“Other than mentally screwing with you, is there anything else behind this? Are you in danger?”
After a second’s hesitation, she said, “He’s in a max-security prison a hundred miles away. No. I don’t think I’m in danger. It just—it unnerved me.”
“I get it.” Vail pinched the bridge of her nose. “How ’bout I stop by, you can show me the letter. And we can talk.”
“I’d like that.”
“Give me a few minutes to get some things squared away. I’ll see you soon.”
Vail hung up and turned to face Gifford, whose face was scrunched into a squint. “I assume you figured out what we were talking about.”
“I did. You’re going over there because her father sent her a blank letter.”
Vail sighed. “It spooked her.”
“So much for being tough.”
“We all have things that get under our skin. She’s been through a lot. Hard to know what’s gonna be a trigger.”
Gifford muttered something unintelligible, then rose from his seat and turned to face his window. He rotated a thin rod and the green miniblinds opened wider, revealing the fresh snow that had fallen that morning. “You’re not her therapist, you know.”
“Don’t say it, sir.”
“Say what?”
“That I’ve been reduced to hand-holding.”
Gifford let that hang in the air a moment—he was not verbalizing it because he did not need to. “Go. I’ll tell DiCarlo I asked you to take something to headquarters for me. But this is a onetime thing. Your involvement with Jasmine Marcks is in the eleventh hour. We have pending cases that need your attention.”
“I know.”
Gifford turned to her. “Besides, we don’t want to give your unit chief any reason to gloat.”
3
Vail arrived at the Bethesda, Maryland, home of Jasmine Marcks an hour after she called. The house was a modest two-story colonial among larger and more robust residences, some a hundred years old and others recently constructed or remodeled.
Jasmine came to the door wearing the same stylish black below-the-knee dress she had selected for the morning’s television interview.
“Karen. I feel so silly to make you come down here. For a blank piece of paper, no less.”
“You didn’t force me. You didn’t even ask me. I came because I thought it was important.”
“Come in,” Jasmine said, standing aside and allowing Vail to pass.
Vail had been here a couple of times seven years ago when Jasmine’s father was about to stand trial. Jasmine testified and Vail accompanied the prosecutor when she questioned Jasmine about what she observed as a teenager.
“You’ve still not met with my father,” she said.
“I’ve asked. Every couple of years I make another request. Each time I get the same answer: ‘We’ll see.’ He’s purposely leading me along, yanking my chain. He leaves it open-ended so I have to keep coming back and asking. It’s about the only power he’s got left in a situation where he’s told when he can wake up, when he can go to sleep, when and what he can eat.”
“That sounds like something he’d do.”
Roscoe Lee Marcks was the last case that profiling legend Thomas Underwood handled before he retired from the Bureau, just prior to Vail joining the unit. Gifford gave her the file to help get her feet wet, to ease her into the flow of things—and, Vail was sure, to see if she had the stomach to handle the brutality the agents in the BAU lived and breathed regularly.
Since the profile had already been finalized and reviewed with the Fairfax County Police Department, Vail was able to study, and learn from, Underwood’s notes, analyses, and case management.
When Marcks was arrested, Vail began developing a rapport with Jasmine. After he was convicted, she and Jasmine stayed in touch periodically, mostly through email. But their contact grew less frequent.
“Coffee?” Jasmine asked as they sat down in the kitchen.
“I’d love some.”
“How’s Jonathan? How old is he now?”
“Almost nineteen. He’s a freshman at George Washington University.”
“No way. How did that happen? College? And a hell of a good one, at that. Smart boy. Like his mom.”
“I’d say he certainly didn’t get his smarts from his dad, but that’d be disingenuous. Deacon was many things, but before he started having problems, he was a bright man.” Not that it got him anywhere.
“What’s he studying?”
“Criminal justice.” Vail chuckled. “Go figure.”
“Uh-oh. Another cop in the family?”
Vail laughed again—but she clearly did not find it humorous. “Not if I can help it. Too dangerous.”
Jasmine opened the cabinet and removed a filter, then placed it in the basket of the coffee maker.
“He’s looking at law. Which would suit me just fine. A whole lot safer. And generally speaking, a whole lot more lucrative.”
“Well, you know how that goes, right? You can try to influence your kids but in the end they do what they want. And let’s not forget that whatever they choose to do in their careers, they’ve gotta be happy.”
“Can’t argue with that.” But I still don’t want him carrying a badge and gun. She glanced around. “So where’s that letter?”
“Go on, take a look. That’s it right there on the table.”
Vail picked it up. It wasn’t evidence—there was no crime—but she almost felt like she should be wearing gloves while handling it. She pulled out the paper and unfolded it. What the hell did I expect? She said it was blank. But that did not fit a man like Roscoe Lee Marcks. There was also a photo of a stuffed animal—torn from a magazine of some kind. “What’s this?”
“What’s what?” Jasmine stepped closer and brought a hand to her mouth.
“It was still inside the envelope. You didn’t see it?”
She shook her head, still staring at the image.
“Why would he send you a picture of a stuffed animal?”
