Crush

“She’s faxing it over right now.”

“We need to call the Press,” Lugo said, “see if the guy paid for it with a credit card.”

“Do it,” Dixon said.

“Was there a phone number or contact info?” Vail asked.

“Email address.”

Vail pulled her BlackBerry and started to compose a message.

“What are you doing?” Dixon asked.

“Sending him a message. I think it’s time to cut a deal.” She looked up at the others. “Anyone have a problem with going public?” Vail knew it was a sore point: Fuller had forcibly objected—as did Nance—and both had since been discredited.

Brix shook his head. “If Guevara is our guy, we don’t need to do that anymore.”

“And if he’s not,” Vail said, “we blow this chance to make contact. I can at least promise it to him. Whether we follow through with it is something we can hash out later.”

“Can we get a subpoena for Guevara’s computer and Smartphone,” Mann asked, “and any other email- enabled devices he may have?”

Agbayani said, “We should at least get someone on him, keep an eye on him.”

Dixon pulled her cell and dialed. “I don’t think we have enough for a subpoena, but I’ll see what I can do.”

Brix flipped open his phone and pressed a couple of numbers. “I’ll call Gordon. He’s only about ten minutes away from Superior. I’ll have him keep an eye on the place, give him Guevara’s Beemer plate in case he’s our guy and he goes to a cybercafe to use an anonymous PC.” He gave Gordon instructions, then closed his phone. Almost immediately, Brix’s phone rang. “Caller ID says 703 area code.”

Vail frowned. “My ASAC.”

Brix silenced the ringer, then winked. “I’ll have to call him back.” Vail smiled warmly. It really wouldn’t buy her any time with her boss, but it made her feel good. When this case started, Brix wouldn’t give her the time of day. Now, he was doing what he could to keep her on the team.

The fax machine in the corner of the room rang. As Brix retrieved the document, Vail pushed thoughts of Gifford’s directive from her mind and concentrated on the wording of the message she would send. She closed her eyes and considered what she would say. Keep it short. Unemotional. Build him up without being obvious. She typed:

Got your message. Love the ad. Very clever. I want to take advantage of your offer. Let’s make a deal. If you provide us with a list of all your victims—all of them—going back to the very first one, I’ll have the Napa Valley Press here at our offices within an hour of receipt of the list, and you’ll have a front page story in tomorrow’s paper. Let me know if those terms are acceptable.

She read it back to the task force members, who had completed their respective phone calls. They asked a few questions, but the message was largely left intact.

“Any way we can track the email?” Agbayani asked.

Lugo nodded. “If we send it from Outlook through the county’s mail server, yes.”

“But he’ll know it’s not coming from me,” Vail said. “That might spook him.”

“I can set up a mail account for you here. I can spoof it so it’ll look like your BlackBerry mail. But if he knows more than the average Joe about email, he may be able to tell.”

Dixon rose from her chair and stretched. “If he’s reading his mail in a cybercafe, I don’t think he’s going to take the time to dig into it.” She stood behind her chair and leaned on the seatback. “I think we’ll be okay.”

Vail pointed at the laptop. “Do it.”

“I’ll need some help from IT,” Lugo said. He lifted the corded room phone and dialed an extension. He pinned the handset against his shoulder with his head and configured the mail account per the tech’s instructions. He hung up and said, “I’m ready. I’ve got tracking enabled. He won’t know. We’ll see when it’s delivered to his mail server.”

Lugo sent the message, then leaned back in his chair. “Now we wait.”

The mail delivery receipt came back almost immediately; the UNSUB’s response within thirty minutes. The familiar Outlook “mail received” chime sounded. Lugo slid his chair squarely in front of the laptop and yelled, “Got something.” He opened the message and read: “I want TV news there, too. I will send you the document soon. You’ll then have sixty minutes to get a TV reporter there. I’ll know. I’ll be watching.”

“Call the news desk at KNTV,” Dixon said to Agbayani. “Tell them we need a reporter and cameraman, in a marked van. Explain to them we have an exclusive breaking story that’s fluid. But,” she said, raising a finger, “do not mention the words serial killer.”

Agbayani nodded, then pulled his phone.

“Ray,” Brix said, “anything on the tracking?”

“Delivered to the mail server. I’ll ask the IT guys to do a more thorough analysis of its path. But I would guess it’ll end up at some generic wireless connection and he’ll be long gone.”

“We don’t know if we don’t try. Have them look into it.”

FORTY MINUTES PASSED. The task force members performed follow-up on their various outstanding tasks, compared notes, and discussed the information they had amassed that had not yet been shared with the group. It didn’t necessarily get them closer to identifying the Crush Killer, but it helped pass the time while they waited for some indication that the UNSUB was going to fulfill his end of the agreement.

A reporter and photographer from the Napa Valley Press arrived and were ushered to the morgue conference room on the first floor. They were told they would likely have a major story to write about, but the investigation was in a sensitive phase. Against the promise of an important scoop, they took seats and waited.

Vail stood to stretch when her BlackBerry buzzed. She nonchalantly read the display. That’s it. “Text message. From the offender—”

package taped to silver ridge sign for you. cute trick with the email agent vail. don’t deceive me again.

Vail read it to the group.

“Let’s get a fix on him,” Dixon said. “Triangulate that text.”

Lugo grabbed the phone and started dialing.

“What’s the point?” Vail said. “If he left something for us at Silver Ridge, we know where he was—or is. Why don’t we check in with Gordon, see if Guevara has moved?”

“On it,” Brix said.

Dixon said, “Ray, cancel the triangulation and get the closest LEO over to Silver Ridge ASAP. Call CHP, see if an officer’s near. Or contact NSIB. Just get someone there fast.”

A moment later, Brix ended his call. “Gordon went in and eyeballed Guevara after I sent him over there. No one’s been in or out of Superior since. While we were on the phone, he checked in on him again. Still there.”

“CHP was nearby,” Lugo said, hanging up his phone. “They’re about to pick up the package at Silver Ridge. I told him to take photos before he picks it up. But you think—should we call in EOD, at least alert the HDTs we may have a job for them?”

“HDTs?” Vail asked.

“Hazardous Device Technicians,” Dixon said. “They handle all suspicious packages for the Explosives Ordnance Division.”

Although this offender had not yet shown any proclivity toward bombs, it was always an option for your friendly neighborhood narcissist looking to grab attention. Vail was about to weigh in when Dixon spoke up.

“Let’s first see what the package looks like before we call out the troops.”

A moment later, they had their answer: A photo came to the sheriff’s department in an email from the officer on-scene. The phone rang and Lugo picked it up. “Yeah, patch her through.” He covered the receiver and said, “The