Crush

by Jacobson, Alan

  Your time will come, Roxxann Dixon. Very soon. This afternoon? Perhaps. Perhaps not. He had much to consider—least of which was what approach would provide him with maximum impact.

  He would use the time while tailing them to mull his options. Maybe something would come to him, a plan of action.

  Mayfield turned the key and started the engine. He’d continue following them for now to see where they were headed with their investigation. That might help him formulate a cogent approach, ultimately making his job easier.

  He pulled out of the parking lot and maintained a discreet distance. A mile or so down 29, an idea began to form. Take the local first. Dixon. It’ll throw everyone into a state of panic. I won’t leave them a choice—they’ll have to talk to the press. Because I’ll leave the body in a very public place, posed, in front of City Hall, right on the stairs. Late at night, so when the bureaucrats arrive in the morning, it’ll be like a blow to the throat. The press will swarm. Then I’ll do Vail, an FBI profiler, and leave her body somewhere else, somewhere public. A double header. State and Federal. They’ll fucking freak. The entire country will be tuned in.

  He rolled down his window. The blast of cold air snaked around his neck and made him shiver—exactly what he needed. He had to cool down before he did something he was not yet prepared for, something he would later regret.

  Enjoy your final hours, Roxxann Dixon. You may soon suffer a crushing blow to your life’s ambitions.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  Vail walked out of Fit1! feeling refreshed, clean, and, at least for now, invigorated. The exercise had sharpened her mind and given her a renewed sense of focus. They each downed nutrition bars Dixon had in her gym bag and were now headed to meet with the AVA board president.

  Once she had turned onto Highway 29, Dixon said, “I thought George was kind of cute.”

  “Really?” Vail faced the side window and watched the wineries pass to her right. “He didn’t do anything for me.”

  Dixon laughed. “Well I can tell you that Jimmy wanted to do something for you.”

  Vail chuckled. “Yeah he did. Did I blow him off properly?”

  “That watch thing was a bit obvious.”

  Vail feigned innocence. “Was I wrong? We’re on a schedule.” She smiled. “But seriously. Are you really ready to give up on Eddie? Is that over? For good? I thought you said you missed him, that you were just going to take some time off.”

  Dixon sighed. “I don’t know. Sometimes I think it’s over, then sometimes I think it’s not. We love each other. That’s not the problem. We just, I’m just not sure we’re compatible.”

  “Was he good to you, did he treat you well?”

  “Yeah, that was never an issue.”

  “So you two have some issues. All couples do. But you love each other, isn’t that worth something?”

  “If it wasn’t, we wouldn’t still be discussing this.”

  “So this guy in the gym—George. Is he better than Eddie?”

  “Better? I just met him. How the hell do I know?”

  Vail turned her body to face Dixon. “You’re attracted to him.”

  “And that’s a bad thing?”

  “Of course not,” Vail said. “My take? He’d be a good workout partner. But he didn’t seem to have much depth to him.”

  A moment passed. “That’s a pretty huge leap based on one short conversation.”

  “I make my living reading people,” Vail said.

  “And your read of Jimmy?”

  “Please.” She scrunched her nose. “He may be a winemaker, but . . . I wouldn’t even want to work out with the guy.”

  Dixon drove another minute before speaking. “Why’d you bring it up?”

  Vail rubbed her eyes. “Because I had a shitty marriage. It didn’t start out that way, but it sure ended that way. So I’m pretty careful. No, I’m extra cautious. I wouldn’t even think of getting involved with someone unless I knew certain things about the guy, about his heart. And his soul.”

  “And you know all this about Robby?”

  Vail sucked on her bottom lip and thought a moment. “It’s funny. I haven’t known him that long, but we’ve been through a hell of a lot together. I trust him. Implicitly.”

  Before Dixon could respond, her phone rang. She pressed the hands-free device on her visor and answered the call.

  “Roxx, it’s Brix. I got an ID on the male. Where are you two?”

  Dixon peered out her window. “Coming up on Opus One. We’re headed to a meeting with someone from the AVA board.”

