The Darkness of Evil

by Jacobson, Alan

  Marcks glanced across the barn at the entrance, which was located to the right of an extensive tool rack. A man, silhouetted against the gray light, stood in the doorway.

  “Hey! Who’re you?”

  Marcks stood up. “I needed a place to sleep. It was snowing, I was cold.”

  The man squinted, clearly trying to make sense of what was happening: Did he have a squatter? Was this going to be a problem? Or could he merely ask his house guest to leave?

  “What’s your name?” Marcks asked.

  “William. What’s yours?”

  “Bart.”

  William appeared to be a bit over seventy. In decent shape but probably no more than a hundred and fifty pounds. Not much of a challenge for a violent criminal with multiple murders under his belt and seven years of hard time in a max-security prison to his name.

  “You have to go,” William said.

  “I’m leaving, no worries.” But Marcks knew that he could not trust William to keep quiet about his presence, especially when there had to be police reports detailing the brazen, bloody escape of a convict from Potter yesterday. Not just a convict, a convicted murderer.

  William tilted his head, and in doing so his eyes caught the light. Marcks saw something there, perhaps recognition. Perhaps not. But he could not take the chance.

  As William stood there pondering the situation, Marcks knew what had to happen. And if William could put two and two together, he would know it, too. But William looked like a simple man and he probably believed that if he talked tough, he would dodge a bullet and his unwelcome guest would be on his way.

  Marcks held his hands up in surrender and walked toward the exit—which happened to be past William.

  Before William realized what was happening, he was immobilized in a headlock, Marcks’s left arm cutting off the blood supply to his brain and Marcks’s right hand clamping over the man’s mouth, preventing an errant noise or desperate scream.

  William slumped into Marcks’s hold, unconscious. Marcks set him on the ground and perused the workbench, ultimately finding his tool of choice: a wicked-looking keyhole saw. Long and narrow, with alternating teeth that were sharp as a knife, it was as imposing as it was lethal.

  Marcks jabbed it into William’s chest between the fourth and fifth ribs slightly left of center.

  “No witnesses, Willie,” Marcks said. “Just the way it’s gotta be.”

  He then yanked out the saw and brought the man to his feet, bent his knees and folded William over his shoulder. With a quick contraction of his thighs, he lifted William and took him for a ride.

  No one was going to find William’s body parts for an awfully long time.

  19

  Vail walked into the command center at 1:00 PM and found Hurdle hunched over his keyboard, examining spreadsheet data. Tarkoff was seated across from him studying other documents.

  “Long breakfast,” Hurdle said without diverting his eyes.

  “We had a good talk. She’s worried about not being able to finish her book tour.”

  “I expect to get Marcks sooner rather than later. But either way, her sales and promotion are not my problem.”

  Vail sat down opposite him. “Of course. I think she understood that my sole concern was keeping her safe and apprehending her father.”

  “What about the bank account?” Hurdle asked.

  “She’s kept it open. And when I hit her with the question of whether or not her father’s gay, she seemed … I don’t know. Like there was something there. Guess I could’ve been reading into it.”

  The door swung out and Curtis stepped into the RV. “Just got a call from Warden Barfield at Potter. Wants to know if we’re making any progress on the escape.”

  Tarkoff swiveled in his direction. “And you told him?”

  “That we’ve got guys working on it.”

  “He accepted that?”

  “He wanted details but I didn’t wanna give him anything,” Curtis said. “Until we know who’s working with Marcks, we can’t trust anyone there. Not saying the warden’s a suspect, but he’s a suspect. Know what I mean?”

  Hurdle shrugged. “Can’t think of a case where a warden helped an inmate escape—not counting incompetence. But there’s always a first. You two gonna follow up on his three friends the daughter gave us?”

  “Next on our list,” Curtis said.

  Good to know.

  “For now, that’s your priority.”

  “Well, that and investigating the Hartwell murder,” Vail said as she got up from her seat. “You want us to check back here later?”

