The Darkness of Evil

by Jacobson, Alan

  He leaned up against the brick siding, then peered into the nearest window. The kitchen was empty, and as far as he could see, the other rooms were likewise vacant, although a lamp burned across the way in an area that was not visible to his line of sight.

  He pulled back and retraced his steps, headed toward a rendezvous with Vail.

  VAIL STOOD STILL, Glock raised, peering into the darkness. Her breathing had quickened and she puffed vapor into the frigid night air.

  Before she had time to investigate, Curtis appeared, coming around the side of the house. She started down the stairs toward the street and met him at the curb one house over.

  “Anything?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “Lights are on inside, didn’t see anyone.”

  “Same here. Heard something right before I saw you. Not sure what it was.”

  “Might’ve been me. I snapped some twigs on the way around. And that was after I kicked the gate in. Not my stealthiest moment.”

  He told her about the yard, the wide gate and covered metal contraption he had found, as well as the tire tracks. As Vail started to comment, a text hit her phone at the same moment a call came through. She glanced at the message first:

  swat 9 min out

  She brought the handset up to her face. “Vail.”

  “This is Lawrence Vickers. I’m working with your task force, reading the books written by Agent Underwood.”

  “Right. Find anything?”

  “Not sure. In his latest book, uh, The Masked Mind, there are two cases that could be relevant. First involved a male killer whose daughter accidentally witnessed his first kill. Then he used her to help him get the vics in a vulnerable position so he could snatch them up. Second one’s from Brazil. Killer grabbed up a child, held him for ransom, and even though the family paid, he killed the kid. He did this four times until he took a detective’s son, the cop who was working the case. Oh, and there’s a third one. Two male killers go—”

  “Karen! Hey, heads up.” Curtis nudged her arm hard and indicated the passing car. “Woman driving, kinda looks like Jasmine. Came from around back, the side street.”

  “Gotta go,” Vail said to Vickers. To Curtis: “You sure?”

  “Yeah,” he said, running toward his Ford. “Didn’t see Underwood. Check the house. I’m goin’ after that car.”

  Vail ran up the steps but pulled out her phone to locate the Find/Me tracking beacon before breaking down the door—just in case Curtis was wrong. The Samsung started vibrating and the alarm was flashing, indicating that the connection had been reestablished. The coordinates populated the screen and the map showed Jasmine in motion. She was nearby—but not in the townhome.

  Curtis was right—that was her.

  Vail holstered the cell and kicked in the door, then moved swiftly, but carefully, through the house. Rather than checking the upper floor, she figured the basement was the most likely place Jasmine would be keeping Underwood—if she had left him behind.

  Had Jasmine seen them, or was it a coincidence she was leaving soon after they arrived?

  Vail descended the basement steps, turned on the lights—and her breath caught.

  58

  Thomas Underwood was lying on the floor, a tourniquet tight around his neck, his veins distended, his color more purple than flesh-toned.

  Vail was on him in a split second. She tugged at the sheet-like noose, but it was too tight against his neck. Tzedek.

  Vail pulled it from its scabbard, pressed the dull edge against Underwood’s skin, and sliced through the cotton. “C’mon Thomas. Are you with me?”

  She felt for a pulse. Alive but unconscious.

  He was tied behind his back, but Vail nevertheless succeeded in rolling him into a supine position. She elevated his legs, then bent them repeatedly at the knees, helping to force blood back toward his heart and brain.

  “Thomas, wake up!” She searched the basement for something that could help revive him—and found a jug of bleach on the laundry room shelf. It was not smelling salts, but it should work.

  Vail soaked the cotton tourniquet, coughing and struggling to see through the heavy tearing from the intense fumes—and waved it underneath his nostrils. He jerked his head away, groaned, then slowly opened his eyes.

  “That’s it, come on. You know who I am?”

  “Karen …”

  “Do you remember what happened?”

  “Help me up.”

  Vail got behind him and pushed him into a seated position, then freed his hands.

