Karen Vail 01 - Velocity (18 page)

“That guardian angel could be the key to al this. Someone who knows what’s going on—which is more than we can say for ourselves.”

“A guardian angel?” Brix was standing in the doorway holding an open bottle of red wine.

Dixon briefed him on the Ian Wirth phone cal .

“Let’s get the audio over to the lab,” Brix said. “Have it analyzed.”

“Already asked him to save it.”

“Whaddya got there?” Gordon asked, wagging a stubby finger at the wine.

“Kel eher Cabernet,” Brix said, spinning the bottle to display the label. “From the owner’s own vineyard. Out there,” he said, gesturing out the windows. “Good stuff.”

He reached across the table and poured a glass for Vail. “You need it.”

Vail took it and swal owed a mouthful. It was “good stuff,” as Brix said. By the second gulp it was hitting her bloodstream and she could feel the relaxation flowing through her arms, her legs, and her face.

She put down the glass and leaned back in her chair.

“Now get some more food into you,” Dixon said.

Rather than fil ing her plate, Vail said, “Aside from this mysterious guardian angel, there’s only one source of information right now.”

Brix held up a hand. “Stay away from César Guevara. We’l need to take it slow with him. Put some guys on him, build a case. Get a warrant. Do it right.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Dixon glanced over at Vail, who was staring at her plate.

Nudged her elbow.

“Yeah,” she said, at the prompt, “no problem.”

“Let’s look at what we’ve got so far,” Mann said. He lifted his prosthetic left hand and tapped the fingers on his right. “Blood evidence on the carpet of your B&B. A fair amount, but not real y enough if he’d bled out. But enough if he’d been shot or stabbed, then moved. No results yet on matching the DNA to Hernandez. Then we’ve got the leather jacket found in Mayfield’s house. Hernandez’s?”

“I’m not sure,” Vail said.

Brix pul ed his phone. “Aaron should’ve had something on that by now. Prints, DNA. Something.” He began thumb typing.

“We got Mayfield’s boast,” Mann continued. “‘There’s more to this than you know.”

“And,” Dixon said, “Robby’s phone logs were deleted. That might or might not mean anything. If he was the kind of person who regularly emptied out his phone, means nothing. But if someone did it for him, it could tel us a story: who cal ed him or who he cal ed before he disappeared.”

“Any way we can recover that data?” Gordon asked.

Vail swal owed another sip of wine. “I sent it back to the FBI. Theoretical y, the lab should be able to read the memory. They were also supposed to get his logs from the wireless carrier. Haven’t heard anything yet.”

“That’s a big one,” Dixon said.

“I know, Roxx.” Vail’s tone was short. “I should’ve thought of it earlier, when I could’ve cal ed the lab. I fucked up.”

Dixon placed a hand on Vail’s forearm to calm her. It worked.

Mann glanced over at Vail and said, “Where are we in finding Hernandez’s friend? The Sebastian dude.”

Brix shook his head. “Last I heard from NSIB, none of the names checked out.

And we hit a zero with V. Sattui, the winery that sel s the Madeira that Sebastian supposedly drinks. Customer listing, charge receipts, nothing. No one’s recognized Robby’s photo, either.”

“And,” Gordon said, “there’s the fact that Robby’s gone off the grid. No credit or debit card use. No hotels. Nothing at area hospitals or—excuse me, Karen—or at morgues. No plane, train, car rentals.”

“He had a car rental,” Brix said. “He would’ve just taken it if he left of his own choosing.” The sudden vibration of the phone in his hand nearly sent it careening to the floor. Brix angled his gaze down to read the text message. “Aaron—analysis of the leather jacket. He’s able to account for 14 out of 16 latents as—” He scrol ed down and continued: “as belonging to Mayfield. The others were unidentifiable partials. Nothing on DNA. Too soon.”

“Doesn’t look like it’s Robby’s coat,” Vail said. She let her head fal forward into her hands and rubbed her temples. “I’m not sure if that’s good or bad.”

“It’s good,” Dixon said. “Anything that removes, or weakens, a connection between Robby and Mayfield is good in my book.”

