The Darkness of Evil

by Jacobson, Alan

  And a dog.

  54

  Hey boy.” Vail gave his face and neck a rub as she turned on her phone’s flashlight. “What are you doing down here?” She checked—he was, in fact, a male. And he was not wearing a collar.

  Her phone rang. She answered it immediately, without checking caller ID.

  “You here somewhere?”

  It was Curtis.

  “In the basement. Come in the back door. I opened it for you.”

  A moment later, she heard Curtis’s heavy footsteps descending the stairs.

  “You opened it for me? You broke in. What the hell’s going on?

  She did not want to tell him about the tracker, so she simply said, “Jasmine wasn’t answering.”

  “Of course she’s not answering. She’s not stay—” He appeared in the doorway and noticed Vail’s new companion. “What’s a dog doing here?”

  He went up to Curtis, tail wagging, and licked his hand.

  “I was wondering the same thing. And here’s another mystery. This is a concealed room.”

  He drew his chin back, then turned and looked at the doorway. “I don’t get it.”

  “Makes two of us. Let’s have a look around.”

  “Why are you here?”

  “That requires a bit of an explanation.” And I guess now’s as good a time as any. She told him about the device Uzi had given her.

  “I don’t even know where to begin with that—but we’ll save it for another time. Right now, we need to make sense of what’s going on. And apparently that starts with a hidden room and a strange dog. Is it Jasmine’s?”

  “No. She can’t have pets.” Seeing Curtis’s confused look, she said, “Because of what Marcks did to one of her stuffed animals as a kid.”

  “Shit, that’s right.” Curtis pulled out his iPhone and started dialing. “We need animal control. Until we figure out who this guy belongs to, someone’s gotta look after him.”

  While he made the call and gave them the address, Vail started taking a quick inventory of the room: it was roughly ten by twelve feet, with a futon, shelving on one wall, and a cheap laminate armoire.

  “You get anything from reading Underwood’s book?” he asked as he hung up.

  “Yes. Maybe. I mean …” She sighed. “I’ve got some problems with Underwood. I finally reached him. And he lied to me. Twice.”

  “How so?”

  “He’d told me he was in Hawaii. But I reached the show’s producer and they wrapped filming weeks ago. He finally called me back—we spoke for less than a minute—and he said he was boarding a plane to Philly to testify in a case. But I looked up the case. The trial was postponed for three months.”

  Curtis looked at her. “What the hell?”

  Vail turned back to the room. “I know. I didn’t want to say anything to Hurdle. He seemed to want to go hard after Underwood. And I don’t know … I guess I feel like we owe him more than that.”

  “We can’t let emotions get in the way of doing our jobs.”

  Am I doing that?

  “There’s food here,” Curtis said. “A water bowl. And … some dog crap. No collar. But he’s definitely cared for. By whom? No way Jasmine would risk coming back here on a regular basis.”

  “Add it to the list of things I can’t explain.” She crouched down and—Oh, shit. “Uh …” Vail got up and spun around, her gaze darting from one wall to another. “We’ve gotta get out of here.”

  “Why? What—”

  “I’ll explain when we’re in the car. Leave the dog. Follow me.”

  “Leave the dog? We can’t just—”

  “Do it. Did you touch anything? Move anything?”

  “I don’t think so, no.”

  “Then let’s go.” She passed through the door and closed it behind Curtis, her heart dropping at the sight of the pooch’s sad eyes.

  Vail ran up the steps, her gaze moving from one wall to another, one corner and shelf to the next. They exited the back door, where they had entered.

  “Karen, what the hell’s going on?”

  They came around the side of the house and Vail pressed the remote for her Honda.

  “Move your car. A block away, at least. Quickly. Meet me at the corner. And call animal control, tell them not to come.”

  “Why can’t you just t—”

  Vail started the engine and drove down the street, then parked in front of Curtis and got into his Ford.

  He gave her a hard look. “Now what the fuck’s going on?”

  Vail sat there a long moment, trying to work it through. “I’m not completely sure—and I’m afraid that what I’m thinking won’t make any sense.”

  “Just tell me, we’ll work it through together.”

  “I’m pretty sure that’s Thomas Underwood’s dog in there.”

  “Underwood’s dog. What are you talking about? How—”

  “When I spoke to him this afternoon, like I said, it was a short conversation. But right before he ended the call, he told me to read his book, carefully, and that I’d find some of my answers there.”

  “Okay. Why is that weird?”

  I’m not sure.

  “You were reading one of his books.”

  “Yes.” She dug two fingers into her temples and rubbed. “And I found a case where there was a note found in a victim’s mouth that said, ‘Next in line.’”

  “Which could be explained by Marcks reading Underwood’s book and he and Gaines are copying the killer. What’s the problem?” He studied her face a moment and said, “You think it really is Underwood who’s been setting these fires?”

  “Things weren’t adding up. Aren’t adding up.”

  “Again, we know that. Spit it out. Was Marcks reading Underwood’s book or is Underwood involved too?”