  He took a deep breath and wiped his clammy brow with a sleeve. “I was wrong. I got it so wrong I’m embarrassed to admit it. My last case, I thought I was going out with a bang. But apparently I went out with a resounding thud.”

  “So Jasmine is the Blood Lines killer?”

  “Yes.”

  Vail sat down beside him. “We both got it wrong. But how—”

  “She’s a cold-blooded, violent psychopath. There’s very little literature on predatory or hunting behavior—as it’s seen with psychopathy—in females. I know of only a few cases, and they’re not well documented. Women prefer poisonings. Far down the list is guns and then knives.” He turned to her. “Sorry. I know you know this. But—but physical attacks like this by a woman are almost unheard of. Especially female on male, if for no other reason they lack the strength to disable.”

  “That’s why she used the ether.”

  “She probably seduced them to get close, then anesthetized them just long enough to restrain them and ‘play’ with the body, then do the kill. She had as much time as she wanted to have her fun. And between the tree cover and tall fences, no one would see her loading a body into the car at night.”

  “She’d still have to be able to lift a body, even if she did it a little at a time. A dead body is … well, dead weight.”

  “Ever see one of those hydraulic patient lifts? They use them in nursing homes and dialysis centers. Small yet very efficient, kind of like jacking up a car. Minimal effort, but it can lift a hell of a lot of weight. You put a sling on the patient—or in Jasmine’s case, the victim’s body—and then hook it to the device. A few easy pumps of the lever and you can set the body in the trunk. A child could do it.”

  “Curtis saw something like that in the yard, covered with a tarp.”

  “Where there’s a will, there’s always a way.”

  “So she got the vics here, where she killed them, and then used her car to deposit the bodies at the dump sites wherever we found them. How’d she get them out of the trunk?”

  “She’s very strong.” His hands went to his neck and felt the bruise from the tourniquet. “But if she’s not worried about hurting the body, which she wouldn’t be, she’d definitely be able to pull it over the edge and let it fall to the ground.”

  Vail heard a noise outside: SWAT had arrived. She called Hurdle—who she suspected was with them, or could reach them—and told him about finding Underwood and Curtis’s pursuit of Jasmine.

  “Curtis lost her,” Hurdle said. “We’ve got a BOLO out. He got her plate, so it’s just a matter of time.”

  “If you talked with Curtis, you know about Jasmine? About why he was tailing her?”

  “I do.”

  That was all he said, but she felt there were volumes behind those two simple words.

  “We’ll talk about it later.”

  “Yeah,” he said, “I guess we will. I’ll be at your twenty in two minutes.”

  She hung up and turned back to Underwood. “Marcks was not involved in any of the murders?”

  “Not the Blood Lines kills. But he had at least two to his credit—years before his arrest. There was a gas station attendant he shot when Jasmine was twelve. Indianapolis. They were on their way back from watching the race—Marcks and Rhonda, his wife, and Jasmine. He went
to fill up while Rhonda used the restroom. Marcks got into it with the attendant about something and the guy pulled out a gun. Marcks took it off him and shot him, point-blank, right in the face.”

  “And Jasmine saw this?”

  “She said she did.”

  “And the other kill?”

  “Rhonda.”

  “So she didn’t slip on a skate in the garage,” Vail said. “I just listened to the 911 tape today. Jasmine really sold it. She was completely believable.”

  “Impressive. A psychopath at a fairly young age, who can act.”

  Vail’s mouth dropped open slightly. Shit. “She’s good.”

  “Yeah she is. And I’m not saying that to be self-serving. But she fooled us. All of us. She even altered her ritual on vics nine and ten to throw us off track, to suggest there were two killers. That’s beyond good, that’s an awareness we don’t often see.”

  “There was another murder you probably don’t know about. Marcks supposedly shot a kid during a struggle. Other teen brought the gun. But given everything we now know, I’m not sure anything we were told was true. I doubt there was a struggle at all. He probably just killed the kid.”

  Underwood frowned. “Quite the family.”

