Vail shot a look at Underwood. Maybe I need to reevaluate her. “This is Karen Vail. I need some help. Can you look something up in my files?”
“Your files? For what?”
“I don’t have time to explain. But it’s got to do with the Blood Lines case. Thomas Underwood’s in the car with me. The killer’s not who we thought it was. And she’s got my son.”
“Whoa, back up a second, Vail. What the hell are you going on about?”
“Look, I don’t mean any disrespect, but I don’t have time for this. Just pull up my files. If you can’t do that, I’ll find someone else to help—”
“We’ll deal with your insubordination later. Tell me what you need.”
I need a new unit chief.
“Exact location where the Rackonelli body was found. Carla Rackonelli.”
“Where am I looking?”
“I organized the file by victim,” Underwood said. “Everything’s cross-referenced, but fastest way to get what we need is to go to the Rackonelli tab.” He turned to Vail. “Did you change the file?”
“Just added to it. All your original reports and notes are just as you left them.”
“I’m calling it up on the server,” DiCarlo said. “Give me a few minutes to sort through everything.”
If it was your son you wouldn’t need a few minutes.
“Text me the location as soon as you’ve got it. I need to make another call.”
Underwood hit the red “end call” icon and looked to Vail for instructions.
“Call Curtis.”
He was on the line seconds later. “Good timing, Karen. We’re closing in on the tracking signal’s twenty.”
63
Curtis pulled to a stop in front of The Gibson at 23rd and L, a ten-story brick apartment building. Tarkoff got out, his Glock in hand, moving forward cautiously.
Curtis followed, consulting the iPhone’s display as he walked up to a large chain-link fence.
“Well?”
He could barely hear Vail’s voice emanating from the speaker but did not want to take his eyes off the screen until they got a fix on Jasmine.
“Used to be a Metro PD building here but it’s now a huge construction site,” he said, keeping his voice low. “Give us a minute.” They stood shoulder to shoulder, Tarkoff looking out at the street while Curtis peered through the narrow openings between the privacy slats at the steel girders that represented the structure’s skeleton. “Ben, you see anything?”
Tarkoff looked down the block, turned in a 360-degree arc, and faced Curtis. “No.”
He again checked the map on the iPhone. “She should be right there, thirty feet away. Maybe around the corner? I can’t see because of all that heavy equipment behind the fence.”
They walked about fifteen paces when Curtis stopped and elbowed Tarkoff. “That woman in the parka, crossing L.”
“She’s got a hood up, can’t see her face. But there’s no one else nearby.”
“Let’s check it out.”
Tarkoff dodged an approaching taxi and jogged across 23rd, approaching from the left as Curtis came up behind her.
“Police,” Curtis yelled. “Don’t move. Get down on the ground!”
64
Vail turned to Underwood, her eyes wide, her pulse racing. She kept driving, leaning forward in her seat, listening for any clues as to what was happening.
“Is it her?”
Tarkoff’s voice.
“No,” Curtis said. “Goddammit. Sonofabitch.” Into the handset: “Not her, Karen. She’s got the tracking device in her jacket pocket but it’s not Jasmine.”
She beat me at my own game.
“Karen, you hear me?”
“Yeah, I got it. Thomas and I are on our way to a place that may have meaning to her. Where she killed before. Rackonelli.”
“Rackonelli. That was somewhere on the outskirts of Georgetown. A park?”
“We’re trying to get an address. Soon as we have it, I’ll send it to you.”
Underwood disconnected the call—but Vail’s phone rang almost immediately. He held up the Samsung. “Someone named Oliver Aldrich.”
Vail whipped her head toward him so hard it popped. “What?”
He showed her the screen. “Oliver Aldrich.”
“Aldrich was killed by—” She stopped. “Answer it.”
A familiar voice came through the speakers. Smooth, cold, unemotional. “Hello, Karen.”
65
Marcks.”
He chuckled. “You don’t sound happy to hear from me.”
“I’ve got more important matters to deal with. And unless you can give me your daughter’s whereabouts, you’re wasting my time.”
“My daughter?” His voice got deeper. “I’m going to kill her. Then I’m going to kill you.”
“Good luck trying to find her. I’m looking for her, too.”
He snorted. “I know exactly where she is.”
Vail turned slowly to face Underwood. “You do?”
“She’s in the car right in front of me. And I completely understand why you’ve got ‘more important matters to deal with.’ Looks like she’s got your son.”
“Where are you?” She leaned closer to the speaker. “Marcks! Where are you?”
“He hung up,” Underwood said. “I’m sorry.”
Vail cursed under her breath then told him to call Hurdle.
“Got something for me?” Hurdle asked.
“Yeah,” she said, “a new number. Get Stingray on it.”
Underwood read it off to him.
“Belongs to a phone Marcks is using—but do not engage him. He’s following Jasmine. If we play this right, we’ll get them both.”
“Hope you’re right. Hurdle out.”
