“I need some time to digest this,” Vail said. “For now, let’s get back to basics. First off, I don’t think the victim was killed here.”
“Why not?” Lugo asked. “The body’s here, and obviously the blood drained underneath it.”
“Yes, the blood,” she said, motioning to the soaked soil. “So it’s safe to say this is where the cutting was done. But assuming the guy’s MO hasn’t changed, we’ll find that the trachea was crushed. Like I demonstrated back at the sheriff’s department, he’d need to force the victim up against a wall using his forearm, remember? That’s his MO, and it’s worked well so far, so no need to change it. But there’s no place for him to do that here. So I think he was killed somewhere else, somewhere close, then brought here and sliced and diced.”
Dixon said, “But we’ve got something new here. It’s a guy, which means, theoretically, at least, he chose a victim that wasn’t as easily subdued.”
Vail nodded. “That’s part of what bothers me. Why he suddenly changed. Could mean our UNSUB is extremely confident that he could overpower his victims. He’s either skilled in some form of martial art that enables him to efficiently control or debilitate an individual, or—”
“He knows them,” Brix said.
“Exactly. He knows them, so they don’t see him as a threat. Could also be he’s a person of authority or standing, so he can get close without someone seeing him as a threat.”
“If that were the case,” Brix said, “how does that fit with the wine cave at Silver Ridge?”
“Hard to say at this point. Someone of authority in a place like that would stand out, the employees would tend to remember him. Unless, of course, it’s someone they’re accustomed to seeing there.”
Brix stared at her.
Vail figured he thought that comment was intended for him—which it was—but only as a jab, not because she thought he was the offender.
“This guy could be changing his appearance, too,” Lugo said. “He may’ve worn a uniform for this kill, but regular clothing for the wine cave murder so he wouldn’t stand out.”
“Uniform,” Fuller said. “You saying it’s a cop?”
Lugo squinted at his colleague. “Lots of people wear uniforms, Scott. Gas, electric, water department workers, security guards. But yeah, it could be a law enforcement officer. Why not?”
“We’ve got nothing that says it’s a LEO. That’s why not.”
“A bigger question,” Vail said, “is how he got my cell number. The only place that’s listed—other than at the Bureau—is at the sheriff’s department. If it’s not a cop, it could be support personnel.”
Lugo nodded. “I’ll get a list, see if it leads anywhere.” He started to turn, then stopped. “What about data backups? Where are they kept?”
Brix raised his brow. “Don’t know. But that’s a good point. Check it out.”
“Who found the body?” Dixon asked.
Brix knelt and pointed at the ground, where paw prints were evident. “Dog must’ve smelled the blood and tracked through it. When he went over to that house out there,” Brix said, indicating the structure where they had all parked, “he had blood all over his paws. The owner freaked out, thought her dog was hurt. She cleaned him up and saw it wasn’t coming from him. She called 911 and dispatch called me. I’ve already spoken to her about the importance of not telling anyone about this.”
“Did she seem cooperative?” Vail asked.
“I was pretty firm about it, gave her a little incentive.” He used his fingers as imaginary quotation marks. “I don’t think she’ll be a problem.”
A loud whistle came down the long dirt row between the vines. Trudging toward them with his thumb and middle finger between his lips was the tall and thin CSI, Matthew Aaron. He stopped a few feet from the body and looked down. “Looks like we’ve got a freaking party here. Sure you don’t want to extend the invitation? I think we need more bodies trampling through my crime scene.”
“Just do your thing and let us know what you find,” Brix said.
He surveyed the immediate area, then chose a spot to set down his toolbox. “I’m gonna need each of you to retrace your steps outta here. And stop by the lab at some point today so I can get castings of each of your shoes.”
As they moved out of the vineyard and back to the parking lot, Vail’s phone rang. It was Frank Del Monaco.
“VICAP?” Vail asked.