  “But Marcks really is trying to kill Jasmine,” Vail said. “That much I’m sure of. I saw the anger. I mean, Marcks is a violent man. And a killer. I agree with your assessment—he exhibits only some of the psychopathic cluster. And since there’s a genetic predisposition, it makes sense that Jasmine also has these traits—but to a greater extent.” She shook her head. “How could I not have seen it? I mean, I didn’t know her well, but I had a fair amount of contact with her over the years.”

  “Because she was grooming you, manipulating you for her benefit.”

  Vail thought about that. And felt like putting her fist through the wall. She had to take the personal affront out of the equation. She forced her thoughts back to the case. “Why would Marcks plead guilty to the Blood Lines kills?”

  “He only pled to two murders.” Underwood chuckled wryly. “And he only did that because Jasmine was going to rat him out on Rhonda and the gas station attendant. This way, if he pleads to the two Blood Lines kills, he’s famous, he’s talked about forever in serial killer lore, and it’s no difference to him. He was probably going to go down for the murder of his wife, without question. There was a witness. A compelling witness who could turn on the tears of how her father bullied her and threatened her if she didn’t lie for him. No one was going to believe the hulking thug over the beautiful blonde when those tears start flowing.”

  “And I’m guessing she planted the evidence at those two Blood Lines scenes. Her father’s hair and blood. To frame him.”

  “Right,” Underwood said as he slowly rose from the floor and sat down on the couch. “And he knew that. He knew there was no way he was going to get acquitted for those two murders. We had his DNA at the scenes. Not a chance in hell they’d believe his story.”

  Vail joined him on the sofa. “That’s why he took the deal. Plead to the two, no death penalty.”

  “He was going to do life no matter what. If he didn’t agree to the deal—the one Jasmine presented him with—she would tell the police a convincing story she’d cooked up about how her father planned Rhonda’s murder for weeks. Maybe she even planted some evidence for us to find as well in case it became necessary, in case we went looking. Bam, you’ve got premeditation. Special circumstances and the death penalty.”

  “She’s one smart, evil bitch. But why does he want to kill her? Because she was going to rat—” Vail’s ears perked up at the sound of footfalls on the steps.

  “Vail, you down here?”

  “Yeah.”

  Hurdle appeared seconds later. His eyes found Vail’s colleague. “Thomas Underwood, I take it.”

  Underwood held out a hand and they shook. “Karen here saved my life.”

  Hurdle smirked and nodded. “Good for her. Might be the only thing she got right in this case.”

  “Hey.” Vail rose—but Underwood grabbed her arm.

  “I don’t know what agency you’re with, but—”

  “Marshals Service,” Hurdle said, subtly moving his jacket aside and revealing the badge he was wearing on a chain around his neck.

  “He heads up the Capital Area Regional Fugitive Task Force.”

  Underwood absorbed that, then nodded. “Marshal, I don’t want to sound condescending, but this was a very complex murder case, perhaps the most difficult in my career, which spans four decades. It’s wholly unfair to find any blame with Karen. Or me. Or Erik Curtis. We were all duped by two people who had motivations and a set of circumstances we’ve never encountered before. I’d even say no police force in the world has come up against something as elaborate as this, featuring two very disturbed psychopaths.”

  Hurdle frowned. “I’ll debrief you tomorrow. Assuming you get it all figured out.” He faced Vail. “And assuming we catch your buddy Jasmine.”

  “I feel bad enough about this. Thanks for rubbing it in.”

  “My pleasure. Really. It is.” He turned to leave and spoke as he walked out. “Now I’ve gotta go catch two goddamn fugitives.”

  “He’ll get over it,” Underwood said as Hurdle ascended the steps. “He’s pissed. But he doesn’t have a clue what was really going on in this case. I do, I lived it. You do, because you lived the tail end of it. Just know that it is what it is. We do our best and sometimes that’s not good enough. But know that you gave it your all. You did, didn’t you?”

  “Give it my all?” Vail studied his face. “Always.”

  Underwood smiled. “I have no doubt.”

