Karen Vail 01 - Velocity (9 page)

Guevara held Dixon’s gaze for a beat, then said, “In the front. Toward the office.”

He cricked his head back over his right shoulder. Dixon walked off in that direction.

“We’re investigating the disappearance of Roberto Hernandez,” Vail said. “I thought that’s obvious, since I told you he’s missing, I’m showing you his photo and asking if you’ve seen him.”

“Yeah, wel , I haven’t. Haven’t seen him and don’t know him.”

Vail stepped closer. “I don’t believe you.”

“Oh yeah?” Guevara asked. “That’s a shame.”

In one motion, Vail reached for her Glock and cleared leather in record time.

Stepped forward and slammed the muzzle not so gently against Guevara’s prominent forehead, driving him back into the fender of the adjacent rig.

Guevara’s eyes bugged out—but he wasn’t afraid. Vail sensed anger, not fear.

“Are you fucking out of your mind?”

“You know what, Mr. Guevara? Yes, I am out of my mind. I’m goddamn pissed.

My friend is missing and I think you had something to do with it.”

“What does it take to get through to you? I told you, I didn’t know the guy.”

Vail held the Glock in place. “We’l see about that.”

Guevara laughed. Mocking her. “I think you should remove your gun from my face, Agent Vail. I haven’t done nothing wrong. And you’ve got no proof I have, or we wouldn’t stil be standing here. Would we?”

Vail’s eyes narrowed. She felt her blood pounding in the arteries of her head.

What am I doing? What can I possibly gain?

“How did you know Ray Lugo?” she asked.

Guevara’s eyes narrowed. “Past tense? Is Sergeant Lugo dead?”

Vail cursed herself silently for being so careless. At present, until they knew who al the players were, it was best everyone thought that Lugo was stil alive. “Answer my question. How wel do you know him?”

“What makes you think I know him?”

Vail clenched her teeth and dug the Glock’s barrel into Guevara’s forehead.

“Don’t fuck with me. I’m not in the mood!”

“He’s a cop. First time I saw him was when you walked in here couple days ago.”

“Bul shit.” Vail twisted her wrist, the Glock’s metal now digging into the skin and muscle of Guevara’s face. He winced and wriggled in pain. If she didn’t draw blood, he would have a substantial bruise there by this evening.

“Why don’t you ask him?”

“I did. He said you two knew each other when you were kids, teens working on vineyards. He’s a good man. I believe him.”

“Fine. Yeah, I think that’s right. I knew he looked familiar when he walked in. I couldn’t place the face.”

“You’re such a piece of shit,” Vail said. “And you suck at lying.”

“Did you know, Agent Vail, that I have security cameras hooked up al over this warehouse?”

Vail had seen the cameras in the parking lot on her last visit, but she hadn’t noticed any inside. But it made sense. With so much invested in the rigs—and without the trucks there was no business—of course Superior would have instituted interior surveil ance measures.

She stood her ground. There was nothing she could do now, in the eyes of the law—or in those of her ASAC, Thomas Gifford—that would worsen her situation.

Short of pul ing the trigger.

In a low voice, Vail said, “If I find that you had anything to do with Robby Hernandez’s disappearance, I wil find you. Where there aren’t any security cameras. And if any harm comes to Robby, harm wil come to you.” She added pressure to her weapon. Guevara squinted away the pain. “You understand me?”

“You got it al wrong, Agent Vail.” He locked eyes with her. “But I hear you. Loud and clear.”

Vail splayed open her free hand, placed it against Guevara’s chest, and pushed herself away from him. She kept the Glock in her right hand, her index finger hovering over the trigger rather than in a safety position by the outside guard.

“Everything okay in here?”

It was Dixon, walking toward her from the other end of the warehouse, down the aisle between the trailers.

Vail hadn’t taken her eyes off Guevara. “Remember what I said.”

Dixon’s eyes seemed to find Vail’s Glock in her right hand, which she now held at her side.

“Did I miss something?”

“Unfortunately, no.” Vail started to back away. ‘“Let’s go.”

But Dixon stopped suddenly, her eyes pinned to the ceiling. Vail turned. No, not the ceiling—at the wal -mounted television, where a banner reading “Special Report” was scrol ing across the bottom of the screen. An attractive female reporter was standing in front of the Sheriff’s Department, motioning animatedly into the camera.

