A man in his thirties turned and gave Curtis a nod.
“I need the video feed from the parking lot, the past hour.”
Richie put his coffee mug down and hobbled over to the window. “Parking lot?”
“Officer was abducted. Move fast, Richie. Her life depends on it. We’re coming around. Jane,” Curtis said to the closest PCA, “let us in.”
When Curtis and Hurdle entered the horseshoe-shaped administrative space, Richie was clicking his keyboard and downloading the footage to a flash drive.
“Pull it up on that screen,” Curtis said, gesturing at the one closest to him and Hurdle. “Can I have the mouse?”
Richie handed it to Curtis, who began fast-forwarding, watching the seconds cascade by until it got to within fifteen minutes of the current time. Then he slowed it down and hit “play” when he reached the spot he wanted. They watched as Vail, barely visible in the distance, exited the Marshals’ RV.
“Okay, so she’s walking toward the camera,” Hurdle said.
“Toward her car. We parked in the first row of spots.”
“She disappeared.” Hurdle turned to Richie. “Camera lost her. We have another angle?”
“I can check.”
“Don’t need it,” Curtis said. “She’s back in the camera’s field of view. Walking away from her car. And the folder’s under her arm.”
They watched Vail’s back another few seconds as she headed toward the task force command post—but veered to her right, the spot where they found her phone.
“Fuck me,” Curtis said under his breath.
“What? What do you see?”
“Just a sec.”
Curtis pulled out his pad and jotted down a note as Hurdle took over the mouse.
They watched as Vail bent over to look inside the car window—and a large male figure with a ball cap pulled low on his forehead emerged from the row of trees that stood along the parking lot’s perimeter.
He struck Vail from behind, her head hit the door, they struggled, and then he slammed her into the car again. She dropped—but the man caught her before she struck the ground. He pulled open the back door and pushed her inside.
Curtis shifted position. “This is tough to watch.”
“He’s doing something—taking her Glock. Of course. And …” Hurdle tilted his head as he studied the screen. “Looks like he’s tying her up.”
The assailant got into the front seat and drove out of the lot.
“Hold it.” Curtis stabbed at the monitor. “Back it up.”
Hurdle clicked pause and the image froze, rewound frame by frame.
“There,” he said, pointing at the best view they had of the man’s face, behind the glare of the windshield as he started the car.
“Richie, I need that cleaned up. See if you can get us a decent still image of that asshole’s face.”
“Doubt it, too far away. But I’ll do my best.”
“And get a screen grab of the license plate, see who it’s registered to. Probably stolen, but let me know. A cop’s life is on the line. We need everything fast.”
“I’m on it,” Richie said as he picked up a phone on the desk and began dialing.
Curtis removed the USB flash with the downloaded footage and turned to Jane. “Can you tell the sarg I need a BOLO on this car? I think it may be a ’64 Buick.” He pulled out his phone and googled 1964 Buick. Images popped up on his screen. He scrolled and spread his fingers, enlarging the photo. “Affirm, it’s a ’64 Buick LeSabre.” He read her the license plate.
“Got it,” Jane said.
“That what you were talking about earlier?” Hurdle said. “You seemed to realize something.”
They walked briskly back toward the knot of task force members in the lot. “Yeah, that Buick. Vail saw it in the parking lot of the Behavioral Analysis Unit when we left there this morning. Bastard must’ve followed us here.”
“Why was she suspicious of it when she saw it?”
“She wasn’t. It was just a car she knew during her childhood. Brought back some memories.”
“You think it was Marcks?”
Hurdle glanced at Curtis. “I keep hoping it wasn’t—but I’d bet money that it was.”
41
Vail opened her eyes. Everything was blurry. She fought to focus and tried to move—but her hands were bound behind her with rope.
What the hell?
She was lying on her right side, facing the backseat of—Holy shit, I’m in the Buick!
It all now came back to her. She struggled to sit up and saw the back of a head—and the unmistakable face in the rearview mirror—of Roscoe Lee Marcks.
He did not glance back at her, did not divert his eyes from the road, which were scrolling left and right, no doubt looking for law enforcement. He had to know that if you kidnap an FBI agent, there would be an alert put out immediately. Then again, there were already alerts issued for his apprehension.
Vail leaned forward in the seat to ease the pressure on her wrists. “So, Rocky, what do you have planned for me? Gonna slice lines in my stomach and cut off my genitals?”
“You think you’re so smart,” he said. He did not raise his voice. His tone was not one of anger. It was matter of fact. “But you’re fuckin’ clueless.”
“Am I? I know all about your murder of Eddie Simmons when you were fourteen. And I know about your love affair with Booker Gaines.”
He swung his right arm around and slugged her in the face, a quick, powerful, fisted backhand that stunned her. It hurt. A lot. She saw stars and she lost consciousness for a brief second. At least she thought it was a brief second. They were still driving and her head was extended, resting against the back of the seat.
Obviously that’s a sore subject. Certainly for me. She stretched her mouth open to make sure her jaw still worked.