Jasmine turned away and went back to the coffee. “I had one just like that growing up. I used to go to bed with it every night.”
“And your father sent this to you. With no note.”
Jasmine set a mug of steaming java in front of Vail, purposely averting her eyes from the clipping.
“Did this stuffed animal have any special meaning?”
Jasmine stopped what she was doing and stood there. “Yes.” She hesitated, then said, “I found it cut to pieces one day, in my bed.”
“You’re joking. You never told me about this.”
Jasmine pulled a bowl of sugar from the cupboard. “It upset me. A lot. I remember crying, not understanding who would do it. Or why.”
“Did you ever find out?”
“Never. My mom wasn’t very nice about it. She said she’d buy me a new one, which she did. And she thought that made it all better. I loved Sparky. The new one wasn’t Sparky. I had nightmares about seeing him all cut up for weeks. That’s why I could never have a dog. Or a cat, or an animal of any kind. I just can’t—” She shivered. “It’d just make me think of Sparky.”
“You think your dad did it?”
Jasmine snorted. “What do you think?”
“Who else knew about what happened to Sparky?”
“I didn’t tell anyone. It really freaked me out. I was afraid to talk about it. Besides, my dad told me to keep it to myself.” She chuckled. “He said people may think I’m weird. They wouldn’t understand. Hell, I didn’t understand.”
Vail set the magazine clipping aside and examined the blank piece of paper again. “You got a pencil?”
Jasmine drew her chin back. “Maybe. I mean, if you’re not a draftsman or a sketch artist, who still uses pencils?” She rummaged through her drawer and handed V
ail an old, yellow, chewed-up Eberhard Faber number two.
While Jasmine busied herself with pouring the coffee, Vail held the writing utensil at an angle, covering the white paper with soft, parallel strokes until she had shaded a good percentage of the surface a charcoal gray. “It’s not exactly blank.”
“What do you mean?” Jasmine came over and sat down next to Vail.
Oh shit. Shouldn’t have said anything. “Mind if I take this with me?” Vail said as she folded it and placed it back into the envelope.
“What’d you find? What does it say?”
“Not sure. I think there are impressions. Like when you write, it leaves latent or visible marks on the pages below it. It’s called indented writing. I’m going to take it over to the lab, have our techs take a look. Okay?”
“Yeah, of course.”
Vail swallowed a mouthful of coffee. “Are you going to be okay on this book tour? The questions may not get any easier.”
Jasmine cupped the warm mug between two hands. “I brought it on myself. Writing The Serial Killer’s Daughter was cathartic in a lot of ways. I can’t explain it, but it was something I just had to do. I had to write it. Obviously there are some unforeseen consequences.”
“Stay away from the reviews. You don’t need to subject yourself to that kind of abuse. There are some nasty people out there who think they know it all, who have nothing better to do but comment on things they have no clue about. Do yourself a favor and don’t read that garbage. It’ll just upset you.”
“Okay.”
“And I don’t care if it’s TV or radio, a local or national show, if there’s anything you don’t want to answer, if it’s too sensitive or painful, turn it back on them. Tell them they’re being cruel and you’ve been through enough. People will understand.”
Jasmine took a drink.
“Did you get time off work for the tour?”
“I took my accumulated sick time. Almost three weeks.”
“Still working for the state, right?”
“I’ve changed jobs a few times since you—well, since my father was convicted.”
“Something in computers?”
Jasmine managed a slight smile. “You remember.”
Now it was Vail’s turn to laugh. “It doesn’t happen often these days.”
“I was a computer science major my first two years of college. Then I realized I wasn’t very good at it, so I sat down with my adviser and, well, I cried in her office. She asked me some questions, gave me some forms to fill out, and told me I should become an accountant.” Her eyes glazed over as she got lost in thought. “I looked at her like she was speaking a foreign language. But she said, trust me on this. So I did. And she was right. I have a thing for numbers.”
Vail snapped her fingers. “Now I remember. Tax department?”
“My first job out of school. I’d interned for the state and showed a knack for finding things others missed. When I graduated they hired me. My supervisor liked me so much that he promoted me in, like, nine or ten months. Two years later I got a call from the state correctional system. It really wasn’t any different from what I’d done at the tax department, but they were looking for someone with my skill set. Pay was better, hours were better, and the opportunity for advancement was pretty high.”
“When was that?”
“Seven years ago. But two years after that a friend at work told me about this position at the Bureau of Prisons. Doing basically the same thing, only they paid a lot more. That was right around the time I started writing my book. Every night after dinner, 8:00 till 10:00.”
“So instead of dating, you were writing a book.”
“Instead of just about everything.” She sat down, took a drink of coffee. “Once I got started, it was like freeing my soul from a self-imposed prison.” Jasmine set her coffee down and laughed at her own comment. “I know that sounds silly. But when I shut my laptop every night, I slept better than I’ve slept since—well, since I was a teen.”
“It didn’t bother you being around a prison, being that your father was in a correctional facility?”