  “I’ll let you know. If not, see both of you tomorrow morning.”

  Vail and Curtis left the trailer, Vail offering to drive.

  “Where are we on the three of them?”

  “Johnson did some of the grunt work, looked into their whereabouts, and put together some solid dossiers. She did a nice job.”

  “I would’ve told you if she was going to be a problem. Leslie’s a good cop. She’ll have your back.” Vail turned right onto Lincolnia Road. “Where to?”

  “Hood bridge.”

  “What bridge?”

  Curtis laughed. “Woodbridge, in Prince William County. What we call it, you know?”

  “Because it’s got some high crime areas?”

  “Hey, I didn’t coin the phrase. Fair or not, I wasn’t surprised this joker lives there.”

  “Which one?”

  “We’ve only got a twenty on Vincent Stuckey. Johnson’s still working on Scott MacFarlane and Booker Gaines—the one Jasmine said was following her in the store.”

  “You got a phone number for Stuckey?”

  Curtis squinted, then pulled out his cell and thumbed through his emails. “Yeah. You thinking of calling him?”

  “Just want to make sure he’s there. Don’t want to make a wasted trip.”

  He read off the number and she dialed her Samsung. It rang three times before a male voice picked up the line.

  “This is UPS and we’ve got a package for Vincent Stuckey. Is Mr. Stuckey available?”

  “Yeah, that’s me. But why are you calling? Don’t you guys just show up?”

  “This is our third attempt,” Vail said, “and it’s marked for signature. Our driver can’t leave it at the door. You going to be around awhile so I can get you your package?”

  “Be home for another hour, then I gotta take off. Who’s it from?”

  “Sorry, sir. I only have the tracking information. Would you like the number?”

  “No. Jus’ get here in the next hour.”

  Vail hung up, a grin thinning her lips. “He’s there.”

  THEY ARRIVED AT DALE CITY APARTMENTS, a series of attached four-story red brick buildings with thick-trunked oak trees that lined the periphery.

  Curtis had briefed her on the drive over, filling her in on the backgrounder that Johnson had assembled. Vail parked at the curb and leaned forward, her eyes surveying the complex.

  “You’re thinking he’ll run if he sees us coming.”

  Vail sat back and faced Curtis. “If he’s involved with Marcks’s escape, yeah. There’s a risk.”

  “You got a UPS box in the trunk?”

  “Funny.” Vail popped open her door. “Let’s split up, take a quick look around, see how many ways in and out there are. A place this size, gotta be a few.”

  Vail made her way around the building exterior, then headed inside and found a map of the property. There were several exits, but based on Stuckey’s apartment number, they would be able to approach his place with exposure to only one.

  She called Curtis and told him what she had learned, and a couple of minutes later he met her on the fourth floor, down the hall from Stuckey’s door. “Only way out is off the terrace. Right into the pool. He
jumps, I’m not sure we’ll have enough time to get down there and fish him out.”

  “Not a problem. We can handle it.”

  “With the task force,” Vail said, “manpower isn’t an issue. We can have a couple of guys here in twenty minutes.”

  Curtis checked his watch. “He’s here now. I’m not interested in waiting. He goes off the balcony, I’ll go after him. You can run around the building.”

  With the temperature hovering around thirty-five degrees, Vail could not find fault with that division of tasks. “Works for me.”

  They walked up to the door and Curtis drew back his coat, placing a hand on his SIG Sauer; he used Vail to shield Stuckey’s view.

  She knocked and focused her attention on listening for unusual noises emanating from the apartment. Seconds later she heard the footsteps of someone approaching. There was no peephole lens.

  “Who is it? UPS?”

  “Karen from next door. I think I found something of yours in the hall.”

  “What kind of ‘something’?”

  “A wallet with, like, two hundred dollars in it. It was right outside your apartment. Gotta be yours. I was thinking maybe you can spot me a twenty for turning it in.”