“You asked what I have planned for you. I’m going to take you somewhere and then we’re gonna talk. You’re going to tell me what you know about the search for me, what approach your task force is taking. Then you’re going to tell me where Jasmine’s staying. When you’ve told me what I want to know, well, we’ll see. I’m very angry for what you did to put me behind bars.”
Translation: he’s going to kill me.
“You’ve got it all wrong. I wasn’t—”
“We’re done talking. For now. When we sit down, that’s when we’ll clear the air.”
Vail could not let it come to that.
She desperately wanted to hear what he had to say—her years-long curiosity was screaming at her to press forward, to ask him the questions she’d wanted to ask … the ones she hoped she would get the opportunity to ask back at Potter.
But that desire to know the answers did not outweigh her wish to live a long life.
She could feel that her Glock was no longer in its holster. No surprise there—it was now probably in Marcks’s waistband. But Tzedek, the dagger-like tanto she kept sheathed in the small of her back, was still there. And that was not surprising, either: Marcks was a career criminal but he was not a law enforcement officer trained in the proper ways of frisking an individual for hidden weapons. He likely checked her for an ankle holster—she was not wearing it today—but he had no reason to suspect she had anything other than standard-issue police weapons: a service pistol and perhaps a smaller backup piece. Vail was not aware of any FBI agents who carried such atypical weapons—well, other than she and her friend, Aaron Uziel.
Her bindings were tied tight but she was able to get her fingers on Tzedek’s handle. She worked the knife out of its scabbard a quarter inch at a time, keeping her eyes on the rearview mirror, watching Marcks to see if he checked on her. He had not as of yet. Clearly he did not see her as a threat so his concern was focused on the more likely immediate danger: cops who by now could have a description of the v
ehicle. And him. And her.
He’s going to either ditch the Buick soon or we’re close to his secret interrogation site. Hurry up, Karen.
Vail cleared leather and had the tanto in hand. Now she had to turn it blade side up and start slicing. But manipulating it into position with her fingertips was more difficult than she thought—and she almost dropped it … which would’ve been disastrous.
She got the tip reoriented and started working on the twisted fibers of the rope. Even not restrained it would take some effort to cut through this material. But there was no choice. She had to do it.
“Do you really intend to kill your daughter?” she asked, hoping to distract him.
“I told you. We’ll talk later. On my terms.”
“She’s your daughter. How can you do that?”
For the first time, Marcks looked at her in the rearview. She saw intense anger folded into the creases around his eyes and across his brow.
“Fine,” she said, “I’ll drop it.” A moment passed. “When we sit down to talk, will you at least answer some of my questions? The ones I wanted to ask you at Potter?”
“Yeah,” he said, leaning forward and peering down the road. “Why not?”
Vail followed his gaze and saw a police cruiser on the right.
Marcks slowed. “Don’t try anything, Vail. Or I may have to slug you again.”
More fibers gave way.
“Once was enough,” she said. “Oh, wait, you hit me twice. I lost count.” And consciousness.
They passed the cop. She watched as he sat in his car, looking at his radar gun, apparently more concerned with catching speeders than apprehending fugitives.
“Maybe third time’s the charm.”
Vail flexed her neck left and right. “No thanks.”
Marcks turned onto a secluded side street—no houses in the immediate area—and no other vehicles.
Shit. Now or never.
Vail pressed harder and felt the fibers of one of the loops of the knot give way.
Keep going!
A minute later she felt the rope loosen. Got it! Her wrists popped apart and she grabbed the knife’s handle firmly in her hand, then rotated it to get it into position.
She whipped it around and slapped it against Marcks’s carotid, then grabbed a handful of hair protruding from beneath the hat. “Pull the fuck over! And keep your hands on the wheel where I can see them.”
He laughed. “Go ahead. You don’t have it in you to slice my neck open.”
She pressed the blade into his skin and a thin line of blood oozed. “You wanna test me? You think you know who I am and what I’ve done, but you’ve got no fucking idea.” She knocked his hat off and gathered up a full-fisted clump of hair, yanked back hard. He winced. “No one’s going to question me killing you. No one. Because it’s justice. Understand, asshole?”
He closed his eyes, the only acknowledgment, the only victory, he was going to allow her.
Vail knew she had to bully him because it was the only language Roscoe Lee Marcks understood. Show weakness and he would go for the jugular. Literally.
“You’ve got three seconds,” she said. “Two.”
Marcks lifted his foot off the accelerator and the car slowed. He angled the vehicle toward the right shoulder of the two-lane roadway and brought it to a stop.
“With your left hand, using two fingers, remove the Glock and hand it back to me. No fast moves.”
He did as instructed and she released his hair to grab the pistol’s handle, keeping the tanto’s pressure constant against his neck. She wanted to check the handgun’s chamber but needed two hands—and there was no way she was going to remove the knife from Marcks’s neck.
“Now give me the keys.”
He pulled them out of the ignition and handed them back—but moved them away when she reached for them. She dug the knife further into his skin, drawing more blood. “I swear, you fucking try anything—anything—and I’ll kill you. Now give them to me!”
