As they approached, Vail saw two cars, not just the white sedan.
“You’re retired.”
“Fifteen years from now, you think you’d be waiting in the car while someone else goes after the killer?”
Off to the right were two figures. “That’s Jonathan!”
“And Jasmine.”
Oh my god.
70
Jasmine advanced on Jonathan, a karambit knife fisted in her right hand, its anodized black blade all but hidden from his sight.
“I’m not gonna hurt you,” she said. “I’m trying to help you.”
Jonathan’s breathing was rapid and shallow, spewing vapor into the dark, moist air. “Who are you?”
“Your mom’s friend.”
“Bullshit. You—you drugged me or something.”
“That was Jessica, the woman who got into the car before me.”
Jonathan’s eyes were darting back and forth. She knew that look, had seen it in her prior victims. He was trying to fight through the cobwebs to reason it out.
“Come with me, I’ll take you to Robby. He asked me to pick you up. That guy who escaped, Roscoe Lee Marcks, is trying to kill you.”
“What are you talking about? Why would he—”
“To get back at your mother. She helped put him in prison.”
“I don’t—”
“Didn’t you see Marcks back there by the car? He was trying to get to you. I fought him off.” She yanked down on her collar and showed him what surely looked like red marks encircling her neck. “He almost killed me. Now, c’mon! We don’t have time to debate this. He’s gonna wake up, he’s very dangerous.”
Jasmine sensed weakness. He was buying her story and letting his guard down. She held out her left hand and wiggled her fingers. “C’mon,” she said with a reassuring smile. “Let’s go. It’s freezing.”
Jonathan took a step toward her and then stopped. “No.”
Headlights splashed across them as she lunged forward, arcing the karambit in a sweeping motion. Jonathan blocked it with his left forearm then threw a quick right jab, catching Jasmine in the chin and driving her back.
The knife dropped from her hand and Jonathan went for it—but so did Jasmine.
Jonathan snatched the karambit off the ice a second before she could get there and buried the blade in her abdomen.
Jasmine gasped and froze in place, hunched over.
She stumbled a couple of steps, then fell to her knees.
71
Vail lurched, slipped, and slid toward her son, Glock in hand. She glanced at Jasmine on the ground and ran into Jonathan, embracing him so hard he had to pry her away to breathe.
“Thank God. Thank God.”
“Is she dead?”
Vail let go of Jonathan and knelt beside Jasmine. She holstered her Glock and felt for a pulse, then rolled Jasmine onto her back.
A knife was buried deep in her stomach, only the handle protruding.
Jasmine brought a hand up and made a weak attempt to pull it out. Vail placed her palm atop the karambit and kept it in place.
Blood pulsed from the wound.
“You’re pathetic,” Jasmine whispered, struggling to keep her eyes open. “Seven years … you were … clueless …”
Vail tightened her grip on the knife’s handle. “Took me a while. But in the end we got it right.” She looked into Jasmine’s eyes. “Time to meet your maker, to pay for what you did.”
Jasmine stared at her and seconds later, her hand dropped from the knife.
Vail stood up and handed Jonathan her cell. “Call an ambulance.” She hustled over to the Camry and bent over Marcks to feel for a pulse.
But two meaty hands grabbed her wrist, tight and unyielding.
He got to his feet and swung Vail around as if she were a sack of apples and pulled her against his body. He put her in a headlock, both arms forced skyward.
She could not move. Could not reach her gun. Or the tanto.
Vail squirmed and tried swinging her left forearm back, but he had a good hold on her, so good that she had only a limited range of motion with that limb. The right was completely immobilized.
He pushed forward slightly, forcing her head farther down toward her chest.
“Trying to snap my neck?”
“If I was trying, it’d be broken already. But make one wrong move and I’ll do just that.”
“Yeah,” she said, struggling to breathe over the intense pain. “I got that.”
He removed her Glock and tossed it to the ground behind him. He felt around and located the tanto, then slid it out of its sheath and brought it around the front of her neck. Pressed it against her carotid.
