Crush

Crystal pursed her lips, clearly debating whether to keep answering these questions—then obviously deciding one more won’t hurt. “Yes,” she said.

“How is Mr. Nicholson?” Vail asked. What she wanted to ask was, Is Mr. Nicholson still alive?

“I spoke to him this morning.”

“Nice guy?”

“Spineless, if you ask me.”

“I just did.” Vail forced a smile. “But if he’s spineless, why did he defy the board and vote against the Superior contract?”

Crystal’s jaw dropped. Before she could ask, Vail said, “You’re not the first person we’ve spoken to about this.” She shrugged. “But you can understand that, from our point of view, that doesn’t fit. A spineless guy doesn’t oppose the others. He goes along. He doesn’t want confrontation.”

“Yes. Well, I suggest you ask him about it.”

“Last thing,” Dixon said. “What’s the status of the Superior contract? If there were only a few who opposed it, did they win the renewal?”

“Actually, no,” Crystal said. “First, that was a preliminary vote. I wanted to see where we were. Second, because it affects everyone’s business, it’s one of the only things where we require a unanimous vote. As I said, this AVA board is very unusual in how it works. I don’t know of any other AVA that works the way we do.” She tried to smile—but it was only a half-hearted effort. “But it’s worked for us.”

Vail was the first to stand. She placed her used napkin on the food tray. “Thanks so much for your hospitality—and for the food.”

Crystal rose from her chair. Dixon motioned her down. “No need to show us out.”

“Yeah,” Vail said. “The way out is pretty obvious. One might say it’s crystal clear.”

THIRTY-SEVEN

As Vail and Dixon walked down the glass stairs, Dixon said, “‘One might say it’s crystal clear’? Were you trying to be funny?”

“I was trying.”

Dixon shook her head. “Try harder.”

They cleared the sliding front doors and headed toward the parking lot and Lugo’s car.

“Three people opposed the vote on Superior’s new contract,” Dixon said. “If Cesar Guevara found out about this, that’s something to kill over. They’d lose millions in business. He does it himself or he hires someone to take out Victoria.”

Vail stopped at the edge of the crushed glass path. “See, this is where this case doesn’t make sense. Serial killers don’t kill for money—I mean, there were a couple of exceptions, and they were women—but we’re talking about a psychopath who’s living out his psychosexual fantasies, which are rooted in a dysfunctional childhood. And what about this Todd Nicholson? He’s still alive and kicking.”

“Maybe he’s the next victim.” Dixon’s phone buzzed. She flipped it open. “Text from Brix. They checked Ortiz’s story. El Brinquito, the restaurant, confirms his alibi. Wants to know if we’re still here. He and Lugo want to meet us here in five.” She tapped out a message to him. Sent it. “What do you say we talk with Todd Nicholson, as well as one of the other board members who was in favor of the Superior contract? See what their take was.”

“Board confidentiality might get in the way.”

“Maybe, maybe not. Sometimes a couple of badges opens their mouths.”

They stood there for a bit, alone with their thoughts, before Vail said, “Look. There are five vics attributed to the Crush Killer. There are few commonalities among them. We’ve got Victoria Cameron and Maryanne Bernal, whose wineries were members of the Georges Valley AVA. Victoria was an active board member. Maryanne was a former member. We need to find out more about Isaac Jenkins and Dawn Zackery. Ray was looking into Ursula Robbins, whose winery was in Georges Valley AVA.”

“Do you see the common thread? Georges Valley.”

“We’ll see when we find out more about the other two vics. In one way, it makes sense because of the male vic—Jenkins. This type of killer wouldn’t go after men. But looking at it from a for-profit motive, it doesn’t make sense. That’s just not what drives these psychopaths. I mean, severing sexual organs—like what this UNSUB’s done with the breasts—that could point to an offender with mental health issues. But the rest of his behaviors are very well explained by his psychopathy.” She leaned back against a pillar that separated the small entry plaza from the parking lot, staring out at the glass building, then shook her head. “This case . . . I can’t get a handle on it. Things just aren’t adding up the way they should be. Something’s not right.”

Dixon looked at her phone and pressed a button. “Email from Crystal.” She scrolled and pressed the trackball. “Board roster.”

“So let’s pick someone who wasn’t opposed to the Superior contract and start there. See if he or she talks to us.”

“They’re here,” Dixon said with a nod to the lot’s entrance.

They met Brix and Lugo halfway to their car and watched their reactions as they tilted their heads, taking in the winery. “I’ve read about this place,” Brix said. “Never been here. Pretty impressive.”

Lugo nodded appreciatively. “The photos I’ve seen don’t do it justice.”

Vail’s phone rang: Art Rooney’s number. “I’ve gotta take this.”

“No problem. I’ll brief them on what Crystal told us.”

Vail stepped away and answered. “Art, what a pleasant surprise.”

“Wait till you hear what I have to say. You might not think it’s so pleasant.”

“Go on.”

“I was looking through the file we have here, and dipshit Del Monaco did his usual thorough job.”

“What did he miss?”

“He ran the VICAP search too narrow. So I expanded it and added some stuff, and bingo. I got you another vic to run down. From ’98.”

“Where?”

“Frisco.”

“Yeah, Art . . . I should’ve told you before. They don’t like that abbreviation.”

“Offer my sincere apologies. Meantime, I’ve spoken with an Inspector Robert Friedberg with the San Francisco PD. He’s waiting to hear from you. I just emailed you his direct line.”

“Thanks, Art. This case is really bugging me. Maybe this’ll help.”

“Anything you wanna run by me?”

“If we were in the same room, yeah. I’d sit down with you for a couple of hours and go through everything. Bottom line is nothing’s adding up. Based on what we know, which is incomplete, this UNSUB might have a profit motive. But—”

“But that doesn’t make sense. Not for a male SK.”

“Exactly.”

“Keep looking, Karen. You’ll find something.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t have much longer. Gifford wants me home tomorrow night.”

“I’m sure you’ll find a way.”

Vail turned back to Dixon and Brix. “I wish I was as confident about that as you are.”

“Look on the bright side. If you head back tomorrow night, we can sit down in the same room for a few hours and hash this thing out.”

“Thanks, Art. Talk to you soon.” She hung up, scrolled to Rooney’s email, and dialed through to Inspector Friedberg. She mentioned Art Rooney and Friedberg agreed to meet her in the Marin Headlands, just north of San Francisco.

Vail hung up and rejoined Dixon, Brix, and Lugo. “Did you tell them about Superior Mobile Bottling?” she asked Dixon.

Before Dixon could answer, Brix said, “I’m vaguely familiar with Superior. Privately held, family-owned business. Like half of all the other businesses in the valley.”

“Privately held,” Vail said. “Meaning we don’t know much about their operations. Their financing, investors, the people with skin in the game.”