  “Fine. Pull into the Opus One lot. I’ll be there in five. I won’t keep you long. But you need to hear this.”

  BRIX WAS A LITTLE LONGER than five minutes out, but Vail didn’t mind. When they arrived at Opus One, Dixon had phoned the board president and told her they would be delayed. During the call, she led Vail up to Opus One’s terrace roof, which afforded a 360 degree panoramic view of the immediate valley. Parceled vineyards stretched in all directions, with the peaks of Mt. Veeder in the near distance.

  The terrace was an arbor-covered walkway and patio bordered by rough-hewn limestone walls and planters lining the path. Ahead of them, over the edge, was a lush lawn that sloped gently downward, from the lip of the roof all the way to the parking lot.

  “It’d be fun to roll down that,” Vail said.

  Dixon’s phone rang. Glancing at the caller ID, she brought it to her ear. “We’re upstairs on the roof.” She listened, then said, “Yeah, meet us up here.”

  Thirty seconds later, Brix ascended the staircase and met them at the stone table. Off at the opposite end of the terrace, in a matching area containing tables, a couple stood beside one another at the wall, nursing a glass of wine and taking in the mountain view before them.

  They took seats and Brix pulled out his notepad. “I’ve got a couple IDs for us. With all that’s been going on, this kind of got lost in the shuffle. The male victim was Isaac Jenkins. Private equity fund manager who lives in Sonoma.”

  “And how did we keep that murder under wraps?” Dixon asked.

  “Wife told his company, family, and friends that Isaac had a heart attack. Given what his business is like, and this market, there’s enough stress for ten heart attacks.”

  Vail nodded. “Is he on the Georges Valley AVA board?”

  “That’d be a ‘no.’ I had Ray check it out. He’s got no connection to the board that we could turn up. Ray also followed up on the question of how the UNSUB got your cell number. He said there was no breach of the department’s data backup, as far as the IT guys can tell. And all support personnel have been questioned. No one gave out our phone numbers, or any other information, to anyone.”

  “Then how did he get my number?”

  Brix put his forearms on the round cement table. “I love this view. You can see for miles. And it’s all gorgeous. This is a plot of land I wish we had for Silver Ridge.”

  “Redd,” Dixon said. “The phone number.”

  He shook his head and refocused his gaze on Dixon. “Yeah. So Ray and I were thinking where else he could’ve gotten it. How about the Bureau?”

  Vail leaned back in surprise. “Whoa, I didn’t think of that. All he has to do is dial up the FBI Academy and ask for my cell phone number and they hand it right over.”

  “That’s cute. But what I meant was, do you list it on your Academy emails?”

  “Yeah, it’s part of my signature, at the bottom of all my messages.”

  Brix raised his hands, palm up. “Then who the hell knows how he got it. Sending email is like putting an open envelope in the mail.”

  Vail nodded. She couldn’t argue that.

  Brix yawned, threw up a hand to cup his mouth. “I also have an ID on the female we found this morning. Or was that yesterday? I’m so fucking tired I can’t remember anymore.” He forced his eyes open wider, then said, “Name’s Dawn Zackery. Thirty-two, single. And before you ask, no connection to the Georges Valley board.”

>   Dixon looked at Vail. “I’m beginning to think that board is a dead end.”

  Vail stared out at the countryside. “Maybe, maybe not. If we haven’t got anything else to pursue, then we’ll turn over some rocks, see what we can find.”

  Brix began bouncing his knee. “I was thinking there was an angle we should look into first, something we kind of overlooked.”

  Dixon cocked her head. “And that is . . .”

  “There’s a guy,” Brix said. “Someone we questioned early on. Scott actually wanted to bring him back in and talk to him. I resisted.”

  Vail brushed a lock of red hair behind her ear. “Why?”

  “Well. . . .” He hesitated, then said, “Because he’s an employee of Silver Ridge.” He held up a hand. “I know what you’re gonna say, and before you say it, you’re right. I’ve got a conflict, and I think it colored my judgment on this. I’m sorry.”

  Vail waved it off. It wasn’t something to be glossed over, but Brix came clean and there was nothing to be gained making him feel guilty about his error. “So this employee. Who is he?”