  The knob rattled and the door pulled open. Stuckey made eye contact with Vail and then bent left to get a view of Curtis—but Vail shifted right, catching Stuckey’s gaze. “I didn’t really find a wallet, Vincent. I’m FBI. Can we talk?”

  He looked past her, taking in the hallway.

  He’s thinking about running.

  “We’ve got seven agents outside in case you plan to jump off your balcony. And it’s really friggin’ cold outside, so that pool water’s gonna go right down to your bones. So—how about we just sit and chat for a few minutes. And then we’ll be out of your hair. Promise.”

  Stuckey chewed his lip a second. “There ain’t no wallet?”

  Vail blinked. He’s not smiling. That wasn’t a joke. “No wallet. Sorry.”

  “What’s this about then?”

  “Roscoe Lee Marcks.”

  “What about him?”

  “How about we go inside?” Curtis asked.

  “Yeah, all right.” Stuckey turned and led them to a tattered couch, its cushions flattened and potholed with wear, its threadbare olive green material pocked with stains.

  Okay, gross. Do I really want to sit down on that?

  Stuckey sank into a nearby chair. Vail took the armrest of the sofa—as safe as she could get. Curtis floated in the background, casually glancing at items in the apartment—which was decorated much like the couch: thrift store reject.

  “We know you’re friends with Roscoe,” Vail said.

  “Since we were kids. What about it?”

  “He contact you in the past couple of days?”

  Stuckey looked away. “No.”

  “That was a trick question, Vincent.” Vail waited for him to bring his eyes back to hers. “We know he called you.” Okay, that’s a lie. But it usually works.

  “So?”

  “So we want to know what he said. Where’s he staying?”

  “Didn’t tell me. I told him he could crash here, but he didn’t think that’d be a good idea.”

  No shit. Marcks is a smart cookie. Stuckey apparently didn’t get any of the chocolate chips when they were mixing the batter.

  “And? Where’s he staying? Where’s he been?”

  Stuckey looked away again, his eyes examining the puke-green shag carpet.

  “Vincent. Look at me.” Vail tilted her head and gave him a one-sided grin when he brought his gaze back to hers. “It’s against the law to impede our investigation. See, your buddy’s been killing people again. And if you know where he is and you’re not telling us, you could be an accessory to those murders. Do you understand what that means?”

  “I think so.”

  “It would not be good.” She paused, realized she had better elaborate. “You could go to prison. For a long time. A guy like Roscoe can survive in a place like that. But you …” She shrugged. “Be better if you just cooperate so you don’t have to worry about that.”

  Stuckey thought a moment, his gaze wandering across Vail’s face. “He wouldn’t tell me where he is. He’s moving around, that’s all I know. Not staying in one place. Wanted me to bring him money.”

  “And? Did you?”

  “Ain’t got any to give. As it is I’m behind two months in my rent. I have a hard time keeping jobs.”

  “What about places he liked to go? Before he was arrested.”

  “Anyplace they served beer.” Stuckey laughed, showing tobacco-yellow teeth.

  “You’re not being very helpful, Vincent. I need specifics.”

  The smile disappeared. “Coupla bars he liked in town. Don’t remember which ones.”

  Vail nodded. “What about when you were kids? Did you like to go places, places you used to play, where you’d go to get away from things? From your parents?”

  Stuckey started biting his bottom lip. He got up from the chair and turned, came face-to-face with Curtis.

  “What’s wrong?” Vail asked. “Something bothering you about a place you used to go when you were kids? Teens? Somewhere you weren’t supposed to go?”

  “No,” Stuckey stammered. “Nothing like that.” He started rubbing his left forearm.

  We’re onto something here. She glanced at Curtis and he appeared to be thinking the same thing.

  “Tell me about what happened when you were younger. I want to know all the details.”

  “I—I’m not s’posed to talk about it.”

  Vail pushed off the sofa and put her left hand on Stuckey’s shoulder. “C’mon, sit back down. I promise we won’t say anything to anyone about what happened. You have my word.”