Makes two of us. Vail pointed at the Samsung. “Get back to DiCarlo, see if she’s got that twenty.”
Underwood made the call but kept it off Bluetooth. “No, this is Tom Underwood. Agent Vail’s driving. You have the location?” He listened a moment. “Yeah, that’s the one.” He waited, exchanged a glance with Vail, then slapped his thigh. “That’s it,” he said into the phone. “Got it.” Another beat, then, “We’re on our way, we’re pretty close.”
As he hung up, Vail said, “Text it to Curtis, Robby, and Hurdle.”
She sat up in her seat and accelerated.
“Keep it under control,” Underwood said calmly as he tried to tap out the message. His finger kept flying off the keyboard with each bump and jerk of the car. “We need to get there in one piece.”
“I’m going to kill that bitch, Thomas.”
“I understand,” he said as he hit “send.” “And I’d feel the same way. But—”
“Unless someone gets there before me.” Someone named Roscoe Lee Marcks.
“You’re not listening, Karen,” he said with the even firmness of a father imparting wisdom to his daughter. “Let justice take its course. Jasmine needs to stand trial and be properly convicted of the murders we’d wrongly pinned on Marcks.”
“With what evidence? Do you have her admission on tape? ’Cause I sure don’t. And unless I’m missing something, I don’t see much of a case. You want justice, it’s gonna have to come some other way.”
“Can’t say I like the sound of this.”
“You’ll like it even less when she walks out of the courtroom with a ‘case dismissed’ smile plastered all over her face.”
“Promise me you’ll show restraint. Let the system do its job. I have faith.”
She gave him a quick glance. “This isn’t one of your TV shows, Thomas. Not every case ends happily ever after. Did you forget what it’s like out there?”
“No. Did you?”
Touché. Vail took a breath. Shit, I’ve been spending too
much time with black operators, where there are no rules other than accomplishing the mission. But this isn’t that.
“You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m just—very upset.”
Underwood seemed to accept that because he did not reply.
“But Thomas. I’m telling you now. If she … if she hurts my son, everything goes out the window.”
“Including your career?”
Vail did not hesitate. “Including my career.”
66
The vibration of her phone made her heart skip a beat. “Who is it?”
“Lewis Hurdle.”
“On speaker.”
Underwood pressed a button and the wind noise of an SUV filled the Honda’s passenger compartment.
“Please tell me you’ve got a location on Marcks.”
“We do,” Hurdle said. “He’s on the move, so I’m gonna patch us through to the Stingray team. Hang on while I make the connection.”
Seconds later, Vail heard more voices on the line.
“I think we’ve got Deputy Henderson. Correct?”
“Ten-four,” Henderson said. “Agent Vail, I’ve got that phone number and I’m sending the location beacon directly to your handset.”
“You can do that?”
“Yes, ma’am. And here’s another thing we can do: I tapped into Marcks’s cell and I’m using it as a microphone. But doesn’t sound like there’s anyone else in the car with him because no one’s talking.”
Underwood held up Vail’s Samsung. “Got it. I see the beacon on the map.”
Vail glanced over at the screen but could not keep her eyes off the road long enough to make anything out. “Is it near the location where she killed Carla Rackonelli?” Vail asked.
“Looks like it,” Underwood said. “He’s headed right for it.”
“We’re minutes out,” Hurdle said. “Curtis and Tarkoff are meeting the rest of us en route, so sounds like you’ll get there first.”
“Understood.” Vail tightened her grip on the wheel. “Problem is, Marcks is gonna get there before me.”
67
Jasmine was concentrating on the dark streets, looking for one particular location. Every minute or so, she glanced back at Jonathan—who, she figured, would be waking up very shortly.
She had been thinking of how she needed to approach the coming hours. If Vail had discovered Underwood’s body in the basement, they would have left him there until the medical examiner arrived. And that meant her first impression—bolstered by the message she heard on Jonathan’s phone—was correct: Underwood had somehow survived. And that altered the dynamic of all that would need to come.
It was a fatal error, one of the few she had ever made. Perhaps the only one. Everything had been so well calculated, so well planned. Her execution was almost always near flawless—and even when it was not, it still worked. Her father landed in prison but she was free to continue killing.
True, she had to modify her methods, using crime concealment fires to hide her handiwork. But even that had gone well. She enjoyed the fires more than she thought when she came across the idea in Underwood’s book.
And then her father had called, letting her know he had escaped and was coming for her. He thought it would scare her. Intimidate her. But it was exactly what she had been planning all along.
While she had not yet disposed of him, she figured she had plenty of time to do so—because he would forever be looking for her. He was like that, to a fault. Fixated, unable to let go of a grudge. And this was more than a mere grudge. This was more than personal. She knew that. She constructed it that way. She would either kill him or a cop would kill him. She doubted he would allow himself to go back to prison.
Now, however, the entire equation had changed.
Time was no longer hers to manipulate. She might not be able to get to him before the cops did—because with all the publicity surrounding her father’s escape and now the revelation that she was the Blood Lines killer, she had to believe that law enforcement would spare little to track her down.