  “The guy who found the body. Miguel Ortiz.”

  Vail leaned back. “I remember him. He gave me his flashlight. He seemed genuinely freaked by what he found. Then again, I didn’t exactly have my guard up. I was on vacation. Could’ve just been an act, to deflect attention off himself.”

  Brix held out a hand. “There you go. Does he fit the profile?”

  Vail bobbed her head about. “He’s about the right age. Although the vast majority of serial killers are Caucasian, there have been a fair number of Hispanics. I can think of five just off the top of my head. That said, Ortiz is a low-level employee without the kind of access to information and people that our UNSUB’s exhibited. From what I’ve seen, our offender is a much more complex killer.”

  “You thought of him, why?” Dixon asked.

  Brix’s eyes narrowed. “Not sure. Just a feeling. When I questioned him at the scene, he wouldn’t look at me. He seemed very nervous.”

  “Maybe he knew you were one of the owners,” Dixon said, “and he felt intimidated.”

  Brix twisted his lips. “Maybe. But he was the one who found Victoria’s body. And Scott did a little checking before he—well, he did a little checking and he found that Ortiz didn’t have an alibi for the other murders up to that point. But Ray thought we were wasting our breath. He just didn’t think this was our guy.”

  “Because?”

  “He said if there was a murderous Mexican looney on the loose, he would’ve heard about it in his community. He seemed pretty adamant that going after Ortiz was a waste of time.”

  “Serial killers are not ‘looney,’” Vail said. “They’re not insane or ‘off their rockers.’ They know what they’re doing. Their actions are very purposeful. And they know murder is against the law. They just don’t care.”

  “I checked with the HR person at Silver Ridge. She sees him from time to time when he’s in the cave, rinsing the floors and washing out pails. According to her, he’s always on time, works very hard and sends money back home to his sick mother. And if he needs something, like medical care, he pays for it. He doesn’t live off the state. For what it’s worth, in her words, he’s harmless. A man with a good heart.”

  Vail smirked. “No offense to your HR administrator, but let’s leave the threat assessment to us.”

  Brix shifted his weight on the bench. “There’s something else about Ortiz.” He paused a moment. “About an hour ago, when Agbayani arrived, I handed him the Ortiz lead and asked him to look into it. As soon as he heard the name, he thought it sounded familiar. Turns out Ortiz was a suspect in the Vallejo murder, Maryanne Bernal.”

  Dixon leaned forward. “No shit?”

  Brix held up a finger. “Hang on a second. Before you get all excited, it was just an eyewitness account of a big guy with a white pickup. They picked him up and questioned him. He’s got ties to Vallejo, a brother who lives there.”

  “An offender may dump a body in an area he’s familiar with,” Vail said.

  Brix waved a hand. “Doesn’t matter. It went nowhere. They had nothing on him. And he had no record, not so much as a misde-meanor. And he was one of about forty-five guys they ended up questioning who matched the description.”

  “So what did Agbayani think about Ortiz popping up again in connection with a murder investigation?” Vail asked.

  “It wouldn’t have been that big a deal. Except that someone fitting Ortiz’s description was seen in the area at the time Isaac Jenkins was killed.”

  Vail lifted a brow. “You knew this? Why didn’t you move on him?”

  Brix let his gaze linger on Vail’s. “I found out right around the time Scott was killed. We’ve been a little busy.”

  Vail held his gaze and didn’t blink.

  “Still,” Dixon said, breaking the silent confrontation, “like what happened in Vallejo, a lot of guys fit his general description, so one witness account doesn’t necessarily mean anything. Unless she picks him out of a lineup.”

  “She didn’t see his face, only his body.”

  “His body?” Dixon sighed. “Make that a poor witness account. Well, it can’t hurt to chat him up. Ask him about the two murders since then.”

  Brix shrugged. “It’s probably not worth pursuing.”

  Vail slid her legs from beneath the cement table. “You’ve got a feeling about this. And we’ve got questions. I think we should go check it out. I’ll call the AVA board president and tell her we need some more time.”

  Dixon rose as well. “Is Ortiz at Silver Ridge?”

