The Darkness of Evil

by Jacobson, Alan

“In case we need to arrest Kubiak, we’ll need a local. State warrant’s gonna be a whole lot faster than going through an AUSA to get a federal warrant.”

  Ramos made the call and ten minutes later, Detective Terrence Linscombe was on board. “We’ll take him in on state charges of obstruction, which’ll give us time to get a federal warrant for aiding and abetting.”

  “Perfect.” Vail wiped her mouth with a napkin, then rose from her seat. “Let’s go get him.”

  “Is this the fun part of the job or what?”

  Ninety minutes later, a warrant in Linscombe’s figurative back pocket, Vail and Ramos rolled up in front of Lance Kubiak’s home, a small ranch house six miles from the correctional facility. It was well maintained—as best as could be observed with the accumulated snow—with an American flag flapping in the cold breeze above the entrance.

  “I’m pretty confident Kubiak helped Marcks escape,” Vail said, “in one way or another. But I wouldn’t consider him a violent threat. What do you think? Will he freak when he sees us here?”

  “Maybe.” Ramos pulled out his SIG Sauer P229. “Nothing a good gunfight won’t solve.”

  Vail gave him a crooked smile. “Why don’t I go in without you. Less threatening. Once I walk in, give me a couple of minutes, then knock.”

  “Fine, we’ll do it your way. Not as exciting as busting in a door.”

  “Idea is to talk to him, Rambo, draw him out. We’re not in Iraq.”

  “And thank God for that. You know I was just kidding, right? About the gunfight?”

  Sure hope so. “How long till Linscombe gets here?”

  Ramos checked his watch. “He’s about ten out. He’ll be ready to move in when I text him.”

  Vail shut her door quietly and headed up the icy concrete walk. She was about to knock when the door pulled open.

  “Agent Vail.”

  “Officer Kubiak.”

  He was dressed in a bulky navy blue sweatshirt that bore a gold embroidered Bureau of Prisons logo over his left breast.

  “Warden Barfield gave me your address. I forgot to ask you something and he didn’t want to make you drag your ass back to the prison after a long shift.” She laughed. “His words, not mine. Anyway, I’m headed home tonight, so he figured you’d rather I stop by on my way back to DC. Said he was gonna call.”

  “Oh, yeah?” He looked over his shoulder, then back at Vail. “He didn’t.”

  “Probably got tied up with something. Can I come in?”

  “Umm—” He turned again and looked behind him.

  “Great,” she said. “Thanks.” She stepped inside, the signal for Ramos to follow.

  “How about the living room?”

  “Uh … well—”

  Vail led the way toward the couch and took a seat on the chair. She detected the distinct smell of marijuana. And on the coffee table was a bottle of Budweiser—with a half-smoked joint beside it. Now I know why he wasn’t keen on letting me in. “Your wife or kids here?”

  “At my mom’s house. Should be home soon.”

  A knock at the door made Kubiak jump. “Oh, that’s Agent Ramos. Mind getting it?”

  Kubiak stood up from the couch and hesitated, looked left—into the kitchen—and Vail stepped behind him, her hand on the Glock in its harness. Just in case. He swung his gaze back to her … and lowered it to Vail’s weapon.

  “Answer it, officer.”

  “Is there a problem?”

  “You tell me.”

  He hesitated, no doubt trying to figure out what was going on, perhaps wondering if she was going to bust him on possession of a joint. “No problem.”

  “Then let’s not keep Agent Ramos waiting.”

  Kubiak headed down the hall and opened the door. Ramos entered.

  “More comfortable in the living room,” Vail said.

  Kubiak looked from Vail to Ramos. “Okay.”

  They sat down around the coffee table, Vail subtly gesturing at the joint.

  “His wife and kids are due home soon.”

  Ramos nodded.

  That was a variable that had to be accounted for. They needed to work fast. Depending on Kubiak’s involvement, they might need to have Linscombe hook him up. But the timing was key; handcuff him too soon and he might ask for a lawyer. And it would be better if he was secured when the family walked in. Even better if they could be gone before the wife and son arrived.