Brix set down his phone and piled a few squares of cheese on his plate, fol owed by a couple of clams and a lamb chop. “But it does bring up the issue of James Cannon. He’s stil in the wind. We’ve got about two dozen deputies and investigators looking for him. His photo has been sent around to LEOs in a hundred mile radius. I’ve even snagged a chopper to scour the woods with infrared.

So far, nothing.”

“So it comes back to Guevara,” Mann said. “He’s got skin in the game, but we can’t prove it and we can’t nail it—or him—down.”

Vail sat there, the wine stirring her head in pleasant waves. Her lids felt the weight of a lack of quality sleep and an overabundance of stress. But through it al , the broad outlines of a plan began to form. It wouldn’t be something she could share with the others because they would explicitly forbid her from carrying it out.

With time disappearing like a painter rol ing a primer coat on a wal , covering al beneath it, she didn’t see a choice. They were beating their heads against a wal . At least, that was how she felt.

Vail pushed her chair back from the table. Her body had the heavy and sloppy movements indicative of high blood alcohol content. “I’d total y understand if you guys wanna knock off. Go catch some sleep. We haven’t had a whole lot of it lately.”

Brix and Dixon locked eyes, silently weighing the offer.

“Seriously, guys. I’m leaving for SFO in like four hours. Unless we’ve got something pressing to fol ow up on that’s not already being done, there’s no reason to work through the night. Again.”

Brix hiked his brow. “I guess you’re right. Let’s go catch forty winks, start fresh at 8:00 AM. Roxx?”

As the lead investigator, she had to make the cal .

Dixon turned to Vail and read her face.

Shit, she knows I’m up to something. Here it comes.

“Yeah. Let’s cal it a night. Keep your cel s by your beds. Just in case.”

Make that a definite. She knows.

Brix wiped his napkin across his mouth, then threw the soiled cloth on the table.

He stepped around the table and spread his arms. He gave Vail a firm hug, then leaned back. “Karen, I never, ever thought I’d say this . . . that first day we met we kind of got off on the wrong foot. But I’ve real y enjoyed working with you. You chal enge me—al of us. You make us better.”

Vail tilted her head. “I don’t know about that.”

“I mean it. It’s been an honor.”

“Same here.” She turned to Mann and Gordon. “Al of you. Thanks for putting up with me. My attitude.”

“Hey,” Mann said, “you just wanna get the damn case solved. We may go about it in different ways, but . . . Wel , Redd’s right. Thank you. If there’s anything we can do on our end—”

“We’l keep working this,” Brix said. “Tomorrow morning, we’l be right back at it.

We’re gonna find Robby and we’re gonna find Cannon.”

Vail tightened her lips, then nodded appreciation.

“C’mon,” Dixon said. She led Vail away, back toward the car. Neither of them said a thing until they got inside. When the doors closed, Dixon pul ed away and let loose.

28

I
know you, Karen. You’re thinking of doing something stupid.” She turned to face Vail, her eyes hard and wide and angry. “And don’t fucking lie to me.”

“So after al we’ve been through these past seven or eight days, working in close quarters and dealing with al the shit we’ve dealt with, al you can say is that you know me and that I’m going to do something stupid?”

Dixon extended the fingers of her right hand, which remained on the steering wheel. “That didn’t come out right. I’m sorry. I just think, wel , I think you’re reacting emotional y. I’m sure I’d be the same way if this had happened to me, with Eddie. If I could’ve prevented his death, had I known he was in danger . . . ” She curled her hand around the wheel. “So let’s cut through al the shit. Can you do that for me?”

Vail sat there a long moment. “Drop me at Guevara’s house, a couple blocks away—”

“See? That’s what I mean!”

“What do you expect me to do, Roxx? Guevara’s the only one who knows what the hel is going on.”

“And you’ve already tried prying information out of him.”

Vail turned and looked out the black side window at the quiet countryside. “So I’l try again. And this time I won’t be so nice.”

“You weren’t very nice the last time around, either. Yesterday, when we stopped at Superior.”

“You mean when I shoved my Glock against his head?”

“I think that qualifies, yeah. But look at it logical y. He’s got bodyguards. Even if you can neutralize them, they’re witnesses. So when his high-priced attorney files a complaint—which he wil —there’l be corroboration of his story. And the worst part is, he’l be on the right side of the law. And you’l be on the wrong side.”