  Vail’s phone vibrated with a text from Leslie Johnson:

  townhouse owned by edna heasley age 94

  curtis told me why you were looking at this place

  ss checks still being cashed

  no children no known friends still alive

  curtis thinks edna is another jasmine victim so to speak

  I think he’s right. “Sorry, just got the 411 on who owns this house.” She typed a quick thanks to Johnson, then turned back to Underwood.

  “Jasmine’s had it for nine years,” he said. “This is the place we searched for and never found. There are supposedly trophies here. Somewhere.”

  “How do you know? How’d you know all this other stuff about Jasmine?”

  Underwood chortled—and coughed. He cleared his throat, then said, “I asked her. She told me. When I started to put it together, she laughed at me for getting it so wrong. I felt so humiliated. It’s not just you. I’m good at dishing out advice, but don’t think I didn’t beat myself up over it, too. Which was, of course, what she wanted. She wanted to feel like she was in control, which meant beating me down. Me, the expert. Plus, she figured there’s no reason not to tell me.”

  “Because she was going to kill you.”

  “And when she saw you at the door, she—”

  “She saw me? There was a camera?”

  Underwood gestured across the room where a small monitor showed a view of both the front and rear of the house.

  Vail kicked a stool that was a foot to her left. “I looked. I didn’t see anything.” Above that monitor was another screen—of the dog she had found at Jasmine’s. “That’s yours, isn’t it?”

  “Rusty, yeah. I saw when you found him. You made him—and me—very happy.”

  “I take it Jasmine wasn’t here when I was there.”

  “You missed her by two or three minutes.”

  “Sorry I had to leave Rusty behind.” She took out her phone to text Curtis to tell him to send an officer to pick up the retriever—and bring him to her house for the time being.

  “I saw what happened,” Underwood said. “You realized what was going on and you got your asses out of there i
n case Jasmine hadn’t already seen you. How’d you find her?”

  Vail explained the device Uzi had given her.

  “So you know where she is now?”

  “Maybe. It’s subject to interference, so there are times when I don’t get a real-time location.” She opened the app. It showed a static signal. Did she stop somewhere? She texted the coordinates to Curtis, who said he and Tarkoff were not far away.

  Underwood gave her a dubious look. “Either she’s found what she thinks is a good place to lie low for a while or—”

  “She found the device and ditched it. As soon as I showed up here, I was worried she’d realize I had some way of tracking her. She was careful to use burner phones to keep from being found by Marcks—as well as, apparently, by me. So there’d be no way for me to find this place unless I followed her.”

  “I’m sure she was extremely careful about that.”

  “I need time to rethink all my contacts with her, both recent stuff and in the past. What things did I tell her when my guard was down? What kind of information did I divulge about the investigation?” Vail closed her eyes. What a mess. “You were about to tell me why Marcks wants to kill her. Before Hurdle showed up.”

  “Right. Jasmine said he agreed to take the fall for the murders because he had no choice. But to have it rubbed in his face, to see her get all the glory of the abused and suffering little girl, was too much for him. That’s according to her—and there’s likely some truth to that.

  “My take is that he probably treated her well growing up. We know that some violent male offenders have good relationships with their children, especially their daughters, who have no idea what their father does. They don’t see that side of him. The fathers work hard to keep it concealed, for obvious reasons. This is just conjecture, of course. We’ll probably never really know.”

  “And in Jasmine’s case, she did know who and what her father was. But obviously it didn’t matter because of what she is.”

  “Yes,” Underwood said. “And if I’m right, and Marcks is capable of feeling a certain range of emotions, he probably felt used, betrayed. He held his tongue because he had no choice. And to some extent it was to his advantage. But to have it rubbed in his face, to have his reputation smeared, nationally smeared on talk shows, on a personal level, with lies about how horribly he treated his little girl, it just cements him in the public consciousness as a bigger monster than they already thought he was. The difference is the other stuff didn’t matter to Marcks—fine, call him a serial killer. Whatever. It brought him notoriety, which fed his narcissism. Fact was, he had killed multiple people.