Vail looked at Brix. She wanted to disclose Brix’s conflict of interest.
But she didn’t want to be seen in the wrong light, particularly after Owens’s admonishment. Besides, this was Dixon’s fight, if she chose to take it on.
Dixon said nothing. Brix said nothing.
Owens nodded slowly. “Fine.” He disappeared out the door.
“Anything else worth reporting?” Brix asked.
Vail dropped the guest and employee list printouts on the table. “We’ll fill you in at four,” she said. “That way everyone knows what’s going on. For a change.” She walked out of the room, leaving Dixon behind.
SEVENTEEN
John Wayne Mayfield pulled into the Napa County Sheriff’s Department parking lot and backed into a spot opposite the morgue’s access gate. A moment later, the two foxes got out of their Ford and walked toward the building’s entrance.
The redhead was moving faster. Urgent. Angry.
Interesting. She’d looked angry when they left Silver Ridge. What had gotten under her skin so deeply that it was still bothering her? He’d have to find out, take a look around tonight, when no one was on duty.
He pulled the pad from his breast pocket and opened it to the next page. Clicked his pen and began making notes. He needed to find out who they were, but he was almost sure they were working on the Victoria Cameron murder. Which meant they were looking for him.
“Right here,” he said under his breath. “Better come get me before I come get you-ou,” he sang.
VAIL LEFT THE SHERIFF’S DEPARTMENT and stood outside, waiting for Dixon. A few minutes later, Dixon walked through the front doors carrying a small brown bag. She tossed it to Vail, then got in the car.
“Late lunch,” Dixon said. “There’s turkey and veggie.”
Vail opened the bag, peered in. “Either’s fine.”
“I’ll take turkey. I need the protein for my workouts.” She took the sandwich from Vail and put the Ford in gear. Peeled back the wrapping, took a bite.
Their phones rang simultaneously. Vail pulled her BlackBerry—a text message from Ray Lugo:Another vic. Meet me.
It was followed by the address.
“You know where that is?” Vail asked.
Dixon nodded, then depressed the gas pedal, sandwich in one hand and steering wheel in the other.
VALLEJO, CALIFORNIA, was a straight shot south down Highway 29, a fifteen-minute ride under normal circumstances. But with her lightcube flashing, Dixon downed her sandwich in four minutes and arrived at the Vallejo Police Department seven minutes after that.
Vallejo is part of the San Francisco Bay Area, one of the more expensive regions in the country in which to live. But Vallejo, at the lower end of the income spectrum, provided affordable housing for those not able to purchase the more ritzy addresses of a Silicon Valley or North Bay neighborhood. Still, its location, on San Pablo Bay and within a short drive of the Napa Valley as well as the greater Bay Area, provided picturesque views and prime weather patterns.
Home to the Six Flags Discovery Kingdom, the decommissioned Mare Island Naval Shipyard, and the third largest Filipino American population in the United States, the city has the little-known distinction of briefly serving as California’s state capital from 1852 to 1853.
“You’re very quiet,” Dixon said.
“Just thinking.”
“You clammed up soon as I told you we were headed to Vallejo. I’m betting you’re dialed into the Zodiac. Concerned our case is related.”
Vallejo was the site, four decades ago, of two victims of the Zodiac killer. The Zodiac was never apprehended, and the investigation, which was mothballed in 2004, was reopened in 2007. In 2009, a woman came forward claiming her deceased father had been the killer and that she had been present during some of the murders.
“Regardless of his true identity,” Vail said, “he’s either dead or incarcerated. He’s been inactive for forty years. Besides, MO’s different. Ritual’s all wrong.” She unbuckled as Dixon parked. “But yeah, that’s what I’ve been thinking about.”
They walked into the police department and headed to the Detective Division. “Still, there are similarities,” Vail said. “Zodiac was a narcissist, just like our UNSUB. He contacted the police after his kills, claiming credit. Mailed cryptograms to the newspapers.”
“I’ve heard the stories,” Dixon said. “Before my time.”
As they walked into the Detective Division, Ray Lugo caught their attention from across the room. Vail and Dixon headed toward him.