Sticking around increased the likelihood she would be captured.
She had to take what she could, what was in reach. And right now, that meant Jonathan. It would destroy Vail. She was sure of that. Like Superman’s kryptonite, killing her son would zap her of her essence, emasculate her like nothing else could. The more she thought about it, this was the better call, far better than killing Vail herself.
As Jasmine approached the wooded neighborhood, Jonathan stirred. She wanted to dose him again because he would undoubtedly attempt to fight back, and it would be easier to get rid of him without all the drama.
Jasmine now realized that this kill would not be as enjoyable as the others had been. It couldn’t be. With Vail and Curtis and the task force now likely looking for her, she would have less time with the body.
This pissed her off—but she knew the smarter thing would be to get it over with and get away. Another city, another state. Maybe Canada or Mexico. She did not know how big the net would be, but she was sure they would make it difficult.
She had a contingency plan in place with a neat little diversion—a pipe bomb along with a phony tweet and Facebook post replete with a bombastic radical Islamic claim of responsibility. If she timed her escape right, in the minutes and hours after the explosion, she might be able to make it work. A serial killer did not warrant the attention and resources a terror group did.
She pulled down the tree-lined street and slowed opposite some densely wooded parkland. Flurries were still fluttering this way and that, making the icy ground even more slick.
Jasmine found the spot she was looking for and brought the Toyota to a stop.
Jonathan moaned as she shoved the gearshift into “park.” She dug into her purse to ready the ether and reached for the door handle—
But the driver’s side window shattered, showering her face with glass.
“What the f—”
She felt two hands on her neck
Looked up and saw
Her father
She grabbed his forearms, knowing instinctively not to try to pry his fingers away from her skin.
She heard him yelling something—“I’m gonna fuckin’ kill you!”—and for the first time in her life, she believed him. Dug her nails into his muscle-taut flesh, had to be drawing blood.
But he did not yield.
She slid her arms down to his wrists. With all her body weight, she yanked suddenly and forcefully to the right.
Marcks was not expecting it and lost his balance, striking his head on the door frame. She leaned left and again pulled hard right and again slammed his face into the metal, the jagged remains of glass slicing his nose and eyes.
One more blow to the head and his grip loosened and his hands left her neck and he dropped out of sight.
Unconscious.
But for how long?
Jasmine turned around toward Jonathan—but the rear passenger door was swinging closed.
And the seat was empty.
68
Jasmine hoisted herself into the back of the Camry. With the Uber driver blocking the passenger seat and her father likely, hopefully, unconscious outside her front door, it was the fastest way out.
She stepped into the freezing night air. Fifteen yards away Jonathan was stumbling forward, slipping and sliding like a drunken sailor chasing a pretty woman down the street.
Jasmine jogged after him, using a broad-based gait to maintain her balance. She knew that ahead of him was a tall fence that enclosed a children’s play area. As he would soon see, he had nowhere to run, even if he was fully lucid—which, by now, he might be. Her prior victims were older individuals. A young man’s metabolism could be different, so she had to assume the drug had cleared, or was close to clearing, his system.
S
he caught up to him and tackled him from behind, took him facedown onto the icy ground.
But he twisted onto his back and kicked her in the nose, stunning her and driving her head back.
She literally saw black—and pinpricks of stars twinkling all around her. Her vision cleared and she got slowly to her feet, careful to keep her footing—but Jonathan was in full escape mode and he was scrabbling forward on the slick, frozen snow, moving his legs fast but not getting very far.
He suddenly stopped and straightened up. He had undoubtedly seen the obstacle in his path because he turned to face her.
Nowhere to run.
Nowhere to hide.
Jasmine pulled out an exceptionally lethal knife and smiled. Maybe this would be more enjoyable than she had thought.
69
We’re half a mile away,” Underwood said.
“Is Marcks there yet?”
“His signal just stopped moving. Maybe.”
Vail accelerated and swerved on a patch of black ice, sideswiping a car. C’mon, Karen. Stay in control.
“You need to slow down,” Underwood said, his voice steady even though his right hand was clutching the dashboard while his left maintained a white-knuckled grip on the Samsung.
“If Marcks is there—” She did not finish the sentence—because she did not want to consider the implications. Two killers with my son. No matter how she parsed it, this was not a good situation.
Vail’s brights illuminated the landscape in front of her. “This is that park. Where she killed Rackonelli.”
“Right up ahead,” Underwood said, pointing into the snowy darkness. “A block away.”
Her lights hit what looked like a man lying still in the street beside a white sedan.
“Big body,” Underwood said. “Could be Marcks.”
Vail was going too fast for a residential street in this weather. She tapped her brakes and skidded a bit. “Wait in the car, Thomas.”
“What?”
“You’re not a cop anymore, you don’t even have a gun.”
“And you don’t have any backup.”
The Darkness of Evil Page 36