“Just take me there. Let me worry about it.”

Dixon pul ed the Ford hard right onto the shoulder. Gravel flew up and kicked around the wheel wel s.

“What are you doing?”

“It’s goddamn obvious, Karen. I’m not going to let you throw away your career.

You’re not thinking clearly.”

Vail turned away and again peered out the window. Rol ed it down. The cool air blew against her face. Stole a glance in al directions. Pin-pricks of light here and there. But it was dark, too dark for her to figure out where she was. She grabbed the handle, opened the door, and swung out her legs.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Vail did not reply. She flung the door closed and trudged off, ahead of Dixon’s vehicle, the headlights cutting through the damp air and slicing around her body, throwing it into silhouette.

At this time of year, it was stil nippy at 12:30 or 1:00—or whatever time it was now. She wasn’t going to stop to look.

But what was she going to do? It wasn’t like she could hail a cab—not in the middle of the Napa countryside. She didn’t even know where she was. She stopped walking, put both hands on her head, and leaned her neck back. Her body swayed

—the wine was stil in her bloodstream.
How did this happen? How did I get to this
place?

She heard Dixon’s door open. She turned and saw that Dixon was talking to her through the windshield. No, not to
her
—to her Bluetooth visor.

Dixon stuck her head out the door and rose from her seat in one motion. “Get in the car!”

“What is it?”

“We got a twenty on Cannon.”

29

V
ail ran back to the Ford but nearly flew out of the seat when Dixon floored the accelerator. The tires spun in the gravel, then squealed as they gripped asphalt.

Vail settled herself in and then snapped the seat belt closed. But the blood was pounding in her temples. The wine? The sudden dump of adrenalin? “What’s the deal?”

“Our chopper got an infrared hit in the area about three miles from where Cannon disappeared. They were tracking him at a high altitude through the mountains, and then he stopped moving. Based on the restrained motion within a confined space and the IR signatures of other bodies in the structure, it looks as though he entered a secluded house in the woods and might have hostages.”

“So what’s the plan?”

The speedometer needle effortlessly slipped past 72. Dixon, two hands on the wheel, said, “SWAT’s en route. We’re closer. Chopper’s surveil ance only, it won’t be dropping anyone or landing.”

Vail rubbed her face and tried to excise the mounting pressure from her thoughts. She closed her eyes and audibly blew air through her lips.

“You okay?”

“Actual y, pretty shitty. Thanks for asking.”

Dixon drove in silence, deftly negotiating the winding mountain roads—and Vail, remembering the chal enging landscape from their last visit out this way, was not about to distract her with interruptions.

Dixon pointed skyward. “See if you can find the chopper. I think I know where this road is, but if we can use the chopper’s spotlight as a beacon to pinpoint the house’s location, it may keep us from driving off the side of the mountain.”

Vail craned her neck back, forth, and side to side—but couldn’t make out what looked like a helicopter. She rol ed down her window— and within three minutes, in the distance, she saw blinking lights hovering against the inky blackness. “There she is, two o’clock. No beacon.”

“Probably best if Cannon doesn’t know we’re on to him. Grab the radio,” she said, tossing a nod at the glove box. “Primary channel. See if you can raise the pilot.”

Vail found the secure radio—it was only three days ago she’d handled this very device while they were in pursuit of John Mayfield. That had turned out wel ; if they replicated those results, it would be a hel of a send-off back east.

She glanced at the dashboard clock.
Running out of time. Two and a half hours.

Nothing’s ever easy, Karen, is it?

“What’s their cal sign?”

“H-30. Flown by CHP.”

“CHP H-30, this is FBI Special Agent Karen Vail and Investigator Roxxann Dixon with the major crimes task force. We have you in sight. Do you have us? Over.”

“That’s affirmative, Agent Vail. This is Ken Orent commanding H-30. SWAT is en route. ETA eighteen minutes.”

Vail managed a chuckle. “A lot of shit can happen in eighteen minutes.” She thought back to a time many years ago when she had uttered a similar comment over an open radio channel, then sweated the likely ridicule from col eagues. Here and now, she didn’t give it a second thought.