“VICAP,” Del Monaco said. “So here’s the deal. The toenail thing is unique as far as the database is concerned. So either no one thought much of reporting a missing toenail, or none of the murders that involved a missing toenail were submitted to VICAP. Or these are the only kills this UNSUB’s committed.”
“Makes sense, because I’d never seen or heard of it before.”
“And I’m looking into that other thing.”
Vail joined the knot of task force members, who had congregated around Brix’s vehicle. “What other thing?”
“Rooney asked me to look into something. He was at the airport, dialed me up and said I got to look into some guy you’re working with. A Detective Scott Fuller.”
Vail was standing five feet away from Fuller. She glanced over at him to see if he’d heard his name. She couldn’t tell. “Hang a sec.” Vail moved off a few paces and said, “What exactly did Art want you to look into? And why? The guy’s a bit of a showoff, trying to impress everyone with his knowledge. But he’s harmless, nothing I can’t handle.”
“Rooney was a little more concerned than that. You know how he is. Someone crosses him, he goes for the jugular.”
She made a mental reminder never to get on Rooney’s bad side. “Okay, but what’s there to look into?”
“He sent me on a fishing expedition. Anything and everything I can find on the guy.”
Vail glanced over at Fuller. “I think he’s overreacting.”
Del Monaco laughed. “You want me to tell him that when he gets here?”
“No,” Vail said a little too quickly. “Leave it be. I don’t know what he saw, but I assume something caught his attention.”
“Yeah, and he might’ve been right. A sealed record. Have no idea what it is, but I’m on it.”
“Could be nothing.” Or, it could be something. “Keep me posted.” She ended the call, put away the phone, and stood there observing. The late afternoon wind blew her hair back off her face. What was it Rooney saw that she hadn’t seen? Was it something obvious, something she should’ve recognized, or merely a feeling he’d gotten in their brief interchange in the conference room?
Whatever it was—or wasn’t—she would keep her eyes open, but carry on until she heard otherwise. There were too many things she had to deal with, and this, at the moment, seemed like a distraction.
She walked over to the others and got the sense they were still talking about the new victim when her phone rang again. It was Robby.
“Hey there. What’ve you been up to?”
“Went to the outlets and did some fabulous shopping, bought you the most marvelous clothing and a dear—”
“Robby, the gay thing doesn’t work for you.”
“No? Fine. I got you some clothes. Hope you like ’em, but I gotta say it was a bit of a crapshoot.”
“Much better,” Vail said. “I’m sure whatever you got will work for another few days. And what about a place to stay?”
“I booked us into this darling inn with a wonderfully frilly duvet and cherry—”
“Robby?”
“Cut it out, right?”
Vail rubbed her eyes with thumb and index finger. “Yeah.”
“Okay. I got us a room at the Heartland B&B in Yountville, a few blocks from downtown.” He gave her the address. “Meet me there in an hour? Or do you want to go straight to dinner? There are a few nice looking restaurants downtown, within walking distance.”
“Works for me. I need to get out of these shoes. I’ll meet you at the B&B, do a quick change, and then we can pick a place t
o eat.”
She shoved the phone into its holder, then walked over to Dixon. “So what’s the deal?”
“Aaron is still with the body.” She glanced at the setting sun. “But he’s gonna need some fixed lights brought in if he’s gonna be here much longer.”
Lugo closed his phone and said, “He said he’ll be done in about twenty. He needs someone to hold the lantern for him.”
“Unless you think he could be our UNSUB, I’ll do it,” Vail said. “I’ve got some time to kill before I can get into my B&B.”
Brix slammed his trunk closed and said, “I’ve known Matt a dozen years. If he’s our guy, he’s fucking got me fooled. But if you’re concerned about it—”
“I can handle it.” She flashed momentarily on her recent romp with the Dead Eyes killer, but pushed it from her mind. She couldn’t do her job effectively if she let things like that change the way she operates.
“Good,” Brix said. “I’ve got a car arranged for you at St. Helena PD. A green Ford Taurus that was used by its investigator before the position was canned. It’s yours. I’ll have Aaron drop you off there when he’s done. Keys will be in a magnetic case in the driver’s wheel well.”
