Karen Vail 01 - Velocity (12 page)

“No, no, not the drink. COFEE’s an acronym for a forensic tool Microsoft developed for cops, so they can copy evidence off a computer before it’s turned off and moved to the lab. Once a computer’s shut down, this kind of data vanishes.”

“You have any idea how to use it?”

“It’s just a thumb drive. You plug it in and a few minutes later, it’s captured al the data. Aaron’s on his way over; he can do it and send it to the FBI’s cyber crime unit.” She gestured at the PC. “Who knows what’s on here? What websites he’s visited, who he’s been communicating with. From what I remember reading, some of that stuff is stored in temporary files. We don’t want to lose it.”

“Fine. I’l make sure he has this COFEE thing with him.” Dixon pul ed her phone, walked outside, and cal ed Matt Aaron while Vail continued to poke around John Mayfield’s files.

Dixon returned a minute later. “He’l be here in a few minutes. But he doesn’t have that COFEE device. He knows about it, but he never got one.”

“You’re shitting me. They’re free.”

“He said to leave the PC on. He’s gonna make a cal and see if he can have one overnighted.” Dixon pointed at the screen. “Check his email. He use Outlook or web-based email?”

Vail looked down at the taskbar and saw the Outlook shortcut. Clicked and watched as the logo splashed across the screen while the software loaded. It immediately began downloading Mayfield’s mail. While it negotiated with the incoming server, Vail went to the Sent items folder, where she found a couple of the messages he had sent them. Seeing them again, and sitting at the keyboard he used to send them, sent a shudder through her shoulders.

“You okay?” Dixon asked.

“Now
there’s
a loaded question if there ever was one.” Vail chuckled. “Believe me, you don’t want an honest answer.” She clicked on the Start button, then typed

“Napa Crush Kil er” in the search field. It was the title of the first PowerPoint slide in the gruesome document Mayfield had sent the task force. A few seconds later, a series of results appeared. The one she was interested in—the PowerPoint document—was at the top of the list. Having received what was, in her mind, the ultimate confirmation, Vail rose from her chair and said, “I’ve seen enough. The techs can do the rest.”

They walked through the house, pausing long enough in each room for Vail to take it al in, the contents, their layout, and orientation. Last stop: the two-car garage. The first thing Vail noted when she pul ed open the door was a potpourri of grease, oil, and gasoline odors hanging on the stale air.

Dominating the occupied bay was an older, highly polished Audi. She knelt down to examine the immaculately swept gray floor, which featured painted lines indicating where the car was to be parked. And the wheels were lined up exactly where they were supposed to be. “Interesting.”

Vail rose from her crouch. Against the far wal , across the empty parking slot, stood a six-foot-tal red Craftsman tool chest, the compartments al neatly closed.

She walked over beside Dixon, who was pul ing open each of the drawers. An assortment of tools and hardware stared back at them. Nothing suspicious or helpful.

In the empty car bay, atop a generous workout pad, was a barbel set and bench, cradled in V-brackets. A Platypus water bottle lay on the floor beside the weight stack. Vail stood there staring at the awkwardly shaped plastic container. “I’ve seen that recently.”

“The water bottle?”

Vail nodded. “Yeah.”

“Okay. So what?”

Vail hiked a shoulder. “So nothing.” She gave a final swing around the garage.

Car doors slammed on the other side of the rol -up door. Vail pressed the wal -

mounted opener and the sectional crept upward with silent precision. Standing there was CSI Matt Aaron, booties on his feet and tool kit in hand, with Brix and Owens bringing up the rear.

“Glad to see you two were total y fine with contaminating my crime scene.”

“We’ve stil got someone out there who could be in distress,” Dixon said.

“Waiting around didn’t seem to be in his best interests. Not with another kil er out there, who could be related to Mayfield in some way.”

“We’l have that COFEE device tomorrow morning,” Aaron said. “We can post an officer outside the house to make sure no one touches the PC before it gets here.”

He set down his kit against the wal . “Find anything that’l help you locate your missing guy?”

“No,” Vail said. “Doesn’t look like it.”

“Shame.”

“You know what,” Vail said, advancing on him, before Dixon grabbed her arm with an iron grip.