  They could legitimately get Kubiak for the marijuana, but it would be weak. She preferred something stronger. But at the very least, an arrest on state charges for obstruction—as well as possession—would buy them some time to dig deeper into Kubiak’s interactions with Marcks, both before and after the escape. She would give it a few minutes to unfold and if nothing better materialized they’d go with what they had.

  “So why’d you really come out here?” Kubiak asked.

  “Just some things that we need to clarify,” Vail said. “Like when you said you don’t really know who Roscoe Lee Marcks is.”

  “That’s right. He’s one of two thousand inmates and he’s not even on my block.”

  “But he was on your block. When you were kids.”

  Kubiak swallowed but did not answer.

  “We know you’re friends with him.” Vail waited but Kubiak did not react. “We know about the incident with Vincent Stuckey and Eddie Simmons when you were fourteen.”

  “So what? Nothing against the law about having friends.”

  “You don’t see the problem here?” Ramos snorted. “You’re a correctional officer at a facility that houses one of your childhood friends. And not only didn’t you disclose that, but you lied to us about it.”

  “I didn’t lie about it.”

  “Really?” Vail said. “Lance, you’re a law enforcement officer. Let’s not play games. Now’s the time to come clean. We need to know of anyone you can think of who’d have contact with Marcks after the escape. Or who might know how to get word to him.”

  “Don’t know anyone like that.”

  “You must have a shovel here,” Ramos said, “Because you’re doing a good goddamn job of digging your own grave.”

  Vail reached forward and gathered up a small, framed photo of what was likely Kubiak’s son. “We know you talked with Booker Gaines. You were trying to warn Marcks that we’re getting close. And that his daughter’s cooperating with us.”

  “So now you’re going to answer some questions for us,” Ramos said.

  Kubiak worked his jaw, staring straight ahead. “I want a lawyer.”

  “You’re not under arrest, Lance.” Yet. “Miranda doesn’t apply. But even if you were, and you went that route, we wouldn’t be able to help you.”

  “I don’t know what I should tell you. I—I don’t want to lose my job.”

  That train’s left the station, bro. “Let me make this as simple as possible for you, Lance: You should tell us anything that would help us find Marcks. You do that, I’ll see what I can do about keeping you out of the system. We’re not talking about you keeping your job. Your law enforcement career is over. But I’d hate to see you end up in a prison cell with the general pop, especially as a former CO. That’d be a death penalty without having to go through all the years of legal appeals. You know I’m speaking the truth.”

  “Yeah.” Kubiak took a long, uneven breath. “So what do you want me to do?”

  She held up the frame. “Good-looking boy. Think of him while you answer these questions.”

  His Adam’s apple rose and fell sharply.

  “So we want you to cooperate with us. Call Gaines and leave a message for your buddy Rocky that you can help him, that the feds came around asking questions and you know what they’re looking for. You want to meet him. You’ve got money and a fake passport so he can get into Canada because you told us that you’d h
eard that he planned to go south, to Mexico. So that’s where we’ll be looking.”

  “You want me to lie to my friend?”

  Vail’s jaw tightened. “Look. Instead of being with my fiancé tonight, I’m sitting in a house in West Virginia trying to track down a goddamn serial killer who’s already murdered three people since he escaped—an escape you helped facilitate. Then you had the balls to lie to us by saying you hardly know the guy when you’re friends going back forty years. And let’s not forget about Eddie Simmons and what happened to Vincent Stuckey. You lied about that, too.” Probably. “And you’re concerned about lying to a convicted killer?”

  Kubiak’s right leg began bouncing as his eyes darted left and right.

  “Nothing to think about, dipshit,” Ramos said. “Do the right thing here and maybe you save your skin.”

  “I’ll do it. I’ll make the call. But Rocky’s real smart. He’s not gonna fall for that.”

  “You might be right. We’ll see soon enough. For your sake, I hope he buys it. Which means you’d better do your best to sell it.”