Vail nodded her thanks, wished everyone a good evening, then headed out to the vineyard to assist Aaron. As it turned out, it was to be the start of an unexpectedly dangerous evening.
TWENTY-FOUR
John Wayne Mayfield stood on the hillside, Carson binoculars pressed against his face, watching the police try to make sense of his latest job. He couldn’t make out fine details of their facial expressions at this distance—and in the fading light—but he could get a sense of what they were thinking and saying by their body language.
And they didn’t look happy.
But he had warned them. He told them what would happen. Did they not believe him? Next time they had better listen or he’d make them pay again.
As he crouched and watched them debate what they had found, he realized that maybe he hadn’t been convincing enough. Maybe he needed to speak louder for them to hear him.
AS THE LAST of the task force members drove off, Vail watched a car pull up behind Matt Aaron’s vehicle. At the wheel was Austin Mann.
“I’ll be right back,” Vail said.
“Wait—where are you going? I need you to hold—”
“I’ll just be a couple minutes,” Vail called back, and continued down the path toward Mann.
Mann slammed his door and maneuvered around the car. “I just got the text. Who’s the vic?”
Vail stopped, blocking his path, and shoved her hands in her rear pockets. There he was, only a dozen feet away now. Prosthetic arm at his side. Vail pulled her gaze from the device and looked Mann in the eyes.
“Glad you’re here.” She had to handle this carefully, tactfully—a laughable thought. If there’s one skill Karen Vail never could master, it was the art of diplomacy.
“Who’s the vic?” Mann asked again, craning his head around her, toward where Matt Aaron was bent over the body.
“You sure you don’t know?”
Mann swung his gaze to Vail. “Huh? Should I? Who is it?”
“It’s a male. No ID yet.”
Even in the fading light, Vail could see his eyes narrow. “So why should I—” He stopped. His body stiffened, and he seemed to lean back, away from her. Staring at her.
Vail did not speak. She remained still herself, measuring Mann’s response. A brisk wind whipped through her shirt. Damn, it’s cold.
“Vail,” Aaron called out. “Get your ass back over here!”
Vail ignored him. She looked at Mann.
“Well,” he finally said, “go ahead. Ask.”
Vail folded her arms across her chest. She did it for warmth, but it served the dual purpose of exhibiting body language of someone in charge. “Where were you when each of our victims was killed?”
“That’s not the question you want to ask me, Agent Vail. I’ll give you another shot. Ask your question or get the fuck away from me. Now.”
“Did you kill Victoria Cameron?”
“No.”
“Did you kill Ursula Robbins?”
“No.”
“Did you kill Maryanne Bernal?”
“No.”
“How about the vic lying out in the vineyard behind me?”
“No. Satisfied?”
Vail snorted. “Not really.”
“You’ve really got a set of balls, you know that? To question a person who’s given his life and career, hell, his goddamn left arm for the job—you really think I could be your killer?”
Vail ground her teeth. “I have a job to do, Agent Mann. And part of that job is to look at this case logically, without bias. Our victims were killed by a crushing blow to the trachea. The coroner can’t rule out the use of a tool or appliance. Something that’d make crushing the trachea—normally a tough thing to do—much easier. Then you walk in with a prosthesis. And yeah, I’m thinking, shit, that’s pretty obvious. Too obvious. But I have to look into it, you hear me?”
Mann stared at her but did not reply.
“It’s nothing personal. In fact, someone I respect a great deal vouched for you.”
“You discussed this with Rooney—”
“No,” Vail said. “I didn’t. I’ve thought about it. I couldn’t rule it out in my mind, beyond saying ‘He’s a great agent and great agents don’t do this type of thing.’ Well, that doesn’t cut it when time comes to present my case. You know that. Don’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“So again. Nothing personal. Got that?”
“Yeah.”
“So as to where you were—”
“I was out of town when you found Victoria Cameron’s body. On ATF business. You can ask my partner, if you want.”