“Turn it up,” Dixon yel ed at Guevara.

He squinted anger, then reached for a shelf beneath the adjacent rig and lifted an elaborate remote. A green slider appeared onscreen and wiped across its surface, the volume rising proportionately.

“ . . . refuses comment at this time. But KRSH-4 has learned that a man, who’s been identified as John Wayne Mayfield, has been arrested in the deaths of several Napa area residents. According to informed sources and witness accounts, KRSH has learned that Mayfield is a serial kil er who’s been operating in and around the val ey in recent weeks. Apparently, a number of individuals who have passed away under suspicious circumstances during the past several days may’ve actual y been victims of John Wayne Mayfield. Attempts at obtaining verification have been unsuccessful, with the Napa County Coroner’s Office declining to confirm or deny whether or not the bodies of these victims are even in their morgue. The FBI is reportedly on the case as wel , though they, too, have declined comment.

“We’l bring you ful coverage as soon as more information becomes available.

But one thing is certain, Fred: the police kept the public in the dark that a dangerous kil er was loose in our community. Impossible to say yet just how many lives that decision has cost the val ey. And the kil er? After an apparent shootout with cops, he’s lying comatose in the intensive care unit at Napa Val ey Medical Center.

“Reporting live from the Napa County Sheriff’s Department, this is Stephanie Norcross.”

The news anchor appeared onscreen and began talking.

Vail and Dixon shared a concerned look and then left the building.

13

W
el that sucks big time,” Dixon said.

“What are the odds that Cannon saw that?” Vail asked.

“Who the hel knows? But the bel ’s been rung. It’s just a matter of time before he hears, if he hasn’t already.” They got back into the car and Dixon started driving north, toward Napa. “What happened back there with Guevara?”

“I lost control. Just enough to get his juices flowing. Hopeful y he wet his pants.

But I doubt it. Cool customer.” Vail looked off, alone a moment with her thoughts.

“Too cool.”

“You think he’s involved.”

“I know what I saw, Roxx. When he kept looking at Ray, something was going on.

It was more than recognizing a guy you knew when you were a teen.” She watched a huge Walmart-anchored shopping center flash by as they headed north. “The look he was giving Ray. It was . . . anger, maybe. Like he was pissed that Ray brought us there. As if Ray should’ve found a way to stop us from going.”

“You sure?”

“Now that I have a free minute to clear my mind and think about it, yeah. That’s what his look said.”

“Okay,” Dixon said. “Let’s go with that a moment. They knew each other. They were working together in some criminal enterprise. We already know Ray was doing something he shouldn’t have been, as part of his deal with Mayfield to leave his wife and son alone.”

“Let’s look into Guevara. Deeper this time. Let’s try to get a warrant, poke around his financials. Phone logs. Superior’s business. Look for patterns. Standard police grunt work.”

Dixon was shaking her head. “Seriously, Karen. Maybe you’d find a judge in Virginia who’d sign off on something like that. But our case is so thin you can shine a light through it. It won’t fly in California.”

“You get a good look around?”

“I poked around here and there. It’s a pretty clean facility. Not a whole lot there other than their rigs and machinery.” She leaned to the left and dug into her pocket.

“Found this. In the corner, behind a stacked case of wine.” Dixon handed it to Vail.

Vail took the tissue and unraveled it. “A wine cork?”

“Yeah, but the real question is, is it real or is it synthetic?”

Vail refrained from touching it. She tilted the tissue cradled in her hands as she examined the item from al angles. “Synthetic.” She rol ed it back up and handed it to Dixon. “And this helps us, how?”

“No idea. I’l give it to Matt Aaron, see if the lab can find something.”

The vibration of her BlackBerry sent her heart racing. “Shit.” She grabbed for the phone.

“Jumpy?”

Vail grumbled. “How could you tel ?” She looked down at the display. “Text from Cannon. He’s out of town, but says he would’ve loved to get together.” She turned to Dixon. “He said, ‘Maybe your next visit out here.’”

“Interesting. Is he real y out of town?”