“Just the opposite, actually. I had a lot of pent-up anger. I really should’ve gotten help. But the book took the edge off. And going to work every day, seeing the prison, gave me a sense of comfort, knowing that my father was locked safely away just like the criminals where I worked.”
“I can understand that.”
Jasmine took another drink. “Besides, I was in the admin offices. I didn’t have any direct contact with the inmates. Minimum-security facility—completely different animal. And it’s not like my father was anywhere close. He was in North Carolina at the time, hours away, in a max facility.”
“And now he’s doing his best to reach out and touch you, making the seventy-five miles seem like a few blocks.”
Jasmine closed her eyes. Her hand shook slightly and she quickly set the mug down. “It caught me off guard. I didn’t expect to get that letter from him. And those questions this morning were … well, now I know what I’m up against.” She laughed nervously. “I’ll be fine.”
Can you please be a little more convincing? Stop it, Karen. Shit, maybe DiCarlo was right.
“You will be fine,” Vail said as she hugged her.
4
Vail drove to the FBI lab at Quantico to consult with Tim Meadows, the senior forensic scientist who had provided her with key assistance on many cases over the years.
The lab was a modern, freestanding facility down the road from the Academy constructed a dozen years ago. By the time the FBI was ready to move in, it had outgrown the building.
She found Meadows sitting on a stool peering into a microscope. Music was blasting from an iPod paired wirelessly with a speaker. She approached from behind and tickled his back with a finger. He startled and nearly fell off the seat.
She pressed “stop” and laughed. “Sorry, you had that thing turned up so loud I didn’t think you’d hear me.”
“Thank your buddies Uzi and DeSantos for that. I still haven’t regained my hearing completely after that explosion.”
“That was, what, three years ago? Hate to tell you, Tim, but it’s not coming back.”
Meadows frowned. “When did you get your medical degree, Dr. Vail?”
She raised a hand in contrition. “You’re right. I apologize again. I just figured, three years, you know? It’s done healing. What’d your doctor say?”
“He told me my hearing loss is just that: a loss. It ain’t coming back.”
Vail looked at him.
“I’m not ready to accept it. I’m taking some kind of herbal tincture my friend stirred up.” He leaned in close. “It’s got cannabis in it. Some specially grown strain to help the auditory nerve. Said it’ll help.”
“I thought you were a man of science.”
“I’m willing to try anything.” He pressed “play” on the iPod and glanced back at her. “No, I don’t mean that literally.”
Vail pressed “stop” again. “I’m not here to visit.”
“Of course not, because that’s what a friend would do.”
“Tim, I’m hurt.”
“No you’re not.”
Vail could not help but smile. “No, I’m not. But I do miss mixing it up with you.”
“Well, get to it, Karen. I was in the middle of one of my favorite songs. Not to mention one tough case. What do you got for me?”
“Something easy.” She unfurled the letter from the envelope.
“What the hell is that, some preschooler’s scribble?”
“Try again.”
He took the paper and glanced at it. “Oh, don’t tell me you were playing forensic scientist again. You’ve gotta stop watching that CSI bullshit. You know it’s bullshit, right?”
“Why, because you can’t solve every cas
e in fifty-nine minutes?”
“Don’t get me started.”
Vail gestured at the paper. “This was sent by Roscoe Lee Marcks. To his daughter.”
“And why are we handling this without gloves?”
“There’s no case.”
“You sure of that?” He lifted an eyebrow.
Vail felt perspiration beading on her forehead. “No. But I can track the letter in other ways. Through the prison. They scan incoming and outgoing mail unless it’s from, or going to, an inmate’s attorney.”
“Let’s first see if we’ve got something to be concerned about. What do you want to know?”
“It appeared to be a blank piece of paper. But now it looks like there’s something written there.”
“Hmm. You can see that through the mess you made scribbling with that crayon?”
“Pencil.”
“Whatever.” He shooed her away and hit “play” on his iPod. “Now go and leave me for an hour. I’ll do my thing and text you when I’ve got something.”
Vail was gone only twenty minutes—she had run into a friend on her way down the stairs and never made it out of the building—when Meadows’s message came through:
you shoulda worn gloves
5
Vail ran up the steps and jogged into the lab. The music was off. Meadows had a stern face.
“You were able to get something?” she asked, pushing her shoulders back to force air into her lungs.
“No thanks to you. Not only did I use ALS,” he said, referring to Alternative Light Source, “I used oblique lighting. But the pièce de résistance was ESDA.”
“ESDA?”
Meadows grinned. “Another thing up my sleeve. Electrostatic Detection Apparatus. It creates an invisible electrostatic image that becomes visible when I apply charge-sensitive toners.”
“Impressive.”
“Except now you’re gonna have to explain to your ASAC how you screwed this one up,” he said, referring to her Assistant Special Agent in Charge. “Not to mention your unit chief. You’ve got a new one, I hear. Some … goddess named Di—”
“Yeah, just my luck.” Vail drew in another deep breath and gestured to the LCD screen in front of them. “What’d you find?”
The Darkness of Evil Page 2