Karen Vail 01 - Velocity (5 page)

They used their electronic proximity cards to enter the secured section of the building and headed to the task force conference room, where Brix was seated beside Merilynn Lugo. The woman’s face was streaked and flushed.

Vail sat beside her. “I’m glad you came. We sure could use your help.”

Brix shook his head. “She’s here because she wants
our
help.”

“Of course,” Dixon said. She remained standing, across the conference table from Merilynn and Vail. “Anything.”

Brix cleared his throat and curled his face into a squint.

Reading Brix’s expression, Vail guessed they were thinking the same thing: blindly offering “anything” was dangerous.

“She wants witness protection,” Brix said. “
Federal
witness protection.”

There was a long silence as Vail and Dixon processed her request. Merilynn kept her gaze on the table, apparently content to let Brix do the talking for the moment.

“To get that,” Vail final y said, “to even get consideration, you’d have to level with us. Tel us everything you know.”

“I can’t live like this anymore,” Merilynn said. “I need protection.”

“Protection from what?” Dixon said.

“WITSEC, the witness security program, isn’t something that’s given out lightly,”

Vail said. “There are procedures and requirements. It has to be approved.”

“You’re the FBI, you can make it happen.”

Vail shook her head. “It’s not like that, Mrs. Lugo. The FBI doesn’t administer WITSEC. The Department of Justice does. Application has to be made to the Office of Enforcement Operations, and it has to be approved by DOJ

headquarters. Then you’re interviewed by the U.S. Marshals Service, which oversees the program, to determine if you’re a good fit.”

“You have to understand the reason why WITSEC exists,” Dixon said.

“Witnesses are given protection because of testimony they agree to provide against another criminal the government’s trying to build a case against. In exchange for that testimony, the government relocates you, gives you a new identity and financial backing to make it work.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Brix said, “but you don’t have any testimony we need. John Mayfield, assuming he survives, is never going to see the light of day, and wil very likely get the death penalty.”

“Trust me,” Merilynn said. “I’ve got information you need. “But if I give it to you, I want something in return. The safety of me and my son. That’s the price.”

Vail and Dixon shared a look.

Dixon said, “If we’re going to submit a request for WITSEC, we real y need to know what you’ve got. And we need to know what Ray was involved with, what was going on between him and Mayfield.”

“While you’re at it,” Vail said, “you might also want to tel us why you think you need protection.” She didn’t mean for it to come off as sarcastic—but given al she’d been through recently, her tone wasn’t a top priority. She knew that wasn’t a healthy approach, but she was too tired and emotional y drained to care.

Merilynn set her jaw. She either did not appreciate the weight of her request, or she didn’t believe that getting into the WITSEC program involved anything more than stating that you needed it.

With the silence growing, Vail knew she had to do something to get Merilynn talking. She had to treat the woman as if she was a suspect being interviewed. If she could establish a rapport and break down the barrier, the information they needed might come tumbling out.

“I was kidnapped once,” Vail said. “I was drugged. When I woke up, I was in handcuffs in a smal , dark place. Is that what happened to you? Did Mayfield drug you?”

Merilynn tilted her head and studied Vail’s face.

Is she trying to determine if I’m lying to her?

“It was a couple months ago,” Vail said. “I’ve had some . . . issues trying to get past it.”

“He didn’t drug us,” Merilynn said. “He came up behind my son, grabbed him, and held a knife to his neck. Ray said it was al about control.” She swiped at a tear.

“With that knife at Mario’s neck, what was I gonna do?” Her face spread into a wan smile. “Anything he wanted, that’s what.”

“I can’t even imagine what that’s like,” Dixon said.

Vail shivered imperceptibly.
I can. I know what it’s like to have your son used as
a pawn against you, powerless to help him.

“It was paralyzing,” Merilynn said. “The guy, he was big and mean and serious.

He just had this look about him. He said to keep my mouth shut. I kept it shut, didn’t even breathe.” She sat there a moment, staring at the table. “Everything was like a tunnel. Al I could see was my son with the knife at his neck. Al I could hear was that man’s voice.”