  Something’s not right with this guy. He’s not just lower IQ. There’s something else.

  Stuckey sank back into his chair. Vail knelt in front of him. “Something happened with you and Roscoe?”

  “And Scott and Booker. And Lance.”

  Vail and Curtis shared a look. “Scott MacFarlane and Booker Gaines, right?” She got a nod from Stuckey so she pressed on. “Who’s Lance?”

  “Lance is the one who started it but Rocky’s the one who took the blame. Well, Rocky did kill the kid.”

  “Back up a minute,” Curtis said. “Who’s Rocky?”

  “Roscoe. That was our name for him. Because he was so strong. You know, like a rock?”

  “And Lance’s last name?” Vail asked.

  “Can’t remember. We used to hang out all the time, but I never saw him again after that. Something with a K, kinda like that old film, Kodak. But not Kodak.”

  “You said there was a kid involved? That Rocky killed?”

  “That’s the part I’m not s’posed to talk about.”

  “I understand,” Vail said. “And we won’t tell anyone. Your secret’s safe with us, okay?”

  Stuckey looked down. “I guess.” He took a breath, then looked up and his eyes found the clock on the wall. “I gotta go. I have an appointment.”

  “We’ll be done here very soon,” Vail said. “Tell us about this kid Rocky killed and we’ll be on our way.”

  He licked his lips and canted his head toward his hands. “Name was Eddie. He was just a kid who hung out at the playground. Talked shit, smoked reefer. I don’t think he went to our school.”

  “How old were you?” Curtis asked.

  “Fourteen.”

  “And what happened?”

  “We’d been smoking. Rocky got us some angel dust and we was real wasted. Eddie came by and …” He shook his head, as if he had some water trapped in his ear. He slapped his forehead a few times. “And he had a gun. And Rocky took it from him and shot him. And me.”

  Vail recoiled. �
�Why?”

  Stuckey looked up at her. “I don’t fuckin’ know, we was high. Rocky had a temper, even back then. Maybe Eddie was talkin’ shit again, but whatever. It happened real fast. After the gunshots, I didn’t hear or see nothin’.”

  “Where’d you get shot?” Curtis asked.

  Stuckey pulled back a lock of hair and revealed a dime-shaped scar overlying his temple.

  That might explain Stuckey. But … “And Eddie. He died?”

  Stuckey nodded, his gaze again somewhere on the floor.

  Vail ran a hand across her mouth. “What about the police?”

  “Well, Scott told me him and Booker and Rocky left. The cops came and found me there, took me to the hospital. Next thing I know, when I woke up after they did surgery and I got out of the hospital, they found Rocky and arrested him.”

  How come I don’t know about this? It’s not in his file. Unless—

  “But Rocky didn’t do time,” Curtis said. “In prison. Did he?”

  “Booker was the only witness who remembered what happened. And he said it was Eddie’s fault, Eddie came at him and pulled the gun on us and Rocky was trying to get it from him and it went off.”

  “Is that what happened?”

  “That’s what Booker said. That’s all that mattered.”

  “But didn’t you just say—”

  “I don’t remember!” He slapped a hand against the chair arm. “The bullet. It made a hole in my brain.” His face was red and he had started to perspire.

  “Okay, Vincent. It’s all right, I understand.” Vail stood up and pulled out a card from her pocket. “If Rosc—if Rocky calls you, I want you to let me know right away. I really don’t want to have to arrest you and put you in jail. And don’t mention we came to visit you because you’ll never hear from him again. Can you do that?”

  “But that’d be like telling on him. And Rocky’s my friend.”

  “Look. Vincent.” Vail gathered her thoughts. “Rocky did some bad things. He killed a lot of innocent people, men and women who were just living their lives. And he’s doing it again. I know he’s your friend, but he’s a dangerous guy. It’s our job to keep him from hurting more people. You can help us do that. That’d be best for everybody.”