“Oh, Jesus,” Dixon said under her breath.
Vail looked at her, but before she could inquire about the remark, another man, seated behind Lugo, rose from his chair. Dark complected, possibly Asian, maybe Filipino.
“Well, well, well,” the man said. “If it isn’t Buff Barbie.”
“Eddie,” Dixon said, a surprisingly measured and civil response. “Should’ve known you’d be here.”
Vail sensed a failed relationship. She watched them staring at one another, that awkward look pregnant with transparent communication.
“Well,” she finally said, “I’m Special Agent Karen Vail. FBI. I take it you’re Eddie.”
He kept his eyes on Dixon but extended his hand in Vail’s direction. “Detective Eddie Agbayani.” He finally pulled his gaze over to Vail as they shook. “Good to meet you.”
“So where’s this new vic?” Vail asked.
Lugo held up a case file. “Probable new victim.” He handed Vail the manila folder. “Before I went over to Kevin Cameron’s, I sent out a text blast to all my LEO buddies,” he said, using the acronym for Law Enforcement Officer. “I’ve lived here all my life, I’ve got a fair number of law enforcement contacts. I figured you never know, something may turn up.”
“And it did,” Agbayani said. “Almost three years ago we found a DB in South Vallejo, in a tony neighborhood. It was a body dump. The area’s got the most expensive real estate in the city, so it scared the crap out of them. We never solved it.”
“And what ties it to our UNSUB?” Vail asked.
“Severed breasts and missing toenail,” Lugo said. “That’s what I put in the text message. I thought, of all things that’s unique about this killer, that sums it up.”
Vail opened the case file. “Good thinking, Ray. Exactly right.” She backed off to a nearby chair while the other three talked. Vail heard snippets like “So how’ve you been?” that came from Agbayani, followed by Dixon’s response, then his comment: “I’ve missed you.” Vail tuned it out and focused on the reports in front of her.
Coroner’s report: “. . . thirty-five-year-old woman, brunette, 157.5 cm. Apparent homicide victim. COD looks to be crushing wound to the trachea; fractured hyoid bone. Bilateral breast tissue excision, with well-defined margins suggesting a sharp knife or scalpel . . .” Vail skipped a bit but came across the item that brought her here: “the toenail of victim’s right second digit is missing, apparently forcibly removed due to . . .”
Vail thumbed through the rest of the file. No known suspects identified. No witnesses to the murder. No forensics other than tire tracks lifted nearby that might or might not have been from the assailant’s vehicle. The pattern matched that of a mass produced tire from a major brand manufacturer. Over a million of these tires were sold in the Bay Area proper during the previous three years. Victim ID was Maryanne Bernal. Served for three years on a nonprofit board. Executive director of Falling Leaf Winery in the Georges Valley District. Employees all cleared. Not married, no known enemies, no disgruntled boyfriends.
Vail closed the folder.
“Not much help,” Lugo said.
“Actually, that’s not entirely true.” Vail joined the three of them by Agbayani’s desk. “This is further proof this offender has killed before. It allows us to begin creating a geographic kill zone, a geoprofile.”
“That helps us how?” Dixon asked.
“Well, right now, it doesn’t help us at all bec
ause our sampling size is too small.”
“The more victims the better,” Lugo said.
“In a warped sense,” Vail said, “yes. So . . . Maryanne Bernal. What do we know about her?”
“Last seen leaving a house she was renting in Northgate—”
“Northgate? Where’s that?”
“In Vallejo.”
“She worked at a winery in Napa and lived in Vallejo?”
“Not unusual,” Agbayani said. “Relatively quick off-hours commute. Prices are better. She may’ve had the house before getting the Napa job.”
“Okay,” Vail said, accepting that explanation. “What else?”
Agbayani continued: “We don’t know where she went after. Far as we could tell, she didn’t visit or talk to any of her friends after leaving home. She more or less disappeared from the living. At some point, her path crossed with the killer’s, and that was it. We were never able to establish any kind of suspect list based on where she worked or people she knew. She didn’t date much and didn’t have any arguments with anyone.”