“Let it go,” Dixon said. “We’ve got more important things to deal with.”

Vail shook off Dixon’s hand, then spun and headed past Brix, out of the garage.

No, we didn’t find anything that’ll help us find our missing guy.
She craned her neck skyward. A passing cumulus cloud stared at her as it blew by.
I leave in a
matter of hours and we’re no closer to finding Robby than we were before.

Vail leaned her back against the Ford’s door and faced the house.

That’s when she saw it.

A leather jacket. She pushed off the car and walked forward, eyes focused on the coat. It hung on a hook on the wal behind the Audi, innocently draped across a wood hanger. She stopped in front of it and stared at it. A shiver ran the length of her spine.

“Roxx,” she cal ed out, unevenly. “I may’ve just found Robby’s jacket.”

18

D
ixon and Matt Aaron joined Vail a moment later.

“This?” Aaron asked, nodding at the lone coat hanging from the hook.

“No,” Vail said, “the
other
jacket.”

Aaron set his jaw and gave Vail an icy stare. The two had established a relationship as smooth as grit-studded sandpaper, and it was apparently destined to remain that way.

Aaron broke the standoff by retrieving his fingerprint kit, then applying dust.

“Ful workup,” Dixon said. “DNA, too. We’ve got a sample of Detective Hernandez’s DNA en route.” She waited a second for Aaron to reply, got nothing, and continued. “Give me a buzz as soon as you know something. Most important thing is, does this jacket belong to him, or not?”

Aaron dropped his hands to his sides and turned to Dixon. “I’m plugged into what’s going on, Ms. Dixon.” He moved his fingerprint brush back to the jacket.

“You can go. I’l let you know what I find.”

“You got a TOD on the Hal of Justice vic?”

Without looking at Dixon, he said, “Prelim estimate is approximately 1:00 PM.

Give or take an hour.”

Dixon turned away from Aaron. “If she was dropped there, that means she was kil ed before he arrived at the Hal of Justice complex, right?”

Vail folded her arms across her chest. “Right.”

“So let’s say she was there for what, ten minutes before someone saw her and reported it? Fifteen?”

“Okay, sure.”

“That means if we’re thinking she was kil ed between noon and 1:00, and we discovered her at 1:20, she was probably kil ed about thirty minutes from downtown Napa.”

Vail nodded slowly. “You’re establishing the radius of the UNSUB’s kil zone.”

Dixon shrugged. “Makes sense. We could map it out and see if we can focus our efforts. But give or take thirty minutes in any direction is a lot of real estate.”

“Not as much as not having the radius.”

“True,” Dixon said.

Brix burst through the door leading into the garage from the house, holding up his cel phone. “Roxx—TTB came through. We got a twenty on Herndon Vineyards.”

19

T
he needle on Dixon’s speedometer zipped past 65—in a 50 zone. After Vail had stuck the light cube atop the car, they were silent, intent on what they might find—

and what they would ask if, and when, they found James Cannon.

Leaving Owens at Mayfield’s house, Brix was fol owing behind them in his own vehicle. As they zigged around slower-moving tourists, Dixon took a cal from Gordon and Mann. NSIB had secured Cannon’s current home address—and four investigators were en route to meet Gordon and Mann as backup.

Before they hit the frenzy of their pending arrival at Herndon, Vail’s thoughts turned to what they had found at Mayfield’s place. “The jacket. Robby bought it a few days ago.”

Dixon slowed behind a limousine. “You sure it’s his?”

Vail worked it through her mind. Closed her eyes and tried to remember him walking into Bistro Jeanty, the restaurant where they’d eaten only a couple nights ago. “Yes.” She shook her head. “No.” She sighed. “He bought a jacket just like it when he went to the outlets to buy us new clothing after the fire. I only real y saw it once. And Robby and Mayfield could be about the same size.” She bent her head forward and massaged her temples. “I don’t know.”

“Hopeful y Aaron wil be—”

Vail snapped her fingers and sat up straight. “Wait a minute. That funky water bottle. The one in the garage. The Platypus. I’d seen it recently but couldn’t remember where.” She turned to Dixon. “At the gym. Fit1. Cannon had it when we were there working out. What’s it doing in Mayfield’s garage?”