He handed them back and she took them.
She wanted to handcuff him but there was nothing to secure him to: no headrest. Nothing except the steering wheel. If she had him lean forward and put his hands behind his back, there would be no way for her to reach over the seat to fasten them.
Vail set the Glock on her lap and reached for her cuffs—but they weren’t there. She patted the area around her, felt around with her shoes, taking care to keep firm pressure on the tanto—but they were not there.
She felt for her phone—gone as well. Shit.
“Pop your door open, then put your hands on the dashboard. Splay your fingers. And push your chest against the wheel.”
As he leaned forward, she removed the knife from his neck and got out, pointed the Glock at his head as she came around to the front seat—
But Marcks accelerated hard and the Buick lurched forward, the rear door slamming into her side and spinning her into the asphalt.
Vail got to her knees and squeezed off three rounds at the retreating vehicle, pinging the metal and doing nothing to stop Marcks as he once again fled.
Into the ether.
VAIL STOOD UP and watched the LeSabre disappear down the road. She had forgotten that older cars did not have ignition locks that prevented the removal of the keys unless the engine was off—both an anti-theft and safety measure enacted by the federal government.
Sonofabitch. He knew what he was doing. She kicked at a rock in the road and sent it skipping down the pavement. How could I miss that? Because I’ve taken three blows to the head. Probably have a concussion.
Vail slipped the tanto into its sheath, realizing that Tzedek had once again saved her life. She had to remember to thank Uzi—the knife was turning out to be one of the best gifts anyone had ever given her.
She turned and looked in both directions but saw no one, no houses, no cars. And she had no phone … she could not even look on a map to see where she was.
Vail turned and started back from where she came, reasoning that she knew approximately how far it was to get back to the main road. There would be people and cars there—and a way to reach someone on the task force.
She holstered her Glock and palpated her swollen face, opened and closed her sore jaw, and felt lucky to be alive. She took a deep breath as she trudged forward, tried to ease her stress, to decompress after all that had occurred in the past hour or so.
And then she realized that she still had not heard from Jasmine.
42
All right, what’ve we got?” Hurdle was pacing near the spot where Vail’s phone was found, vapor puffing from his mouth like steam from a locomotive. The other task force members stood in a circle nearby, while crime scene technicians processed the area behind them. More snow was expected, so they erected a temporary tent.
“BOLO’s out,” Walters said.
“The license plate came back to a used car lot in Fairfax,” Curtis said. “I’ve got a uniform on his way there to talk with someone, see if the Buick was stolen or purchased and if so, by whom.”
Ramos held up his phone. “We just got an image of the perp. A frame capture.” He played with the screen and threw his head back. “Looks like Marcks. Sonofabitch.”
Hurdle clenched his right fist. “I’m really beginning to hate this guy.”
“He kidnapped one of our own,” Morrison said. “From a goddamn police department—fifty yards from where we were all sitting.”
“He’s got a big set of balls, I’ll give him that,” Tarkoff said. “Or a death wish.”
“Let’s look at this a minute,” Curtis said, holding up his hands. “Remove the emotion. It’s not easy, believe me, I get that. Seeing him take Karen on the surveillance video—” His voice caught. “That was tough to watch. But we gotta push that out of our minds. We’ve gotta think clearly.” He said
it as if he were trying to convince himself.
His eyes settled on the photo of Marcks on Ramos’s phone. “He found out about our task force. He knew about Vail’s involvement in the case and somehow figured out where to find her. Assuming that was the Buick Karen saw when we left the BAU, he went to a goddamn FBI office—a ten most wanted fugitive—and hung out in the profiling unit’s parking lot until she left and then followed us here. Drove into the police department, parked his car half a football field away from the hounds trying to track him down, and grabbed one of us up.”
“If I didn’t want to put a bullet between his eyes,” Ramos said, “I’d have to call it impressive.”
“Just making us earn our paychecks,” Hurdle said. He stopped pacing and turned to face them. “We can’t let this go unanswered. What have we missed?”
“Nothing,” Tarkoff said. “Marcks is smart. He knows what he’s doing. We feed off the dumb ones, catch them doing shit they need to do to stay alive. But Marcks, he knows our playbook, how we track fugitives. And he avoids doing that stuff. Makes our jobs that much more difficult.”
“Yeah, well right now, one of our own is depending on us to work smarter. Work harder. Because if we don’t—”
Curtis’s phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID, did not recognize the number, and was about to ignore it when something told him to answer. “Curtis.”
“Hey, it’s me.”
“Karen? Where are you? You okay?”
“Marcks grabbed me from the parking lot and—”
“That much we figured out. How’d you get away?”
“I’ll tell you when I see you. Right now, all you gotta know is that Marcks left me about twenty minutes ago still driving the tan ’64 Buick LeSabre.” She gave him the location and requested that someone pick her up.
“On my way. And hey—really glad to hear your voice.”
Vail laughed. “I could say the same thing.”
43
What are you doing here?” Hurdle asked as Vail and Curtis walked through the command post door.
The Darkness of Evil Page 24
