Mounted on the wall, at least a dozen feet off the ground, was the largest LCD high-definition television Vail had seen outside a professional sports stadium. The volume was turned down, but it was tuned to what looked like the replay of a vintage baseball game.
A medium-build Hispanic man appeared from behind the far end of one of the rigs. He wore a blue dress shirt with rolled-up sleeves and held a long screwdriver. César Guevara. He made eye contact with Vail, then looked away in disgust. “Not you again.”
Vail glanced sideways at Dixon. “Wonder why we always have that effect on people.”
“More questions?” Guevara asked.
Vail nudged Dixon with an elbow. “I told you he was smarter than he looked.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out the photograph of Robby, keeping it shielded from Guevara’s view until she was ready. She needed to watch his face carefully for the slightest of tells: a flicker, a sudden flutter of his eye, a squint, a hardening of his brow or a lift of his Adam’s apple.
Vail flipped the photo over and handed it to him. “Know this guy or seen him around? Name’s Roberto Hernandez. Also goes by Robby.”
There—a narrowing of his eyelids.
“Should I?”
Vail tilted her head and leaned forward. “I’m a federal agent and I asked a question. That usually means you give me an answer, not another question.”
Guevara held his gaze on the photo a long moment, then lifted it closer to his face and studied it.
“What is it?” Vail asked.
“Obviously,” Guevara said, “he’s someone important to you. A witness?”
“A friend and colleague. He’s gone missing. I figured you might know something about it. Do you?”
He handed back the photo to Vail. “And why would that be?”
Vail stepped forward. “See, there you go again. Answering my question with a question.”
“Is that a crime?”
Vail looked over at Dixon. “What we’re investigating is.”
“Really,” Guevara said. “And what is it you’re investigating?”
Dixon craned her neck around. “Where’s the ladies’ room?”
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, well, 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’ll 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 still 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 all the players were, it was best everyone thought that Lugo was still alive. “Answer my question. How well 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.”
“Bullshit.” 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 all 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 surveillance 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 pulling the trigger.
In a low voice, Vail said, “If I find that you had anything to do with Robby Hernandez’s disappearance, I will find you. Where there aren’t any security cameras. And if any harm comes to Robby, harm will come to you.” She added pressure to her weapon. Guevara squinted away the pain. “You understand me?”
“You got it all 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 wall-mounted television, where a banner reading “Special Report” was scrolling 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 yelled 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 killer who’s been operating in and around the valley in recent weeks. Apparently, a number of individuals who have passed away under suspicious circumstances during the past several days may’ve actually 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 well, though they, too, have declined comment.