“We’ll bring you full 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 killer was loose in our community. Impossible to say yet just how many lives that decision has cost the valley. And the killer? After an apparent shootout with cops, he’s lying comatose in the intensive care unit at Napa Valley 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
Well that sucks big time,” Dixon said.
“What are the odds that Cannon saw that?” Vail asked.
“Who the hell knows? But the bell’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. Hopefully 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 all angles. “Synthetic.” She rolled it back up and handed it to Dixon. “And this helps us, how?”
“No idea. I’ll 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 tell?” 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 really out of town?”
“We’re getting sloppy. After what we learned about texting and cells, we should’ve had a tracer put on his line before I made that call.”
“But we’ve still got these little problems called ‘probable cause’ and ‘a warrant.’”
Vail shook her head and looked off at the countryside, which had once again transformed into the Napa Valley she had come to know: plots of well-tended vineyards merging with rolling hills and mountains in the distance. Wineries on both sides of the road.
Vail’s phone buzzed again. “Ian Wirth. Returning my call.”
“Maybe we’ll 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 called 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?”
“Tell 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 challenged, 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’ll 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
Taylor’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 killer. The guy who murdered Victoria Cameron, Isaac Jenkins—”
“John Mayfield,” Vail said. “The Crush Killer. 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 till 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 Killer 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 grilled mahi mahi in corn tortillas 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 tortilla with both hands. “No. Should I?”