enforcement hanging out there and picking him up.”

  “What makes you think he’s homosexual?” Curtis asked.

  “Victim selection. The lust murder flavor to what he does to the bodies, the cutting of the genitals. Most of the vics were anally penetrated. And the correctional officer, his childhood friend, Lance Kubiak, walked in on him once many years ago when he was having sex with another man. Assuming he’s telling the truth—which might be a stretch for this guy.”

  “We should ask Jasmine about it,” Curtis said.

  “I did. She didn’t really answer me. And she sure as hell didn’t mention the incident Kubiak described, but I had a feeling there was something she wanted to tell me. Let’s face it, it’s a sensitive subject for some people. I’ll revisit it with her when the time’s right.”

  Hurdle shrugged. “Let’s work this angle. I’ll get some undercovers deployed at key places.”

  Vail told him about the two bars that Kubiak mentioned.

  “Those’ll be at the top of the list.”

  “Who found our new vic?” Johnson asked, lifting her feet to get the blood flowing.

  “Park’s open till half an hour after dark,” Hurdle said. “Guy with his dog got lost, didn’t get out before it closed. About 7:30 PM he came across a man who seemed to be lugging something heavy over his shoulder. He stopped and watched. It was dark and obviously there were trees in the way, but there was some decent moonlight. He was finally able to see that it was a body draped over the guy’s shoulder.

  “The dog saw it too, because he started barking. Perp dropped what he was carrying and fled. No phones in the park and damn near no cell service. So the witness couldn’t call us. He went over, saw the body, then had to find his way back to his car. But he couldn’t get out because the gate was closed. After realizing the guy he saw could still be in the area, he plowed through the barricade and drove till he had a signal, called 911.”