Gifford sighed audibly. She could see him at his desk, head bowed, free hand on his forehead, rubbing it.
“The task force is working this?” he finally asked.
“What’s left of it, yes. They’ve got the assistance of the Napa Special Investigations Bureau.”
“I’m going to call the ASAC in San Francisco. And the RA in Santa Rosa. See if we can coordinate efforts. How long has he been missing?”
“No way of knowing. My last contact with him was 8:30 yesterday morning.”
Dixon leaned closer to Vail’s free ear. “The carpet.”
“Oh,” Vail said, nodding. “The CSI here found blood on the carpet in our B&B. He’s running it—”
“Blood. You sure? Any other signs of struggle in the room?”
“It’d been cleaned by the maids before we got there. So we have no idea. The crime scene—if it was one—was probably destroyed. The CSI did a full workup, just in case.”
“Have a sample of that carpet sent here, to our lab. I want our guys looking at it, too. And we’ll need an exemplar from—”
“Done. Paul Bledsoe’s at Robby’s place getting his hair and toothbrush. You should be getting one of them soon.”
“Fine.” There was a pause, then he said, in a softer tone, “This makes what I’m about to tell you even more difficult. But I need you back here. We caught a high-profile case. I can’t talk about it on an unsecure line.”
Vail pulled the phone from her ear, her face contorting into sarcastic disbelief. Fortunately Gifford couldn’t see her—it’d most likely set him off. She brought the handset back against her head. “Sir,” she said in a measured tone. “I’m sure you can understand that I’ve got my mind on finding Robby. I can’t just leave here. Assign the case to someone else.”
“What I understand is that I still have the behavioral analysis units to run and that’s my priority. What I understand is that you’re in a tough way right now. And I also understand that we’ve got a task force there working the case, and a well-equipped San Francisco field office ready to step in that can do the job just fine.”
“With all due respect, I disagree.”
“Not the first time, is it, Karen?”
“Frank. Why can’t Frank take that new case?”
“Del Monaco left yesterday to teach a seminar at New Scotland Yard that goes for another week, then he’s due to consult on a case they’ve been asking for our help on for two months. And Hutchings is on sick leave with an ulcer. Van Owen’s wife was diagnosed this morning with ovarian cancer, so he’s out on bereavement leave. Boozer just retired and we’ve got no one to take his place. I tried pulling Art out of arson and bombing, but they just caught a big case the White House wants them to consult on that might involve a trip to Iraq. And Director Knox isn’t about to tell the president no.”
“So get me the crime scene photos, autopsy photos, victimology—and I’ll look it all over when I get back. Give me a week.”
“Karen . . . ” He paused, no doubt to gather himself, to phrase it in a way that kept him from exploding.
She realized now she had pushed him as far as she could. But for Robby’s sake—she felt justified.
“Karen, this is close to home and the crime scene is fresh; it’s the perfect opportunity to see things as they are. I don’t have to tell you it’s a world better than photos and reports. No, that won’t cut it. Not for this case.”
Vail slunk down in her seat. I’ve got no choice. Short of resigning, I have no leverage, no valid reason for staying behind.
“Karen. You probably know I’m fond of Hernandez. I knew his mother.”
After a long silence, Vail asked, “How soon?”
“How soon, what?”
“Till I have to leave. How soon?”
“Lenka is booking your flight as we speak. You leave tomorrow morning, a 6:30 connecting flight out of SFO. She’s arranging a car to pick you up at 4:00 AM. She’ll email you the flight info.”
Vail set her jaw. “Anything else, sir?”
“We’ll find him, Karen.”
“Yeah. Okay. Thanks.” She disconnected the call and let her hand drop into her lap.
“He wants you back,” Dixon said.
“I’m leaving at 4:00 AM tomorrow morning.”
“We’ll handle it, Karen. I’ll stay in touch with you. We’ll be your eyes and ears. We won’t let you down. Okay?”
Vail nodded out the windshield at no one in particular, numbly and blindly. “No. Not okay. We’ve got several hours.” She turned to Dixon, her face hard. “Before I leave, god help me, I’m gonna have some answers. We’ll find Cannon. We’ll find out what Merilynn Lugo knows. And we’ll know if César Guevara is involved in Robby’s disappearance.” She pressed a hand against her pocket, which contained the photo of Robby. “You with me on this?”
Dixon did not hesitate. “Yes.”
“Good. Then start the fucking car. Let’s get the hell out of here.”
12
Vail and Dixon’s first stop was Superior Mobile Bottling, located in a light industrial area of nearby American Canyon.
The company was a local concern that brought equipment-laden semis to wineries throughout the region to perform bottling and labeling functions. It was a cost-effective approach for many wineries, as they didn’t have to expend resources and take up prime space for production machinery used only once a year.
The facility was overseen by César Guevara, a man who supposedly served as its CFO but appeared to be much more. Vail, Dixon, and Ray Lugo had questioned him a couple of days ago. Vail had picked up on strange body language—silent communication between Lugo and Guevara. It was an observation that led the task force to aggressively investigate Guevara as the Crush Killer. The likelihood of him being their UNSUB, or unknown subject, shriveled like a desiccated grape when John Mayfield emerged as the offender.
But Lugo’s involvement with Guevara remained in Vail’s craw, though with the harried pursuit of Mayfield, it became a lost seedling among a forest of concerns.
On the drive to Superior Mobile Bottling, Vail explained their rationale for pursuing Guevara: if Lugo knew Guevara, and Lugo was involved somehow with Mayfield, there was an outside chance that Mayfield and Guevara knew one another . . . Lugo being the common link. At the very least, Guevara might know something—or might even have had something to do with Robby’s disappearance.
Dixon had remarked that there were a lot of suppositions factored into that reasoning. Vail could not dispute her point, but felt they needed to pursue the lead.
“Ray claimed he only knew Guevara when they were teenagers, working in the vineyards,” Dixon said.
“That is what he said. But sometimes I’ve got to rely on my intuition. And I sensed there was more to it than that.”
Dixon navigated out of Napa proper toward American Canyon, and the landscape changed from wineries to a more urbanized backdrop. “What Ray said. It’s not an unlikely story.”
“If it’s true, I’d bet it’s only the first chapter. Working the vineyards is probably how they met. But what happened after that? How did their relationship develop? That’s what we need to find out. That could be a key.”
Having arrived at Superior Mobile Bottling, Vail and Dixon slammed their car doors and headed toward the back of the warehouse-type structure. Bypassing the front entrance—and the interference-running administrator—they entered through the side roll-up steel door. Highly polished chrome and burgundy rigs sat stoically in their stalls in the spacious facility, like fine racehorses waiting for their turn to perform.