  “I don’t think that’s what really happened. I think that …” Vail gathered her thoughts.

  Curtis waited a moment, then said between clenched teeth, “In a second I’m gonna start shaking you.”

  C’mon, Karen. Think clearly. She took a deep breath. “Did you see what was in that room in the basement?”

  “I was just starting to look it all over when you freaked and said we had to bug out.”

  Vail stared ahead at the descending darkness, at the headlights that were driving down the road toward them. “There was a camera mounted in the corner of the wall. I’m guessing it’s a wireless camera. So that someone could watch it over the internet from another location.”

  “Lots of people have those.”

  Vail closed her eyes. She did not want to say it but she had to. “One of Underwood’s cases involved the kidnapping of a detective. I don’t think Underwood’s a killer. He’s been lying to me because I think he’s been snatched up. And his call was being monitored so he couldn’t tell me what was really going on. But he tried to give me a clue.”

  “A clue about what?”

  “That he’s been kidnapped. And how to find him. Or who’s got him.”

  “I’ll humor you for a minute. Let’s say you’re right. Who’s got him?”

  Vail bit her bottom lip. “I think we screwed up.” She turned to Curtis. “There were books down there, too. Thomas Underwood’s books.”

  “Someone’s camping out in Jasmine’s house? Marcks is living in that basement and he’s got Underwood holed away somewhere? And he’s watching the dog remotely? That makes no sense.”

  “It makes perfect sense. Except that you’ve got a few things mixed up. Roscoe Lee Marcks isn’t holding Underwood hostage. Jasmine is.”

  “Jasmine. Why the hell would she do that?”

  Vail found it hard to form the words. She hesitated and tried to clear her mind, tried to reason it out.

  “Karen,” Curtis said. “What the hell’s going on? What am I missing?�
��

  Vail turned to him and found the words tumbling from her lips before she could make sense of it. “Jasmine is the Blood Lines killer.”

  55

  Are you feeling okay?”

  Vail closed her eyes. “No, I’m not. I have to think this through. I just know what I’m seeing here and now. And it doesn’t add up.”

  “There could be other explanations.”

  “There could be.”

  “Gaines could’ve come looking for Jasmine and she wasn’t here so he broke through the wall and put that stuff in there.”

  “Why would he do that? He had his own secluded place in the hills. No need to build a fake room. That trailer was pretty well hidden. Besides, planning went into creating that hidden area. A false wall had to be constructed.” Vail was still working it through her mangled thoughts.

  “Fine. But there has to be another answer.”

  “Maybe. But I don’t think that’s what’s going on here.”

  “Karen, I worked this case hard. Thomas Underwood, one of the BAU’s best and brightest, one of the founding fathers of the profiling unit, drew up the behavioral assessment. Neither of us had any doubt Marcks was our guy. You didn’t either. You may’ve been a rookie profiler but you were a veteran cop and detective. You knew your way around a murder case as well as me. We had definitive forensics at two scenes and Marcks pled to both those murders. Right?”

  Vail nodded. “I know.”

  “Why the hell would he do that if he was innocent? And we know he’s killed several people since breaking out. That was Marcks, no question.”

  “And there haven’t been any murders with that MO and ritual since he’s been incarcerated.”

  “Right,” Curtis said. “They started again after he broke out.”

  “I know that.” I need time to think.

  “And the diethyl ether at Gaines’s place. And the homosexual connection.”

  Vail slammed her hand against the dashboard. “I know! It doesn’t make sense.” I’ve gotta clear my head and reason this out. “Anything at Gaines’s trailer?”

  “Whatever was there, the fire finished it off.”

  Vail pulled out her phone and reloaded Uzi’s Find/Me tracking app. Please give me a good connection. “Right now our objectives are to find Jasmine. Find Underwood. And find Marcks. We’ll sort it out later.”

  GPS coordinates appeared—and Vail took a moment to peruse the numbers. Judging by her frequent visits to this location, it was a significant place for Jasmine. Finally Vail popped open her door.

  “Where you going?”

  “I’ll follow in my car.”

  Vail tapped, the map rotated, and … “Got it. Arlington.”

  She texted Leslie Johnson and asked her to get land records on the address she was including in the message.

  “Talk to me,” Curtis said.

  “I have a location on Jasmine. Call Hurdle. Tell him we need the task force and SWAT at the residence I’m sending everyone.” She tapped it out and hit “send.”

  “SWAT?”

  “If I’m right, Underwood’s being held at that address.”

  “But you could be wrong about all of this. This whole thing with Underwood, it’s just a guess.”

  “Look, none of this makes any sense. I don’t know what to think. But we’ve got no idea who’s waiting for us there: Jasmine? Marcks? Someone else? Who knows. After what just happened with Gaines—”

  “Fine. I’ll make the call.”

  56

  Marcks had exhausted all means of locating Jasmine, having repeatedly driven up and down the streets in the vicinity where he had left her after she had disabled him—to no avail.