“We’re getting sloppy. After what we learned about texting and cel s, we should’ve had a tracer put on his line before I made that cal .”

“But we’ve stil got these little problems cal ed ‘probable cause’ and ‘a warrant.’”

Vail shook her head and looked off at the countryside, which had once again transformed into the Napa Val ey she had come to know: plots of wel -tended vineyards merging with rol ing hil s and mountains in the distance. Wineries on both sides of the road.

Vail’s phone buzzed again. “Ian Wirth. Returning my cal .”

“Maybe we’l get some answers about Herndon.”

Vail brought the handset to her ear. “Ian, this is Karen Vail. We . . . yes, we saw the news. And yes, that’s the guy. So you can rest a little easier now. But what I cal ed you about was information . . . No, a related case. Are you available to meet for a bit?” Vail rotated the phone away from her mouth and faced Dixon. “Taylor’s?

Know where it is?”

“Tel him we can be there in twenty-ish.”

Vail relayed the info, thanked him, then hung up.

“Taylor’s is a straight shot down 29, in St. Helena,” Dixon said. “Owner renovated an old, dilapidated hamburger stand and started serving Ahi and halibut burgers. And, of course, for the health chal enged, good old artery-clogging red meat and mouth-watering shakes.”

“Sounds like a place I should visit before I leave town.”
Which isn’t that far off
now.
The mere thought made her curl her fingers into a fist. “Are we wasting our time with this, Roxx? I mean, I’ve gotta find Robby. And it’s down to hours now.”

“It’s not down to hours, not while I’m on the case. I’l keep working it. Remember, I used to be a detective. I know how to do this shit.”

Vail tried to smile, but the thought of leaving town before finding answers brought tears to her eyes. She turned toward the window and let her forehead rest against the glass.

14

T
aylor’s Automatic Refresher was as Dixon had described it. A half dozen red picnic tables were arranged in front of the hamburger joint, where a long line of customers stood staring at the menu or chatting among themselves.

Dixon parked and found Ian Wirth near the front of the line. They ordered, then grabbed a table.

Wirth set down his glass of iced tea. “So you found the kil er. The guy who murdered Victoria Cameron, Isaac Jenkins—”

“John Mayfield,” Vail said. “The Crush Kil er. Now you see why we couldn’t be straight with you about what was going on.” Vail and Dixon had told Wirth the causes of death had been strokes, but Wirth’s father had been a cop, so he was wise to their subterfuge. They admitted there was more to what was going on, and advised him to be careful.

“The victims’ names haven’t been released yet,” Dixon said, “so keep that info to yourself til we can deal with the families.”

“Of course.” He tilted his head. “But you didn’t ask me to lunch to talk about John Mayfield.”

“No,” Dixon said. “We need some information on setting up a winery.”

Wirth glanced from Dixon to Vail. “You two thinking of going into business?”

Dixon laughed. “No. And I can’t say any more because—”

“Because it’s an ongoing investigation,” Wirth said. “Why do I get the feeling this Crush Kil er thing isn’t quite over?”

Vail sighed. “You know we can’t say any more. But as to Investigator Dixon’s question . . . ”

“Obviously I know a fair amount about it. What’d you want to know?”

Their food was ready: Ahi tuna burger, rare, with ginger wasabi mayo for Dixon; Wisconsin sourdough burger, with bacon, mushrooms, and cheddar for Vail; marinated gril ed mahi mahi in corn tortil as for Wirth.

And a double rainbow chocolate shake for Vail.
Hell with the calories. I need the
chocolate. No, I need Robby. The chocolate will have to do for now.

Dixon lifted the bun and examined her burger, seemed pleased, and continued.

“Ever hear of a start-up, Herndon Vineyards?”

Wirth held his tortil a with both hands. “No. Should I?”

“Not necessarily,” Vail said. “But it would’ve made our jobs a little easier. So here’s the deal. We want to find the owners of this start-up. They’re supposedly due to release their first wine in a couple years. Wouldn’t they have to file paperwork to get approval to operate a winery?”

“Your easiest cal might be to the val ey appel ation organization, in this case the Napa Val ey Vintners, who regularly announce new winery members. That’s assuming that this new winery decided to join the organization. It’s not mandatory.