“Mom!” Jonathan had Jasmine’s bloody knife in his hands, forearm taut, his body infused with anger. “Let go of her,” he said between clenched teeth. “Now.”
Marcks snorted. “You know who I am?”
“Let go of her.”
“I’ve got a better idea,” Marcks said. “Put that knife down or I’ll kill her.”
“No way do you put that knife down,” Vail said. “If he’s going to kill me, he’s going to kill me. He’s not going to spare me because you drop your weapon. He’s a killer, Jonathan.”
Jonathan eyes were wavering, looking at Marcks, the knife, back to Marcks—everywhere but his mother.
“There’s no way out of this for you,” Vail said. “You’re going back to prison for all the people you killed. William Reynolds, Nathan Anderson, Oliver—”
Marcks squeezed harder, pushing her arm forward another inch.
He’s gonna break my neck.
“I’ve had enough of you, Vail. You’re gonna do what I tell you to do. First you’re going to admit you got it wrong. In front of your son, tell him you fucked up, that you made my life a living hell, helped put me in prison for murders I didn’t commit.”
“That was my doing, asshole.” Underwood’s voice.
Vail did not know what was happening—she was forced to stare at the snow-covered ground—but she had a pretty good idea: Underwood had taken the Glock Marcks had thrown aside and was holding it against the man’s ear. Or temple. Or back.
“You got a beef?” Underwood said. “It’s with me. I’m the one who drew up that profile. Anyone’s responsible, it’s me. Now drop the knife or I’ll pull this trigger and feel damn good about it.”
“Jonathan,” Vail said, “go wait in the car.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said. “Make him drop that knife!”
“First I want an apology,” Marcks said.
“An apology?” Underwood grunted. “You know, you’re right. I’m really sorry you killed your wife and a bunch of other innocent people. Because you’re gonna get the death penalty. Now drop the fucking knife or I’ll drive a 9-millimeter round through your goddamn skull and save the taxpayers a few million dollars. You have till three. Three.”
Marcks loosened his grip on both Vail and the tanto, which fell to the ground. Vail knocked his hands away and grabbed his wrists, pulled out her handcuffs and ratcheted them down hard.
The headlights of two approaching SUVs bounced a few dozen yards away. The vehicles drove over the curb and into the park, stopping just in front of them.
Hurdle got out of the lead vehicle, followed by Curtis and Walters, Morrison and Tarkoff.
“Damn,” Hurdle said, surveying the scene. “Looks like we missed all the fun.”
“Well, well, well,” Curtis said, taking hold of Marcks’s cuffed forearm. “Look who caught the fugitive, Hurdle. The FBI.”
Hurdle holstered his sidearm. “Give me a break.”
“No, no, no,” Vail said. “It was a team effort. In fact, why don’t you guys both do the honors.”
Curtis and Hurdle led Marcks away tow
ard the SUV as another car pulled up.
Robby jumped out, leaving his door open. He said something to Curtis before seeing Vail and Jonathan—then ran over to them.
“Got here as soon as I could.” As he gathered them in an embrace, he squinted into the darkness.
“Is that Jasmine?”
“Yeah.”
Robby stepped back and looked at Vail. “How?”
Vail told Robby what happened, letting Jonathan fill in the details.
Robby held out his fist and Jonathan bumped it.
“When I saw Jasmine go at him,” Vail said, “my heart stopped.”
“C’mon, Mom. I had it under control.”
Vail lifted her brow.
Jonathan shrugged. “She lunged at me. I saw the blade at the last second and parried it, then counterattacked with a riposte.”
Vail looked at Robby. “What did he just say?”
“I think he’s talking fencing.”
“Yeah,” Jonathan said. “Fencing. When you parry, or block, an attack you’ve got a split second to launch a counterstrike—a riposte. Instead of pulling back, you attack quickly, before your opponent can recover and defend.”
“But you didn’t have a sword,” Robby said.
