Vail stood there, her cell still pressed against her ear, eyes closed, drained of emotion and energy and, well, numb. She lowered her arm, put her phone away, and turned to walk down the hall.
“Everything okay?”
Dixon’s voice. Vail looked up, saw Dixon, Brix, and Owens staring at her.
“Yeah, I just—I could use some coffee. Since sleep isn’t coming any time soon, I need caffeine.” She nodded down the corridor. “Are we going to meet with Nance?”
Brix shook his head. “He’s going to lawyer up as soon as we start questioning him.”
Vail nodded. “The congressman has already used some juice, trying to get us to back off.”
“That’s pretty strong juice,” Owens said.
Vail folded her arms across her chest. “Damage control, is all it is. If his district director is dirty, Church is dirty by association. This is a man who has designs on running for governor. Any kind of association with an attempted murder could cause serious problems for those ambitions.”
Owens was shaking his head. “We should let this lie low. We’ve got Walton Silva. Maybe that’s enough for now.”
“If Nance was a conspirator in trying to kill you, would nailing only one of them be enough? Because that’s what happened here, Sheriff. Nance and Silva and, yes, your stepson, tried to fry me alive.”
Owens shaded red, then stepped forward. “I’ve had just about enough of you!”
Dixon and Brix moved together, cutting off Owens’s path toward Vail, who had staggered back.
Owens extended an arm through the blockade and pointed at Vail. “Their only crime was that they didn’t succeed.”
Vail recovered and stepped forward herself, daring Owens to come at her again. “You want to clear Scott’s name, Sheriff? Question Nance, see what he says. Maybe Silva’s lying. Maybe Scott had nothing to do with it.” She desperately wanted to face Nance, see what he gave up. And better the order come from Owens, which would insulate her.
Owens shrugged off Dixon and Brix. “Scott wouldn’t have anything to do with this. He’s innocent—and now he’s dead. For all I know, you’re the one who shot him.”
“C’mon now,” Dixon said. “I’ve spent an awful lot of time with Karen these past few days and I can tell you, that’s just not what she’s about.”
Owens turned away, strode a few paces down the hall. Wiped at his face, then placed both hands on his hips. Without turning around, he said, “Go. See if he’ll talk to you.”
BRIX WALKED INTO the task force conference room, followed by Vail and Dixon. They took their seats around the table. Nance, in his requisite dark suit, white shirt, and maroon tie, was already there, pacing in front of the whiteboard.
“Mind telling me what this is about?”
Vail looked at him, trying to get a read on his demeanor and body language. Was he, in fact, a conspirator in trying to kill her?
“Do you know a Walton Silva?” Vail asked.
Nance advanced on her, walked just a bit too close for normal speaking distance. He put both hands on his hips and looked down at her. “You know I know him, Agent Vail, otherwise I wouldn’t be here.”
Brix held up a hand. “Okay, Tim. You know him. We did know that. Question is, how well do you know him?”
“Look, don’t insult me. Just come out and ask what you want to ask.”
Vail glanced at Brix, who nodded. She said, “Did you conspire with Scott Fuller and Walton Silva to set the fire that almost killed me?”
“No. Next question.”
“So if we search your house, your garage, your cell phone records, text message transcripts, none of it will implicate you?”
“We were friends, that’s it. I knew him from high school.”
“And you had nothing to do with the fire,” Brix said.
He looked at Brix with an unwavering gaze. “Nothing.”
“Then maybe you can help us out. What can you tell us about Walton and Scott?”
“I knew Scott better. He was a good guy. Walt is, too, but I don’t spend much time with him.”
“What’s he like?” Vail asked. “Someone who’s likely to get into trouble? Honorable?”
“Pretty honorable, yeah. Never did anything a typical teen wouldn’t do. Other than that, I’ve never seen him get into serious trouble.”
Here’s where it would get a little dicey—but she wanted to see his reaction. “That’s interesting, Mr. Nance, because Walton said you and he and Scott worked together to set the fire that nearly killed me.”
Nance leaned forward, invading Vail’s space, and placed a hand on the table beside hers. He was now six inches from her face.
Vail was tempted to head butt him. A quick crack across the bridge of his nose. It would hurt like hell—but it’d also feel quite good. She did not take well to men intimidating her. An image of her ex-husband, Deacon, flashed through her thoughts. There’s no way Nance would pull this on a man; she knew that.
“Bullshit,” he said. “Why the hell would he say that?”
Vail rose from her chair, driving him backwards. She stepped forward, now invading his space and causing him to tilt ever so slightly onto his heels. “Oh, he did more than just say it, Mr. Nance. He wrote it. Three pages worth. Describing how, and why, you guys set the fire. Something to do with Congressman Church running for governor— and taking the three of you along with him and naming you to important posts in his administration.”
Nance tugged at his tie, loosened the knot. “First, it’s all bullshit. And second, Walt wouldn’t do that.”
“Do what, write it all down or set the fire?”
Nance narrowed his eyes. “I don’t believe you.”
“Then I guess we’re even,” Vail said. “Because we don’t believe you, either.”
“And I’m done talking.”
Brix rose from his chair. “Then that’s two things we agree on. Because we’re done talking, too.”
LEAVING THE TIMOTHY NANCE MATTER to Sheriff Owens to sort out, Vail and Dixon headed out of the county building.
Dixon pushed open the front door. “What’s your take?”
Vail held it open for a large man who was entering. “Nance is cool, no doubt about it. But Silva had no reason to lie. Nance is guilty, but whether or not you can prove it is another matter. And making a case against him might be difficult. Unless we find more forensics around his place, the case is Silva’s word against Nance’s. Who’s the jury going to believe?”
Before Dixon answered, Ray Lugo came walking up the steps.
“You’re late for the party,” Dixon said.
“Oh, yeah? Judging by the look on your faces, it doesn’t look like I missed anything. But here’s something we don’t want to miss.” He held up his cell phone. “Just got a call. Kevin Cameron wants to talk.”
Ray Lugo gave Cameron a shoulder hug, then reintroduced him to Vail and Dixon. The four of them stood there, silent, until Lugo said, “Why don’t we go for a walk?”
Cameron nodded, then motioned them to a path around the back of the house, which led to a compacted, decomposed granite path that cut through a rose garden. Twenty paces ahead was a well-tended vineyard. A couple of workers were down one of the aisles, huddled around a vine.
They walked in pairs, Lugo and Cameron ahead of Vail and Dixon. Their shoes crunched the walkway as they waited for Cameron to start talking. When he failed to initiate the conversation, Vail glanced at Dixon, who nodded.
