Chasing Evil (Circle of Evil) (19 page)

Franks was tucking his phone away. “I just called a friend of mine who’s a parole officer. Took a chance, asked if he knew Mead and he said he did. Not that surprising. The officers in the fifth district are spread pretty thin. He said they’d had a training meeting today in Ankeny and Mead wasn’t there.” The other agent lifted a shoulder. “Could be on vacation. Or out sick.”

Cam shoved away from his desk. “I want answers now. Let’s drop in on Stacy Marchand and get a look at her van for ourselves. I’d like to ask her some questions about her brother.”

Jenna and Tommy rose. “And then?” Jenna inquired as she bent to reach for her purse.

Shrugging into his suit coat, Cam said, “And then I want to track down Gilbert Humphrey and have a little chat with him.”

Terror had Sophia’s brain freezing. She measured the distance to the gate with her gaze. The man hadn’t locked it behind him. Then he shifted his bulk and her heart plummeted. She’d never make it by him. One look at the smirk on his face told her that he was waiting for her to try. That he’d actually enjoy her attempt.

The man’s chest was padded to a cartoonish degree. He bore several tattoos, some she recognized as prison tats. She’d seen similar ones adorning several criminals she’d interviewed over the years. He had two half sleeves and a large tattoo on his back, as well.

Tendrils of fear curled through her veins as she recalled that this man was every bit as sadistic as some of the most notorious men she’d profiled.

The main difference was the men she’d conducted the interviews on had been safely behind bars. They’d worn shackles and leg irons to the interviews. Here,
she
was the one kept caged. The one at this sadist’s mercy.

His hands went to his waistband. The gym shorts were tented with his erection. Sophia clawed through the fear and panic for reason. “Time is of the essence to release the new profile. But, of course, you know that.”

His hands stilled. “Plenty of time for that after some instruction. Crawl over here on all fours and suck me off. Do me real good and we’ll start easy with the fucking before the beating.” His wide smile showed a missing bottom left incisor. “High and mighty
doctor
bitch like you has probably never been fucked hard and proper. I’m gonna teach you to take it in ways you never imagined.”

The wild flutter of panic had calmed in her chest, to be replaced with grim resolve. She’d put off the inevitable as long as possible. And then…

“I’m eager to learn, but I’m also eager to make amends for the mistakes in the profile that got released.”

You have a natural empathy that people respond to.
Frein’s long ago words sounded in her mind.
It can be an insightful tool or a weapon to combat the subject’s attempts at manipulation. Use it.

“If you’ll agree to be interviewed and I work all night, I can have something ready to be delivered to the media in time for the morning news. You’ll want to act fast. We don’t want the talking heads discounting the new profile by saying I’ve fallen victim to Stockholm Syndrome.”

The man’s expression was blank. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Sophia tread carefully. She was completely blowing smoke here, but hoped the stranger wouldn’t realize it. “I’m sure you’ve seen movies or read articles about it. There’s a theory that the longer a victim is kept, the more he or she begins to sympathize with his or her captors. If the so-called experts called on by the media say I’ve been missing long enough to have fallen victim to Stockholm, the profile won’t get the attention it deserves.” Although the theory had gained acceptance in the past, it was losing favor with experts in more recent times. Sophia had never ascribed to it herself. The symptoms correlated to the syndrome could more easily be attributed to brainwashing and a natural deterioration of reasoning as a victim adapted to his or her new reality.

But she prayed this man didn’t realize that.

“Stockholm Syndrome. I think I heard that in a movie once.”

A tiny ribbon of hope unfurled as the man didn’t move toward her. “You know all this, of course. But a handwritten profile would be best. It would allow a handwriting expert to compare samples of my writing and verify the authorship.” She forced a tiny smile. “The most important thing is to correct the inaccurate profile. But the media will be talking about this for days. Everyone will know just how wrong I was about you.”

For a bulky man he moved with lightning speed. The blow snapped her head back. Her ears rang and tears of pain sprang to her eyes. “And I’m just supposed to believe you’re really that eager to get the right information on me out there, huh? You must think I’m fucking stupid!” His voice had risen on each word until he was screaming the last at her.