  Vail called Hurdle so he could triangulate the call, then Kubiak phoned Gaines and left the message they discussed, providing a location to meet.

  “Tell me how you ended up at the same prison as Marcks,” Vail said. “That’s a stupidly convenient coincidence.”

  “I don’t know,” Kubiak said, rubbing the palm of his left hand against that of his right. “I’m telling you the truth. One day he shows up there in a transfer. We just took it to be luck. I got to see my buddy and he knew I was looking out for him. I’d slip him some cigarettes, spices, cookies, anything he could sell on his block.”

  “What about the escape?”

  “I wasn’t involved in that.”

  Vail chuckled. “You believe him, Rambo? ’Cause I sure don’t.”

  “Not for a second.”

  Kubiak’s knee began bouncing again. He thought a moment, then sighed. “I knew it was going down but I didn’t do anything to help. All I did was introduce him to a few people who might be … good targets, care bears. But that was a long time ago. If it’s connected to his escape …” He shrugged. “Can’t tell you. Ask Rocky.”

  “We will,” Ramos said.

  “What about the nurse? Sue Olifante?”

  “She was one of them people I figured would help him. She was having a tough time in her marriage and she seemed to be looking for a sympathetic ear. Depressed, needing validation. She’d gained ten pounds and didn’t feel good about herself.”

  “So you told Marcks this.”

  Kubiak nodded.

  “And he went to work, complimenting her, making her feel good, telling her what she wanted to hear. What she needed to hear.”

  “I guess so,” Kubiak said, his voice flat.

  “You know so.”

  Kubiak shrugged and dropped his gaze to the floor.

  “What else did you help him with?” Ramos asked.

  “Just giving him the lay of the land when he came over. Who to stay away from and, like I said, which COs were care bears. I may’ve given him some personal information on a couple of officers.”

  “Great colleague,” Vail said. “Really had their backs, didn’t you?”

  Kubiak looked away. “My friend needed me. I didn’t see it as doing anything wrong. I just told him about people. He did everything. And those people he approached, if he did, well, they’re adults, you know? They make their own choices and decisions.”

  Already lining up his defense. Impressive. “Is Marcks gay?”

  Kubiak seemed to recoil into himself. “Why are you asking me that?”

  “We ask the questions here,” Ramos said.

  He sighed. “It wasn’t something he talked about. But yeah.”

  “Then how did you know?”

  “I—” He slumped and let his head drop. “Do we really need to discuss this?”

  “What do you think?” Ramos said.

  Kubiak closed his eyes and, after a long moment of thought, looked at Ramos. “It was a long time ago. After his wife died. He said he had a meeting and asked me if I’d pick his daughter up and take her to a soccer tournament she was in. I said sure. So I did, except that Jasmine—that’s his daughter—had forgotten her cleats, so we ran home to get them.”

  “And you walked in on him?”

  “They were in his bedroom. But Jasmine heard the noise and went in. And she found her dad … uh, well, you know.”

  “I can guess,” Vail said, “but guessing won’t cut it. We need to know.”

  “He was fu—he was having anal sex with this guy. The other guy was on his hands and knees and Rocky was behind him.”

  “Okay. And what was Jasmine’s reaction? How old was she?”

  “Ten or eleven, I think. She was, well … I don’t know. She ran out of the house and back into my car.”

  “And then what happened?”

  “Nothing. I followed her to the car and we went back to the field. The coach got on her case a couple of times for not hustling, but nothing really stands out.”

  “Did you talk to her about it? On the car ride over?”

  “I tried to, but I mean, I didn’t know what the hell to say. I didn’t know what Rocky’d want me to say. I asked her if she had any questions. She didn’t answer me. I told her to talk with her dad about it.”

  “And? Did she?”

  “No idea.”

  “Did you ever ask him about it?”

  “Once. He said to forget what I saw and if I told anyone about it, I’d be sorry.”

  Some friend.

  “Obviously,” Vail said, “you didn’t forget about what you saw. Did you ever tell anyone about it?”