  Brix pushed himself off the cement bench as if he was lifting a heavy weight. “He’s not working today. But he rents a room from a family off West Spain in downtown Sonoma.”

  “The male vic, Jenkins, he was from Sonoma.”

  “I’m aware of that,” Brix said.

  “How can we be sure Ortiz is going to be there?”

  “I called the homeowner and she said Ortiz is home. She thinks he’s sleeping.”

  “Does he know we’re coming?” Dixon asked.

  Brix shook his head. “If he is our guy—and I’m not ready to say that—then telling him we’re coming by to question him may set him off. No, we’ll go in quietly.”

  Vail led the way to the staircase, then glanced up one more time to grab a view of the vineyards. It was so peaceful up here. She hadn’t felt an inner sense of tranquility since the day she and Robby arrived here. Her first visit to the Napa Valley, and it was marred by the rampage of a serial killer. Could she ever visit this place again and not be poisoned by memories of this case? It was a rhetorical thought. She already knew the answer.

  “How do you know his landlord didn’t tip him off?” Dixon asked.

  Dixon’s voice, echoing in the stairwell, pulled Vail out of her reverie. She realized she had spaced out, staring at the vineyards and mountains, smelling the soil-wet air. As she started down the steps, she heard Brix’s voice somewhere below.

  “I explained that we didn’t want to make any trouble for her. But short answer is, we don’t.”

  Vail’s “short answer”—to her own rhetorical question—was more visceral. The magical Napa Valley would never be the same for her. The Crush Killer had ruined it. Another reason to catch this bastard. As she thought of all that had gone wrong these past few days, of all the victims this killer had now amassed, Vail realized she didn’t need another reason to want to ratchet down a set of cuffs on his wrists.

  THEY TOOK BRIX’S CAR and arrived in Sonoma thirty minutes later. The drive was as picturesque as any of the views they had seen along Highway 29. Vineyards, rolling hills, mountains. And today, the hint of sun burning through the cloud cover.

  “Welcome to Sonoma,” Dixon said.

  Vail craned her neck around, taking in the small and medium-sized residential homes. “Are there wineries in Sonoma, too?”

  Despite the seriousness of their task ahead, Brix a
nd Dixon, sitting beside one another in the front seat, looked at each other and laughed.

  “I take it that was a stupid question,” Vail said.

  “That’d be a ‘yes’ twice over,” Brix said. “First, it was a stupid question. This entire valley is wine country. Second, Sonoma is considered the birthplace of the California wine industry.”

  Vail turned away and looked out at the Readers Bookstore they were passing on the right. “Oh.”

  “Up ahead is the downtown plaza,” Dixon said, as Brix turned right onto First Street East. “Besides historic wineries, Sonoma also has some interesting shops and galleries. And lots of good restaurants.”

  Vail pointed at a ground-hugging white adobe building with a large cross protruding from its roof. “What did that sign say? Mission San Francisco?”

  “Mission San Francisco Solano,” Brix said. “An old church.”

  Dixon threw Brix a look. “Give me a break. Calling that a church would be like calling Silver Ridge winery a ‘grape juice manufacturing plant.’” She flicked the side of his head with a finger.

  “Hey,” Brix said.

  Dixon turned to Vail. “California History 101. There are twenty-one missions. That one’s the last one built—and the first one built under Mexico’s rule, in the 1820s. It’s also where the very first vineyards in the valley were planted. By monks who lived in the mission.”

  “Not to interrupt the history lesson,” Brix said, “but we’ve got a mission of our own.” He nodded ahead. “We’re coming up on Ortiz’s house.” He slowed the car.

  “Which one?” Dixon asked.

  “Wait,” Brix said, braking to a crawl. He leaned forward, peering in the right side view mirror. “He’s right there. Behind us, I passed him.”

  Miguel Ortiz was walking the sidewalk, about thirty feet away. Brix pulled over to the curb.

  Dixon popped her door. “You sure that’s him?”

  Brix shoved the shift into park and got out. He turned toward Ortiz, then caught Dixon’s gaze. “Definitely.”