Crush

Vail said, “Kevin, Ray tells us there’s something you want to talk about.”

“Yeah.”

But though he kept walking, he stopped talking. Finally, he reached a freshly painted wood structure. It was a small gazebo, built into the side of the path, and looked out upon the vineyard and vine-lined mountains in the near distance. From here, they looked like tight corn-rows on a smooth scalp.

Cameron stepped into the gazebo and took a seat. On the round table sat an opened bottle of 2003 F&M Georges Valley Family Estates Syrah beside a 2004 Opus One. Vail, Dixon, and Lugo took seats around the table. Cameron pulled the corks, then lifted both bottles and gestured to the glasses in front of them. Normally, law enforcement officers did not drink on duty, let alone in the morning. But Vail remembered reading about Opus One’s world class wines and its price—somewhere near $200 a bottle. It was like the snake in a famous garden she’d heard about as a child. In fact, the setting, as beautiful as it was, probably was fitting. As idyllic as Eden?

She looked up at Cameron and pointed at his left hand, which held the uncorked bounty.

“Opus One,” Vail said. “A competitor?”

“The CEO is a friend,” Cameron said. He did not elaborate.

He tipped the bottle and the rich, garnet-tinted wine filled her glass. The others apparently felt she’d opened the door, because they all indicated their various preferences. Lugo no doubt feeling allegiance to his friend and not wanting to hurt his feelings, chose the Georges Valley Syrah. Dixon sided with Vail.

Vail brought the glass to her nose, as Dixon had instructed her, and sniffed. Oh. This is heavenly. She moved it to her lips and sipped. No, this is heavenly. Creamy, with cherry and spice—anise—caressing her tongue. Closed her eyes. Wished Robby was here enjoying this with her, that Dixon and Lugo and Cameron were not.

“So,” Dixon said, swirling the wine and watching the law of centrifugal force play out in her glass. “You have information for us?”

Cameron took a long sip from his glass—he, too, chose the Syrah—and swallowed before answering. “I was thinking about the stuff I told you, about the feud.”

“It goes back a long time,” Vail said. “It’s not likely the catalyst here.”

Cameron nodded. “I know. You’re probably right. But there’s something more recent that happened, I remember Victoria talking about it. I mean, it wasn’t a big deal. Or she didn’t think so at first. But there was this phone call that really upset her.”

“Who called?”

“All I know is that it was someone who knew about the disagreement on the AVA board. So someone with insider knowledge.”

Vail set down her glass and leaned forward. “Back up a second. What disagreement?”

“The AVA board—”

She held up a hand. “This is the group that oversees various things that occur in a particular growing region. That’s the AVA board, right? I’m just trying to remember what you told us last time.”

“Yeah, that’s it. It’s a nonprofit group, a consortium set up to look after political issues that crop up, like enforcing the boundaries of the AVA’s brand. And promotional stuff—tastings, press releases, website content, that sort of thing.”

“These are elected positions?”

“Yes.” Cameron took a drink. “But the AVA is a low-key group, working in the background to enhance the appellation’s value. Battles erupt, but not very often.”

“What kind of battles?” Dixon asked.

Cameron held up his glass to the sun and studied the remaining wine. Then he drained his glass and poured another.

“Political. There’s something that’s been going on for a long time now. There are a few vintners on the board that want to modify the federal government’s regulations for our AVA. The current regulation, if enforced, would destroy our brands—and our businesses. So we’ve been fighting it.”

“How would it destroy your brands?” Lugo asked.

“The law now requires a wine that puts itself out as being in the Georges Valley District to contain 85 percent grapes grown in Georges Valley. But a few of us want the government to change it so we can use the name Georges Valley without having to have 85 percent Georges Valley grapes in the wine.”

Vail crossed her legs and leaned back in her chair. “Why would some vintners be opposed to that?”

Cameron tipped the glass and drank. He licked his lips, then said, “Because Georges Valley is a premium brand, with a well-established quality and cachet associated with it. The fear is new wineries could come into the region and turn out low-priced, high-volume production wines. They couldn’t possibly get the yield they want from Georges Valley, so they would have to buy cheaper grapes from Contra Costa County, the Central Valley, and Livermore. They could then call their wine Georges Valley Reserve. But there wouldn’t be any Georges Valley grapes in it.”

“I haven’t heard anything about this,” Dixon said.

Lugo shook his head. “Me either.”

Cameron forced a smile. “Bad publicity. We keep it under wraps, but it’s gotten pretty contentious at times.”

“We’ll need the names of the players,” Dixon said. “All the board members.”

Cameron sat back. “I don’t think it gets that heated, that anyone would want to kill over it.”

“It’s business,” Vail said. “Business is money. Big money, is my guess. And people kill over money all the time.” But serial killers don’t kill over money, and they kill strangers, not people they work with on local boards. So this still doesn’t fit.

“I’ll have a list faxed over to your office,” Cameron said.

Dixon took the last sip, then set down her empty glass. “Who sits on the AVA board? What type of people?”

Cameron poured more wine for himself, then offered it around the table. But the cops had had enough. “Just about all are winery executives. The president’s position rotates every three years.”

“Do all AVA boards operate this way?” Dixon asked.

“They all vary in how they work. Georges Valley is different than most, I think.”

Vail was suddenly lost in thought, sifting through something her brain was trying to tell her. What was it? AVAs ... winery executives . . . she had seen something somewhere . . . Vallejo. Maryanne Bernal was a winery executive sitting on a nonprofit board. She would have to check to see which one.

“Did you know Maryanne Bernal?” Vail asked.

Cameron looked at Vail. “Yeah, she was a friend of Victoria’s. She was killed about three—” Cameron stopped himself. “You don’t think the two are related—”

Vail pursed her lips. “Can’t say, Kevin. Maybe, maybe not. But we’ll check it out. Maryanne was on a nonprofit board. Do you know which one it was?”

“Yeah, the AVA board.”

“Was she still on the board at the time of her death?”

“No, her time on the board went back a couple years before that, I think.”

Vail looked away. She had hoped Bernal was an active board member—that might have helped provide a needed link. Still, it was worth looking into. Victoria was on the board and she was killed. Maryanne Bernal was on the board a couple years earlier and she was killed.

“Connection?” Dixon asked.

Lugo started bouncing his knee. “What about the Black Knoll vic? Ursula Robbins. Was she on the board?”

Cameron looked off into the vineyard, as if it’d hold the answer. “Not sure. Name doesn’t ring a bell.”

“We’ll check it out,” Dixon said. “Ray, you backgrounded her.”

Lugo nodded. “I don’t remember anything about her being on the board. But the winery she headed up is in Georges Valley. I’ll look into it.”

Cameron took a long drink. His cheeks were now flushed and his pupils were slightly dilated. Vail and Dixon shared a look.