“We now know this is a serial offender case,” Vail said. “They’re almost always stranger-on-stranger crimes, so Maryanne probably didn’t know the killer, not well. She may’ve met him somewhere, someplace meaningless to her . . . standing in line in the bank, at work in passing. Meant nothing to her, but she was suddenly on his radar. He either took her soon after or followed and tracked her for awhile. Given that this guy appears to be an organized offender, he probably planned his attack on her.”
Agbayani sat down heavily. His chair creaked. “Well, I’m glad we’ve got some activity to work with on this. Maybe we’ll catch this fucker.”
Vail’s phone rang. She pulled it from her belt and checked the display: Robby. “Excuse me, I’ve gotta take this.”
VAIL ANSWERED THE CALL as she headed back out to the parking lot the way she’d come. “Hey, stranger.”
“How’s your day been?”
Vail sighed. “I’m working. Learned some stuff about the wine industry you’re not likely to get from one of the tastings we had planned.”
“Yeah?”
“And you?”
“Oh, been tooling around, visited a few wineries. Took a tour of this castle winery, pretty cool actually.”
“Tell me about it over dinner. Wanna meet around six?”
“I can do that. Want me to pick you up?”
“I can get someone to drop me off. Where do you want to meet?”
“Back at the B&B. We’ll go from there.”
There was a noise over her shoulder. Dixon and Lugo walking toward her.
“Gotta go. See you later. Miss you.” She ended the call and reholstered her phone. “So, good work, Ray. This is an important discovery.”
“I’d much rather find already dead bodies from this killer than fresh ones.”
Vail shielded her eyes from the glare of the sun, which was breaking through the clouds. “I have a feeling there are more. Looks like this guy’s been operating in the area for a while. That means he’s comfortable here. Knows his way around, works here, lives here.”
“So the question is,” Dixon said, “where’s his base of operation?”
“That’s a loaded question. We’d need at least an hour to answer it in theory, and a few more victims to answer it in practice.”
Dixon pulled out her car keys. “So for now, we just keep adding to the profile.”
Vail nodded. “Exactly.”
Their phones buzzed simultaneously. Vail pulled her BlackBerry: a text from Brix. They were to report back now to the task force op center.
Lugo turned toward his vehicle. “See you two in fifteen.”
EIGHTEEN
Vail followed Dixon and Lugo into the conference room the Major Crimes task force was currently occupying. A number of suited guests were standing in front of the whiteboard. Redmond Brix was conducting class, gesturing to the group of bureaucrat-looking officials.
“Who are these people?” Vail whispered to Dixon.
Dixon turned her back to Brix and said, “Let’s put it this way. They’re not friendlies.”
Brix looked past the shoulder of one of his guests and locked on Vail and Dixon. Lugo had already taken his seat.
Vail felt the coolness of Brix’s look, even across the room. She and Dixon made their way to the front of the room. Each of the guests turned to face Vail. The men glanced at Dixon—men could never help but look at a beautiful woman—but their gazes returned to Vail. She felt as if she had done something wrong and was facing her accusers.
“This is Roxxann Dixon, investigator with the DA’s office, and Special Agent Karen Vail, FBI,” Brix said. He gestured to the suits and said, “And this is Mayor Prisco, Board of Supervisors president Zimbrowski, and Timothy Nance, District Director for Congressman Emmanuel Church.”
Vail absorbed this information, hoping she hadn’t contorted her face too badly; she wasn’t one to effectively mask her emotions, particularly when it came to bureaucrats and politicians. Trying to behave, she shook each of their hands with a firm greeting.
“This is a pretty impressive showing,” Vail said.
“This is a pretty important case,” Timothy Nance said.
Politically, Vail mused. This is a pretty important case politically.
Brix consulted his watch, then spread both hands. “Why don’t we take our seats, get started.” He held up a sheaf of papers. “I had our names and contact numbers typed up and hole punched. I also had copies made of the autopsy report on Victoria Cameron. Take one of each and pass it on.”