Eddies of agony shimmied through her right jaw. Even her teeth ached. His anger had risen so suddenly, so violently that Sophia knew her earlier guess had been accurate. If the man wasn’t on steroids, he was on some other substance that increased violence and impulsivity. Which made him even more dangerous.

“I’m not offering to do it for you!” The quaver in her tone owed little to pretense. But her words were pure fabrication. “I don’t tolerate mistakes. Not in myself. Not in others. I have to make this right. I owe that to you and to myself. And then I must be punished for my error. My mother taught me that. I expect it.”

The way he was studying her made her flesh crawl. It was tortuous to lie there under his gaze, pretending to be docile and subjugated.

Worse still to consider how long it would take for the pretense to become a reality at the hands of this man.

“I had an old man who taught me the same thing. He was tough on me, but it didn’t hurt me any. Taught me how to be a man.”

Sophia was pretty sure what his father’s treatment had taught him. A sadistic predator evolved…and often that development began in childhood. She’d have to use what she knew about men like this one, and everything she suspected about this offender in particular for the cat and mouse farce she was engaged in.

She only hoped she could maintain the farce.

“Okay. We’ll get the interview shit out of the way so you can earn your keep correcting the lies you told about me. Wait here.” He cackled, bent down to grab his shirt and pulled it on carelessly. “Guess you don’t have a choice about that, though, do you?”

Sophia watched closely as he swung open the gate and pulled it shut after him. He stepped outside her line of vision for an instant, but a moment later he was back, fitting the key in the lock securing the gate. He strode away, taking the spotlight with him. His muffled footsteps grew fainter. Then there was the creak of a door opening.

It hadn’t escaped her notice that she hadn’t heard him close the door behind him. Which said he wasn’t going far. But the relief that swamped her just from being released from his presence for a few moments was almost overpowering. She was only buying herself some time. But time was a valuable commodity in comparison with the other plans the man had for her.

Somehow she had to continue the pretense she’d begun for a few more hours. If she could stall long enough, she might be able to put him off until tomorrow night. That would give her another day to find a way out of her prison.

And in that time she’d also have to avoid inciting the offender’s temper again. Which would be a trick without knowing his triggers. She touched her throbbing jaw gingerly. She had over a decade’s experience speaking with men like him. Writing detailed analyses about who they were. What had formed them.

But this was the first time her life had depended on it.

“I just told you—I can’t show you the van because my husband has it.” The truculence in Stacy Marchand’s voice was mirrored in her expression. In her body language. Her arms were folded tightly across her chest, a strand of limp blonde hair in her face. Shaking it back, she jutted out her chin. “Why are you interested in it, anyway? It hasn’t been in an accident, if that’s what you think. We’re both of us careful drivers. We get a deal on our insurance, because neither of us has ever gotten so much as a ticket.”

“What about your brother, Gilbert Humphrey?” Cam watched her expression closely. “Is he a careful driver?”

There wasn’t so much as a flicker of emotion in the woman’s expression. “What’s my brother got to do with anything?”

“He drives it too, doesn’t he?”

She shook her head vehemently in answer to Cam’s question. “No. It’s just me and my husband. None of the kids are old enough to drive yet, so we’re the only insured drivers…” Her voice trailed away as Tommy took the blown up image taken from the traffic camera two days ago. The license plate and driver were clearly visible.

Her thin shoulders hunched. “Okay, so I let my brother drive it a couple of times. He’s got a valid license. It’s not a crime. At least…” She suddenly looked worried. “That’s not insurance fraud, is it? To let someone else use my vehicle? I’m pretty sure it’s not, but these policies can be tricky sometimes. I don’t want to get jammed up and lose my good driver discount.”

“We’re not here about the insurance.” Cam kept his voice patient. The three agents were standing on the small concrete stoop outside the neat single story brick home. Marchand was positioned on the other side of the screen door. She’d made no move to open it. He had the distinct impression that she’d like nothing better than to slam the door in their faces.