  He thought of wearing some form of disguise and going door-to-door, but the risks were too great. It only took one observant and law-abiding citizen who had been watching the news to dial 911. The police were everywhere as it was, with roadblocks and swarming patrols. He did not need to do anything to make their job easier.

  Left with no other alternative, he returned to her place in Bethesda, hoping she would eventually come back—if for no other reason than to pick up a change of clothing.

  Jasmine finally showed up around midnight. She did not turn on any lights when she entered the residence and was inside barely four minutes. Before he could decide if he should go in after her, she came out and headed for her car.

  He followed the vehicle at an extreme distance of about fifty yards, deciding that it was better to lose her than be discovered. If he did fall too far back, he could always sit on her house again the next night.

  And that was precisely what happened. The following evening, much earlier this time, she returned, entered covertly, and left very quickly.

  But this time, figuring—correctly, as it turned out—that she was headed to the same destination, he was better equipped to hang back and still stay with her.

  After making it all the way into Arlington, he had to close the gap—because she would likely be making turns down side streets. If he was too far back, there would be no way for him to keep up with her.

  Following a few course changes, she headed straight for a line of row houses. Marcks slowed, then watched as she hung a left and made a quick U-turn. He continued on down the block and parked. Lights went on inside a corner townhome.

  He sat there for a while, getting his bearings, watching who came and went—when a vehicle pulled up in front of the place where Jasmine had entered. Marcks leaned back in his seat, away from the window, when he saw who got out: Vail and that detective, Curtis.

  This presented an interesting opportunity. If he acted swiftly and flawlessly, he could take out his three primary nemeses in a matter of minutes.

  But could he pull it off?

  As he mulled that thought—he would have to wait and see if they separated for any length of time—he noticed that Vail suddenly had a gun in her hand. Marcks clenched his jaw. Could he take her on with a weapon at the ready? What about Curtis?

  The street was relatively dark, so perhaps he could make it close to her, using the bushes, until he was upon her.

  He leaned forward and watched.

  57

  Vail arrived first, followed a second later by Curtis. Vail drove past the house, an older three-story brick colonial attached on the left and fronting a side street on the right. A dozen concrete steps with a wrought iron railing led up to the front door about two dozen feet away. Cars lined the curb and residual snow blanketed the lawns and sidewalks.

  They got out of their vehicles and perused the area.

  “Let’s grab a look around the perimeter. Low key, evaluate entrances/exits, see if we can get a peek inside.”

  “That’s all we do,” Curtis said. “We’re not going in alone.”

  “Not unless I’m right and Underwood’s a hostage.”

  “And his life’s in immediate danger.”

  “Fine.”

  They unholstered their handguns and moved covertly toward the townhome, Curtis heading to the back and Vail taking the front.

  Vail used the thick hedges, their yellowing leaves intact, as cover to get as close as possible before moving into the open. She ascended the stairs and stopped behind the last bush and surveyed the eaves and other hidden areas where a camera could have been concealed. She saw nothing.

  She continued to the last few steps closest to the entrance, which were made out of metal grating, presumably to prevent pooling water from becoming sheets of ice during the winter months.

  The door featured an ornately carved gold leaf–embossed glass window. But Vail avoided it, keeping her head below eye level as she approached. An American flag flapped noisily in the breeze fifteen feet to the left, fighting for her attention as she tried to make an accurate assessment of the premises.

  She descended
a few feet and moved right toward the windows, fighting through the branch-dense bushes. The curtains were drawn but unlined, so Vail should have been able to at least see forms if anyone was inside. Although the lights were on, the living and dining rooms appeared to be empty.

  She was unsure where Curtis was, but until she heard from him, there was nothing for her to do but wait, listen, and observe.

  Until a noise to her right snagged her attention.

  CURTIS TOOK A circuitous route to the back door—along the perimeter, looking for a point where he could either climb over the white cedar lock board fence or locate some kind of easement that would give him access.

  He found a well-camouflaged gate, but it was securely latched. He tried to reach over the top and feel for a release lever, but it was too high off the ground. He shoved his right shoulder against it to test its integrity and found that it gave a bit more than he would have thought, considering the healthy condition of the wood.

  Curtis stepped back and brought up his foot, slammed it against the planks, and knocked it open. He immediately regretted the noise; if Jasmine was in fact a kidnapper—or a killer—and if Underwood was inside with her, the last thing he wanted to do was tip her off to their presence.

  Ten steps in, he curved around the rear of the house and along the path that led to the back door. He approached cautiously, not knowing who, besides Jasmine, was inside.

  He surveyed the yard, which was longer than wide with planters on either side of the inlaid masonry path. A large wood double gate was built into the fence, fronting the side street. He walked over and took a closer look; tire marks in the grass and dirt were barely discernible. Whoever lived here drove their car into the yard. To park it? Because there’s no garage?

  He moved back toward the residence and saw something in the corner, a few inches taller than he was, covered with a black tarpaulin. He could feel a metal frame and a base with wheels, but had no idea what it was without removing the cover. First, however, he had to stick to the task.