Dixon zipped around the limousine and moved back into her lane. “They’re big and hold a lot of water. Mayfield and Cannon were friends, they worked out together, maybe they both had one.”

“But Mayfield
didn’t
have one. At least not both times we saw him at the gym.

What if the one at Mayfield’s house is Cannon’s, and they’re more than just workout partners. They’re kil ing partners. Or mentor/mentee.”

“Whoa. No offense, Karen, but you’re grasping—”

“At straws. Yeah. I’m scooping up the whole pile. I’m desperate.”

“I think we’re close to getting some answers. We’l be there in a few minutes.”

Vail started bouncing her knee. “A few minutes” wasn’t soon enough.

20

H
erndon Vineyards was located in the hil s above St. Helena, in the Spring Mountain district. Tucked away off a winding, ascending road that rose two thousand feet above the val ey floor, the area was known for its rich volcanic soils that made it particularly favorable for producing exceptional Cabernet Sauvignon.

Dixon stopped the car a dozen feet before a metal security gate fitted with an electronic keypad-speaker device. Brix pul ed in behind them. He raised them on the radio.

“I don’t think a straightforward approach would be a good idea,” Brix said.

“Agreed,” Dixon said. “Let’s go in as inspectors with TTB, to do a routine check of the facility. You should take the lead. If Cannon’s in there, he’s seen us; he knows who we are.”

“Copy that. Pul back.”

Dixon moved her car aside and parked; then she and Vail got into Brix’s Crown Victoria. Brix maneuvered beside the intercom and pressed the button, then explained the purpose of the visit. There was some hesitation, fol owed by a “Let me check” comment.

“And we’l need to speak briefly with your wine maker. Is he in?”

Another pause. Then, “Yes. He’s here today.” The metal gate swung inward.

“You want me to go in, scout the place, feel out the owners?” Brix asked as he drove down the eucalyptus tree-lined, hard-packed gravel road that curved gently up a steady incline. Young, wel -tended grapevines rose and fel on the rol ing land.

“No,” Vail said without hesitation. “We go in strong. Roxx and I know what the guy looks like. I say one of us hangs back. That should be you, Roxx, since you’re the most mobile of the two of us. Brix, you should fast-badge them and ask a lot of wine-related questions TTB inspectors might ask, to keep them off balance. I’l stay right outside until I can be sure Cannon’s not there—or until you’ve engaged him.”

Vail swung her head in al directions to take in the landscape. Atop the mountainous countryside, redwoods in the distance framed the symmetrical y planted vines that undulated with the terrain.
It’s gorgeous around here.
She turned back. “Looks like there’s only one road in or out. If he goes on foot, it’d have to be through the vineyards. Easy to see a huge guy running through smal grapevines.

Good?”

Dixon seemed to be mul ing Vail’s comment.

Brix slowed the car to 5 miles per hour as he approached the building. “How sure are you that Cannon’s affiliated with Mayfield? As a kil ing partner or a mentee or anything like that?”

“We’re not,” Dixon said. “I’d cal it an educated hunch.”

“An ‘educated hunch,’” Brix repeated. “That’s a new one on me.”

Vail crept forward in her seat to get a look at the building as Brix swung left into a parking spot. “I’m pretty damn sure Cannon is wrapped up in this.”

Brix slipped the gear shift lever into park, then shook his head. “That’s great. I’m glad we’re in ful agreement here.”

He slipped the keys above the driver’s visor, then grabbed his phone, which was vibrating. “It’s Gordon.” He turned on his Bluetooth device. “Go ahead, Burt. Got you on speaker.”

“We’re at Cannon’s. Nobody’s here. We were able to grab a look through the kitchen window. Dishes in the sink, that’s about it. But a quick canvass of the property brought us to a shed he had out back. We found blood, so we went in.”

“Blood? How much?” Brix asked.

“Enough,” Mann said.

Vail gritted her teeth and closed her eyes.

“But here’s the thing,” he said. “There’s a few matted-down fibers stuck around the edges of the puddle. One of the NSIB guys here’s a hunter. Says it looks like it’s from a deer.”

Vail grabbed the seatback and pul ed herself forward. “A deer? You think a deer was kil ed in that shed?”