“The man was John Mayfield?” Vail asked.

Merilynn bent forward and pressed on both temples with her fingers. “I didn’t know who he was back then. Ray kept asking me what he looked like, but I couldn’t remember. I was so freaked out, I never looked at his face.”

“What happened next?” Brix asked. “After Mayfield kidnapped you, did he take you somewhere?”

“He had a van. He put us inside and made us wear blindfolds. We drove for what seemed like an hour. He made so many turns I had no idea where we were.”

Even though John Mayfield was in custody, knowing the location of his lair was important. Serial kil ers often did not keep their trophies, or keepsakes from their victims, at their homes, but at some other location that either had meaning or geographic and logistic convenience for them. With unanswered questions lingering, his base of operations might yield additional information to the unnamed victims Mayfield had listed and included in his communication with the police. And possibly even forensic clues relevant to Robby.

“Did you smel anything?” Dixon asked, clearly on the same wavelength. “Hear anything?”

“The train, I heard the train whistle. It was off in the distance, but I heard it.” She closed her eyes. “And I smel ed must.”

Vail cocked her head. “Wait—what did you say? Must?”

“A by-product of the early stages of making wine,” Brix said. “The unfermented juice of grapes from crushing or pressing them, before it’s converted into wine. If she smel ed must, she had to be near a winery, or at least a facility that processes grapes.”

“How do you know what must smel s like?” Vail asked.

Merilynn scrunched her face, as if she resented the question. “I spent eleven years working at San Miguel vineyards. I worked the fields, I worked with the grapes. I know the smel s of a winery.”

Vail turned to Dixon. “Does this smel help narrow it down?”

Dixon chuckled. “Not real y. The Napa Val ey Wine Train covers almost twenty miles before turning around. She heard the train, which means, what? How far can you hear a train whistle? Another two or three miles in either direction? That’s a huge area. And this is the Napa Val ey. You know how many wineries or grape processing facilities there are in this region?”

“The train sounds the whistle at crossings, and when it leaves the station,” Brix said. “That might help narrow it.” He turned back to Merilynn. “What happened after you were kidnapped? How long did he hold you?”

“I’m—I’m not sure. I think Ray said we were gone two days, but I can’t remember.

I didn’t real y want to talk about it.” She stared off at the wal , as if reliving the ordeal. “He kept us in a dark place. I couldn’t tel if it was morning or night. We were blindfolded and gagged most of the time.”

Vail scooted her chair closer, then leaned toward Merilynn. “Mrs. Lugo, I’m truly sorry you had to go through that. But . . . what did Ray do? Did he report it? Did the St. Helena PD go searching for you?”

“Ray got a phone cal from the man—from this guy you’re cal ing John Mayfield.

He said he had taken us and if Ray cooperated, he’d return us unharmed. But if Ray didn’t, and if he tried to find us or told anyone—anyone—about this, he’d kil us immediately. And it wouldn’t be pleasant.”

Vail looked at Brix.

“Ray never reported anything to anyone,” Brix said. “If he had, St. Helena PD

would’ve brought us in. Something like that is a major crimes task force deal, and way beyond St. Helena’s capabilities.”

Merilynn said, “Mayfield told Ray that if he ever told detectives about him, he’d know. And he’d find us again, when we were out shopping or at day care. Or at school. He knew a lot about us. His point was there was no way to escape him.

There’d be no safe place.”

Dixon sighed long and hard, then said, “But Mayfield returned you unharmed.”

Vail glanced at Dixon, then shook her head. “Wait a minute. You said that if Ray cooperated, he’d release you. What did Mayfield want Ray to do?”

Merilynn sat back, folded her arms, then looked at Vail, then at Dixon, then at Brix. “If you want to know, get me and my son protection.”