“Concept is tactical, whether you have a weapon or not. It’s reactions, balance, muscle memory. I reacted without thinking.”
I do that all the time without such good results. Maybe I should take up fencing.
“Strategic analysis aside,” Robby said, “I’m real proud of you.” He grabbed Jonathan’s shoulders and looked into his eyes. “You okay?”
Jonathan thought a moment. “I’m not sure. I—no, I don’t know what I think. I mean, I killed someone.” He stared off for a second, as if it had just sunk in.
“Sweetie, you killed someone who’d murdered about two dozen people. You didn’t have a choice. She was coming at you. And believe me, she was trying to kill you. This is a lot to grasp. I know, I’ve been there. We’ll have you talk to someone. It’ll help.”
“Like a shrink?”
Vail drew a hand down his left cheek. “Exactly like a shrink. And I don’t want any pushback. I’m still your mother, even if you’re technically an adult.”
He shivered. “Fine. I’ll talk with someone.”
“Tomorrow. You’ll talk with someone tomorrow.”
“C’mon, it’s friggin’ cold out here.” Robby clamped a hand around Jonathan’s shoulders and led him toward the car. “I mean it, bud. I’m very proud of you.”
Jonathan was silent for a few steps and then stopped. “I—I think I feel good about what I did. Is that wrong?”
“Wrong?” Vail asked. Well there’s a loaded question. From my son, no less. “No. You defended yourself. You did what needed to be done.”
Jonathan absorbed that for a second. “Is this what it’s like to be a cop?”
“Sometimes,” Robby said with a shrug. “Yeah. Getting the bad guy. You feel good you made things safer for people. That’s what it’s all about. Keeping order, upholding the law, saving lives.”
Jonathan gazed off into the distance as he considered that. “Maybe I should think more seriously about a career in law enforcement.”
Vail and Robby shared a concerned look.
“How about not?” Vail said.
“This isn’t something you should decide after what just happened,” Robby said. “You’ve got plenty of time to think it through. You’re a criminal justice major. That’s the right path if you want to carry a badge. That’s all you need to think about now.”
Jonathan nodded slowly. “Okay.”
But Vail could tell by the look on his face that he had just decided what he wanted to do with the rest of his life. She knew that look.
She knew it because she had seen it once before.
In the mirror.
Acknowledgments
Each novel presents unique challenges in telling the story. One constant, however, is my desire to “get it right”—or as close to accurate as is possible—and feasible, which is of course an important point: there are a million facts in each of my books, so it’s inevitable something is going to be wrong because no one can know everything about everything. Even with all the experts I consult during the course of my research, it’s impossible to fact-check every sentence, statement, or assertion. (That doesn’t stop me from trying.) There are also those rare times when I take some literary license for a variety of reasons—which, my editor reminds me, is perfectly acceptable because, after all, I do write fiction!
With that in mind, I’d like to acknowledge and offer my sincere thanks to these individuals, who greatly enhanced the reality I dream up in my head:
Mark Safarik, FBI Supervisory Special Agent and senior FBI profiler (ret.) and principal of Forensic Behavioral Services International, spent hours with me discussing maximum-security prison procedures, FBI case management, crime concealment fires, and arson basics. In addition, he assisted me with the profiling and behavioral analysis nuances, including those involving homosexual offenders, sexual mutilators, and all the other goodies that go along with those pillars of society, serial killers. Brainstorming with Mark, whose law enforcement expertise extends well beyond profiling, was invaluable. As Mark knows, no detail is too small, and his fine-tooth review of the manuscript was extremely helpful in bringing to the pages the verisimilitude I always strive to achieve.
Micheal Weinhaus, Special Agent, ICE (Immigration and Customs Enforcement), Department of Homeland Security, Homeland Security Investigations, wore several hats. Mike is a former Fairfax County police officer and served on the US Marshals Service’s Capital Area Regional Fugitive Task Force (CARFTF), so his stories, background, and fugitive hunting tips were invaluable. In addition, his intimate knowledge of the area helped me find proper locations for my action and characters, and his experience working with the Bureau of Prisons and its correctional facilities oriented me as to how an escape could occur and what would happen in its wake. Mike also schooled me on warrant procedures, helped me get the police procedure ballpark accurate, and he refreshed my memory of the Mason District station. As if that were not enough, his review of the manuscript and attention to detail helped me get it right.