“When did you get back?”
“We flew back from New Mexico yesterday morning. Two days after Mrs. Cameron was killed, if I’m not mistaken. Check it out with my partner. We were together just about every minute of the five-day trip.”
“Vail!” Aaron said. “Now or never—”
“You insist it’s not personal.”
“It’s not,” Vail said. Where’s he going with this?
“Have you brought this up to the task force? Have you or anyone else looked into other men in the vicinity who have prostheses? Because if you really think this makes it a slam dunk”—he held up his left arm—“then you would’ve checked into that. Did you?”
“No.”
“Didn’t think so. So don’t fucking insult my intelligence.”
Vail sighed. “I’m sorry. Honestly, I meant no disrespect.” She extended a hand. Mann looked at it a long moment, then turned around and got back into his car.
MATT AARON DROVE UP to the police department, in the heart of downtown St. Helena, a one-story shared-use structure that also housed City Hall. Aaron pulled to the curb and dropped off Vail in front of the building.
Vail opened her door. “Thanks for the ride.”
Aaron didn’t bother turning to face her. “And thanks so much for your help.”
She could tell he didn’t mean it. Sarcasm. A dose of her own medicine.
Vail swung the door closed, but Aaron drove off before it had completely shut.
She pushed through the police department’s front door and walked into a small anteroom separated from the rest of the office by a pane of bulletproof glass. She spoke to the community service officer and explained she was going to be taking the Taurus. The CSO told Vail where it was parked, then gave her directions to downtown Yountville.
As Vail pushed through the doors, her BlackBerry rang. It was Rooney. Oh, god. Please tell me Austin Mann didn’t call Art. That’d suck big time.
“Karen, listen, we got some shit on Fuller. I had Frank look into it while I was in the air, then when I went wheels down, he called me.”
Fuller. She shifted her brain out of panic mode and back to business. “Fuller, yeah, I know.
Frank told me there was a sealed record.”
“Not just a sealed record. Not by a fucking long shot.”
Vail found the magnetic storage container, then unlocked the door and settled herself into the seat. The sun was now long gone and the air had taken on a typical March chill. A gray cast hovered in the sky, billowy clouds barely visible in the charcoal sky above.
“What was it?”
“Juvie record, Fuller was convicted of—wait for it—attempted arson. He was pissed at his teacher, so he set a school storage shed on fire. Janitor was on-site and saw Fuller, did a sketch, and picked him out of a lineup.”
“Arson.”
“I knew there was something about the kid.”
“He’s the sheriff’s stepson, you know that.”
“I don’t give a shit. I’m sure the sheriff knows about this. And here we’ve got an arson in his town and he doesn’t tell us about Fuller’s history?”
“That’s a fine line, Art. Asking a father to rat out his son.”
“Hey, the fucker tried to kill you, Karen. This goes way beyond family. This kid’s a killer.”
“Okay, I’m with you on this. What now?”
“I want you to steer clear of it. I’ll call Mann and have him coordinate with an agent in the San Francisco office. We’ll handle this internally. I don’t want Owens finding out, tipping off Fuller, and giving him a chance to cover up evidence, or bolt or whatever the hell he’ll do. Wish I hadn’t flown back.”
“We can handle it from here.”
“Not we, Karen.”
“Yeah, okay.” She depressed the brake pedal, then shoved the key in the ignition. A pair of headlights came on a few dozen feet behind her. She flipped the rearview mirror into night mode and pulled out of the parking lot, headed right, down Highway 29 toward Yountville. “Keep me posted, okay?” Rooney did not reply. She looked down at her BlackBerry. It had dropped the call. Didn’t matter—she was sure he, or Mann, would let her know what was going down, and when.
Vail sighed. She had thought Fuller was annoying—but harmless. It now appeared she was wrong. Not that she was never wrong—but it didn’t happen often, which was a good thing—because in her profession, being wrong often met with disastrous consequences.
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