Vail brought a hand to her forehead and rubbed vigorously, as if doing so could calm the building anger. The lack of sleep had weakened her internal checks and balances, and her frustration was threatening to bubble over. “Mrs. Lugo,” she said firmly. “Someone I care about a great deal is missing. John Mayfield may have taken him. He may have him blindfolded and gagged in that same dark place, just like he did to you and Mario. But even if we get to talk to Mayfield, I doubt he’s going to be a good citizen and tel us what we want to know. If that’s the case, my friend—a cop, like Ray—might not have much longer to live. Without food, water—”

Merilynn squared her jaw. “I’m sorry. But I have to think of my son. I wil help you.

If you help me first.”

Vail rose from her chair, spun around, and stormed out of the task force conference room. She walked down the hal , then stopped, leaned against the wal , and slunk down to the ground. She sat there, her forehead leaning against her knees. Vail was being total y honest with Merilynn: she had no sway over who was accepted into the witness protection program. The Justice Department decided that. And based on what Merilynn had told them, Vail doubted she was a candidate.

While it might comfort Merilynn and support her parental instincts, there did not appear to be a clear threat that would require protection.

A moment later, Dixon left the conference room and located Vail down the corridor. She sat down beside her but remained quiet.

Final y Dixon said, “That thing you said about Robby in there. I hadn’t thought of that.”

“I didn’t either. It just kind of came out. And then it hit me. Hard. When she wouldn’t budge, I had to leave before I said something we’d al regret.”

“We need to mobilize NSIB,” Dixon said, referring to the Napa Special Investigations Bureau. “We can sketch out the radius on Bing maps and get them canvassing the area ASAP, see if we can locate Mayfield’s hideout.”

Vail got up suddenly. “Let’s go.”

“Where?”

“Mayfield. I want to see him.”

8

D
ixon tried discouraging Vail from making the hospital visit, but Vail would have nothing of it. En route to the medical center,

Dixon cal ed Brix and informed him where they were headed—and asked him to map out the area Merilynn Lugo had described and to engage NSIB assistance with the canvass.

They made their way into the ICU of the Napa Val ey Medical Center.
I can’t
believe it was only yesterday that Mayfield was brought here after his arrest.

Yesterday that Robby went missing.

They pushed through the doors into ICU. An open and spacious nursing station occupied the center of the floor, with individual patient rooms lining the periphery.

Large sliding glass doors sat sandwiched between translucent wal s that could be curtained off by powder blue ful -length drapes.

Vail and Dixon showed their credentials to the nurse sitting closest to them. Her name tag read “Helen.”

“John Mayfield,” Vail said. “How’s he doing?”

Helen, a fifty-something woman whose chestnut hair was due for a dye session, consulted a chart, flipped a page, and said, “Looks like he’s in pretty grave condition.”

“Which room’s he in?” Dixon asked.

Helen chuckled. “I’m afraid he’s not in any condition to talk. They’ve induced a coma to stabilize him and increase his chance of recovery.”

“Okay,” Vail said. “Which room?”

Helen’s gaze flicked between Vail and Dixon, clearly confused—her reply should have been adequate to assuage their desires.

Vail, for one, knew her facial expression was not conveying an air of calm and acceptance.

“Three.” Helen’s eyes slid left.

Vail and Dixon thanked her, then moved toward the room. “Shouldn’t there be cops posted?”

Dixon rubbernecked her head. “There’s supposed to be someone. Don’t see him.”

“Only one?”

“I’m guessing they don’t expect a comatose patient to be much of a problem.”

“He’s huge and he’s kil ed a lot of people,” Vail said. “I think there should be a decent presence, don’t you?”

Dixon raised a shoulder. “Budget’s always an issue.” She stepped forward and grabbed the door handle. She slid the large panel to the side and they walked in.

Lying on the bed to their left, hooked up to flexible tubes and lead wires, was John Mayfield.

Vail moved to his side and had to summon the wil not to reach out and grab him by the gown and shake him, slam his psychopathic head against the bed frame.

Demand to know what he did with Robby.
If
he did something to Robby.

Instead, Vail stood there staring at him. Final y Dixon said, “I don’t mean to be cal ous, but the nurse kind of had a point. What are we doing here?”