David Diliberti, Deputy US Marshal and inspector on the Pacific Southwest Regional Fugitive Task Force, was a wealth of information, recounting stories of the wild cases he has handled in his long career, instructing me on US Marshal fugitive task force procedures and the art of fugitive tracking, providing Bureau of Prison and correctional facility background, and sharing insider terminology and stories of what’s it’s like in the trenches of the job. He also related the nuances that exist in the relationship between members of the Marshals Service and the FBI. Last but just as important, he reviewed the manuscript to ensure I didn’t make any egregious procedural flubs.
Carl Caulk, Assistant Director, Office of Professional Responsibility, US Marshals Service, for his many hours of counsel and instruction on procedure. I first met with Carl back in 2003 when he was a Supervisory Deputy Marshal in charge of the fugitive squad in Phoenix. He gave me my first in depth look into the tough work this crucial arm of the Department of Justice does—and does very successfully—in apprehending dangerous offenders. Carl also gave me my first look into maximum-security prisons and how escapes are often perpetrated. I’ve carried that knowledge with me since then, and it served me well in Darkness of Evil.
Mary Ellen O’Toole, FBI Supervisory Special Agent and senior FBI profiler (ret.) and Program Director for the Forensic Science Program at George Mason University’s College of Science, reviewed the manuscript and provided key input on psychopathic personalities, which helped me fine-tune both Marcks characters. And all I had to do was promise that I’d one day feature GW rival GMU in a future book—yes, that’s a joke.
The acceler
ant/anesthetic issue required specialized information from a number of experts to make sure I was not writing fiction (which is, of course, what I am doing). Rachel Jacobson, Pharm.D., pharmacist, helped with my initial search, and research, into flammable anesthetics. David Sheinbein, MD, anesthesiologist, picked up the ball and counseled me on inhaled anesthetics in general and sevoflurane in particular, and brought in diethyl ether expert and anesthetics historian R. Dennis Bastron, MD, anesthesiologist, University of Arizona College of Medicine, who gave me historical perspective on ether’s prior use in anesthesia and stories of accidental misuse (including the explosions mentioned in the novel); his discussions regarding ether and cyclopropane and the properties, usage, and effects of both were invaluable.
I then consulted with Jane Willoughby, PhD, biochemist, for her background and experiences working with ether; its chemical nature and properties; types of storage vessels; and how the killer would deploy it. She then reviewed, researched, and corrected the pertinent excerpts of the novel that deal with ether. It all ended up being a much bigger deal than I had initially thought, but because it was an important piece of the story I wanted to make sure I didn’t muck it up.
John Cooney, Special Agent, ATF (Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms), supplied arson and bombing information, and reviewed those parts of the novel to make sure I was true to life, and fact, with my fire-related references, procedures, and terminology.
Joseph Ramos, Captain, San Diego Police Department and former SWAT Lieutenant reviewed—and corrected—the SWAT chapters. Joe’s attention to detail is extraordinary and he knows exactly what I’m looking to accomplish in a scene. Christopher Schneider, assistant SWAT Team Leader, Anaheim Police Department (ret.) and Executive Director, agency relations, 5.11 Tactical, provided background on SWAT’s approach to Gaines’s trailer, including the Bearcat deployment and breaching procedure.
Mark Waldo, Crime Scene Investigator, Santa Ana Police Department, Forensic Services Section, helped me get the forensics right relative to indented writing and latent prints.
Larry Wein, Squad Detective, New York Police Department, explained the scenarios involving the commissioner’s good guy letter and Leslie Johnson’s dismissal from the police force.
The Darkness of Evil Page 37