  “Rocky’s a pretty scary guy. In case you haven’t noticed.”

  “That’s a no?” Ramos asked.

  “That’s a hell no.”

  “Right.” Vail set the frame back on the coffee table. “Did you ever know him to have a heterosexual relationship?”

  “Nope. I mean, he was married, you know that. Other than that, no.”

  “How’d his wife die?” Ramos asked.

  “Accident.”

  Ramos tilted his head. “Car accident?”

  Vail knew the details surrounding Rhonda Marcks’s death but would let Kubiak answer—sometimes you learned a morsel of long-withheld information that was not reported to the police.

  “She slipped on a skate in the garage and fell backwards, hit her head on the concrete. Smashed it in pretty good.”

  “Well, that sucks.” Ramos glanced at Vail.

  Vail knew what he was thinking: he was not convinced that’s what really happened to Rhonda Marcks.

  “Any witnesses?”

  “No,” Vail said. “Patrol officer checked the scene, didn’t think it looked like anything but an accident so he didn’t call detectives. He wrote a standard one-page report. Body went to the ME for an autopsy because it was an unwitnessed death—and the ME categorized the method of death as an accident.”

  Ramos swung back to Kubiak. “Did Marcks have any other homosexual encounters after that one you … described?”

  “No. I—I don’t know.”

  “Your old school buddy Vincent Stuckey said that there were a couple of bars that Marcks used to go to.”

  “Yeah. Rock ’em Hard was one of them.”

  “That’s a gay bar,” Ramos said.

  Vail gave Ramos a quick glance. “And the other?”

  “Yellow Lantern. We’d just go hang out, drink after work. Watch the Redskins on Sundays.”

  “You know Marcks is out to kill Jasmine,” Vail said.

  Kubiak turned away. “I told him to think long and hard about what he’s doing.”

  “What did he say?”

 
“Nothing. He doesn’t really talk about her much.”

  “Do you know why he wants to kill her?”

  “Pretty damn obvious. What she wrote in her book really pissed him off. But we didn’t talk much while he was at Potter. We couldn’t.”

  “You ever ask him about the murders?”

  “You crazy?” Kubiak chuckled. “I didn’t dare. But like I said, he wasn’t on my block. I mostly just passed him short notes, sometimes taped to an envelope with shit in it—spices, cigarettes, that kind of stuff—things I could toss into his cell as I passed.”

  Not sure how much I believe that, either.

  “What about Booker Gaines?”

  “What about him?”

  Vail lowered her chin, her face drooping in disappointment. “Lance, you know what we’re after. We’re looking for Gaines because we’ve got questions, same ones we’ve asked you. He may know where we can find Rocky.”

  “Don’t know where he is. Was living in Richmond but I dropped by his apartment once and he’d moved.”

  “Anything you can tell us?”

  Kubiak examined the ceiling. “Not really. That’s all I know. Haven’t heard from him in, I don’t know, maybe a year.”

  “What about Scott MacFarlane?”

  “Mac, man, I haven’t talked to him in a long time. He and I grew apart.”

  “Why’s that?”

  Kubiak tapped his right foot on the floor. “He accused me of being the enemy. Couldn’t believe I’d go into law enforcement.”

  “The dark side, eh?”

  Kubiak looked hard at her. “Not funny. Wouldn’t talk to me after I got my badge. Wouldn’t even look at me.”

  She turned to Ramos to see if he had any other questions. He shook his head. “Okay, Lance. Thanks for your help. I’ll let the prosecutor know you were cooperative. And I won’t even tell her I had to threaten you.

  “Prosecutor? Couldn’t we just let it go?”

  “Like a speeding ticket?” Ramos asked. “Wink, wink to the officer, ask for a warning.”

  Kubiak shrugged. “Something like that.”

  “Yeah,” Vail said. “But no. That never works, anyway, does it?”

  “Only if you’re a knockout blonde with a nice rack,” Ramos said.

  Vail looked at him.