Though it had grown dark the occasional child went by on a scooter or skateboard. Since Marchand gave none of them a glance he assumed they didn’t belong to her. The dim sound of children’s voices came from somewhere in the house. Maybe her kids were all accounted for.

“Look.” Now her tone was weary. “I hold down a job. I pay my taxes. I belong to my kids’ school parent organization, for god sakes. My brother isn’t a great guy, but he’s my brother. So he borrowed my van a couple times. If he owes on a ticket, I’m sure I’ll hear about it, and then
he’ll
hear about it. He’ll make good on it. He’s got a job and he’s trying, you know?”

From what they’d learned just an hour earlier, Cam remained unconvinced of that statement. But he had no evidence to disbelieve that Marchand wasn’t the hard-working mom that she presented herself as. And he knew just how difficult it would be to have a brother with Humphrey’s background.

“Where does you husband have the van?”

“He and his buddies drove it to South Dakota to go prairie dog hunting.” She lifted her shoulders. Dropped them again. “They go every year. Just an excuse for a bunch of grown men to get away, drink beer and act like fools if you ask me, but if it keeps him happy… He’ll be back in three days.”

“And what color was the van when your husband took it?”

Her brows came together. “What do you mean, what color was it? You can see in that picture the agent has. It’s white.”

“What’s the longest time your brother’s ever had it in his possession?”

She stared at him with shrewd blue eyes. “I can’t figure out whether you’re interested in Gil, or the van. He’s had it overnight a couple times. He needed it to move into his apartment when he got out. He had things in storage to haul. And a couple days ago he used it and didn’t bring it back when he said he would. Jim, my husband, was pretty hot about that, because it meant that he had to take me to work and pick me up. But when we went and got it that next night we didn’t say much, you know? Gil isn’t a guy that it pays to pick a fight with.”

“What do you know about your brother’s friends? Where he goes when he isn’t at work?”

A door slammed in the recesses of the house, followed by a loud ‘Mom!’ Marchand tossed a look over her shoulder and shouted, “Just a minute.” Then she turned to face them again. “I only know a few people he used to be friends with before he went inside. None of them were good people. I have no idea if they’re still around. And I make a point of not knowing much of Gil’s business, but I know he works at Zip’s Auto and Salvage. I’ve met his parole officer once. Mead, his name is. And I know Gil isn’t supposed to go anywhere other than work, church, parole meetings and maybe the grocery store once in a while. That makes it easy for me to avoid having him here, because to tell you the truth, I don’t like having my brother around my kids. Especially my daughters. And that makes me feel like a pretty shitty sister. He’s paid his debt to society and all that. But I’m a mom before I’m a sister. So I feel guilty, and I help him out when I can to make up for it. That’s about all I can tell you.”

A more insistent ‘Mom!’ sounded.

“I’m coming!” Marchand called. She stepped away from the door, obviously intent on ending the conversation.

“I’d like the names of your brother’s friends that you remember,” Cam said quickly. “Then we’ll let you get back to your family.”

“Jason Dows, Mike Quinn and Pat…McCormick, I think it was. It was a long time ago. They were all losers. They might even in prison by now. I don’t know and don’t care.” With that the door closed.

The agents headed back to their vehicles. Jenna had driven with Cam, but Franks had brought a second car in case they needed to split up later. “Seemed sincere enough,” Jenna remarked. “It can’t be easy for her to have a brother like that in the same town where she’s raising her kids.”

“We don’t know how far she’d be willing to go to help him out,” Franks interjected. They proceeded to the curb where they’d parked. “Pretty convenient that the van is gone for the next few days so we can’t get a look at it.”

“We can always check the I-80 west traffic cameras to verify her story if we need to.” But in his gut Cam thought Marchand had been telling the truth about that. “I’m more interested right now in talking to Humphrey myself.”

“I’ll check out Humphrey’s former buddies while you drive to his address.” Jenna walked to Cam’s car. “Something tells me we’re not going to have any better luck at his apartment than Gomez did.”