The politicos sat in chairs placed in the front of the room, off to the side. Sheriff Stan Owens walked in, clapped hands with the mayor, said something to Zimbrowski and Nance, then took a seat beside them. Vail sat where she had earlier, at the midpoint of the oblong table, to Brix’s right, who stood at the head. Dixon was beside Vail, followed by Lugo at the far end, facing Brix. Scott Fuller perched himself on the other side, opposite Vail and slightly to her left.
“Everyone’s been introduced to our guests,” Brix said, “so let’s move on. We have a number of follow-ups to cover, but first, let’s hear about this new vic.”
“That’s mine,” Lugo said. He took the papers making the rounds and peeled off a copy of each document as he spoke. “Lived and worked in Vallejo, killed three years ago. Body dumped in an upper class South Vallejo neighborhood. Nothing to go on, case unsolved.”
“Severed breasts and second right toenail removed postmortem,” Vail said. “That provides us with linkage to Victoria Cameron and the unidentified vic from the excavation site. So that gives him three victims that we know of, and there are going to be more.”
“You know that how?” This from the board of supervisors president, Zimbrowski.
“From my years of experience studying serial killers,” Vail said firmly.
“Whoa,” Nance said, leaning forward in his seat. He looked at the room’s door, as if to make sure it was closed. In a lowered voice, he said, “Let’s not throw around terms like ‘serial killer.’ That’s volatile stuff. We don’t know that’s what we’re dealing with here.”
“I’m with the Behavioral Analysis Unit,” Vail said. “A profiler.”
“Profiling. I’ve always wondered about that,” Nance said. “Is there any validity to that stuff?”
Vail chuckled. “You know, you bring up a valid point, Mr. Nance. I’ve had the same doubts. I’ve always thought my career was a waste of time and taxpayer money.”
The room was silent. Nance dropped his head and leaned back in embarrassment, clearly realizing how stupid his question was. At least, that was Vail’s initial interpretation of his reaction. Now that she thought about it, however, he could’ve been thinking, Who’s this bitch and how can I get rid of her?
“Agent Vail has a way with words,” Brix said, breaking the odd quiet that had draped the room like dense smoke.
“I’ve found her analysis us
eful so far,” Dixon said.
Lugo nodded. “Because of her input, I was able to find that Vallejo vic.”
“That’s dandy,” Nance said, a bit louder. “Has it caught us a killer?”
“Look,” Vail said, “I’m not here to debate the merits of profiling. But I’m here. And to answer your question, yes, there’s validity to it.”
“Why are you here?”
“I wasn’t—”
“I asked for her help,” Brix said.
Vail looked at him, and again, tried to disguise her facial expression, which probably bordered on wide-mouthed shock.
“This is something beyond our knowledge base,” Brix said. “We probably could’ve done a decent job, muddled through it, missed some important nuances about this killer, and eventually caught the guy. But in my estimation, we’ve got a volatile situation here. And since we’re dealing with the lives of young women, I felt it was best to bring in the FBI. Before we had more victims, new victims, to deal with.”
Nance started to object. Brix held up a hand. “I don’t like Agent Vail’s methods, but she knows her shit. So unless Sheriff Owens has a problem, Vail stays and we move on. Sheriff?” Brix turned to Owens.
“I’ve been to the National Academy at Quantico,” he said, speaking ahead, not looking at the dignitaries. “Agent Vail was one of my instructors. She’s got my vote.”
Brix’s eyes scanned his guests’ faces. Hearing no objection, he said, “Okay, then. Let’s follow up on our assignments.”
“One observation,” Vail said, “before we go any further. This new victim helps us build on that ‘access concept’ I mentioned after we found Victoria Cameron. We now have three likely vics of the same offender. They were each found in different locations. That means we have three different access lists to evaluate. Access population A, the Silver Ridge wine cave; population B, the excavated Black Knoll cave; and population C, Vallejo. Unfortunately, because Vallejo was a body dump, we don’t know where she was killed. If we can reopen that investigation and determine where she was murdered, we can look for overlap on who’d have access to these three crime scenes. That’d help narrow the suspect pool.”
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