Velocity

ago? Can you cut me out and email it to me?”

“You mean crop it?”

“Yeah, that. Crop it.”

“Sure. I can do it after next period.”

“No, I don’t want you going home and missing school.” Actually, given the circumstances, maybe that’d be a good idea.

“I upload all my pictures to my SkyDrive account. I can go into the computer lab and grab the photo.”

“SkyDrive?”

“Free online storage. Don’t worry about it, Ma, I can do it. I’ll crop it and email it to you. You’ll have it in like an hour.”

“You’re a lifesaver.”

“Yeah, whatever.” He hesitated a second, then said, “Is everything okay? With Robby? Why do you need the photo?”

Shit. It hadn’t occurred to her that he would ask, but now that she thought of it, of course he would. Despite the short tenure, Robby had been the most positive male figure in her son’s life—in years. So how do I answer that one? I can’t lie to him. He’d never forgive me. But I don’t want him worrying.

“I just need it for a case.” Okay, that’s only partially true—but it’ll have to do for now. “Email it to me as soon as you can, okay sweetie?”

Jonathan seemed to accept the explanation—and the diversion—but he was no dummy. He would know something was wrong, but he probably also knew his mother wouldn’t tell him much about a sensitive issue.

Vail hung up, reholstered her phone, and joined Dixon at the elevator.

It slid open and a uniformed officer stepped out.

“You assigned to John Mayfield?” Vail asked.

“Who—”

“Your prisoner.” Vail held up her creds.

“Yeah. Why?”

“Because you weren’t at your station.”

“I had to use the head. I was only gone a few minutes. Guy’s in a coma.”

Dixon shook her head. “No good. Coma or not, he’s extremely dangerous. Don’t underestimate him. And don’t leave your post again unless you’ve got coverage.”

The cop gave them both an exaggerated frown, then pushed past them.

Dixon turned and watched him amble away. “Let’s do something productive. Yes?”

Vail rubbed her face with two hands, then nodded.

9

They took the stairs, avoiding the elevator. Vail pushed through the metal fire door and moved onto the textured gray steel steps. “Merilynn said that Mayfield warned Ray that if he told another detective, Mayfield would know.”

Dixon’s shoes clanked beside Vail. “That would seem to fit with the fact that Mayfield had an inside source.”

“Or,” Vail said, “it merely means he had a way of getting into the Sheriff’s Department and finding out that information. Since he had the cover of a pest control technician, he could move about with impunity.”

Dixon pushed through the door that led into the first floor lobby. “I think we should tell Brix, have him sniff around to make sure there wasn’t someone communicating with Mayfield behind our backs.”

“Couldn’t hurt.”

Dixon pulled her phone and typed out a text with her request. The Crush Killer case was in an unusual gray area—it had been solved but remained active because, like a CSI puzzling over a broken pane of glass, pieces were scattered about but had yet to be gathered up and reassembled into a whole. As a result, Dixon was still the lead investigator.

“We should also dig into who John Mayfield is,” Vail said. “Maybe something from his house will lead us to his lair. We might find a trove of information and forensics there.”

Dixon closed her phone, then stopped short.

“What is it?” Vail asked.

Dixon turned to Vail, her mouth partially open. “Cannon.”

Dixon was referring to James Cannon, a bodybuilder friend of Mayfield’s whom Dixon and Vail had met at the gym. He had hit on Vail, then took offense to something Dixon had said. Shortly before they had identified John Mayfield as the Crush Killer, Vail thought Cannon might be the offender.

Vail shook her head. “Ray tried to locate him. He searched for that start-up winery where Cannon was supposedly the winemaker. Herndon Vineyards. Nothing came up.”

Dixon narrowed her eyes in thought. “I’m not sure we can trust anything Ray told us. We don’t know how he’s wrapped up in all this. We need to look into Cannon and Herndon Vineyards ourselves.”

“Best we start with someone who knows the operations of a winery up close and personal. Brix.”

“Silent partner. But I’m sure he can hook us up with his brother or sister, since they’re the ones who run the place. And I’ll see if he can have NSIB get us Cannon’s home address from DMV.”

While Dixon made the call and told Brix what they needed, Vail wandered over to their car and rested her forearm on the passenger window, then dropped her head against her arm. Thoughts of Robby flittered through her mind . . . and came to rest on yesterday morning when she was leaving for the Sheriff’s Department. She had kissed him good-bye and he stirred.

“See you tonight,” he had told her.

She replied, “Yes, you will.”

Except that she didn’t. He was gone.

“Okay,” Dixon said, pulling Vail from her reverie. “Brix is gonna touch base with NSIB, then have his brother call us.”

Vail pushed away from the car door and nodded.

“Look, I know you wanted to put Mayfield six feet under back there—believe me, I would like to have helped you do it—but that’s not what this is about.”

Vail looked away. “Yeah.”

“We’ll find him, Karen. Eddie’s gone. But Robby . . . We’ll find him. You have to believe that.”

Vail felt a tear roll down her cheek. She flicked it away. “Let’s get going.” As she climbed into the car, she realized she wished she knew where to go. She wished she knew where to go to find Robby.

10

The clock was ticking; Vail kept track of the seconds as they melted into oblivion.

She knew better than most that the initial twenty-four to forty-eight hours in a missing person’s life were crucial. Even Robby, a homicide detective, was subject to the same rule. Because cop or not, at the end of the day, stripped of gun and badge, he was just a human being, a vulnerable civilian. When bound and gagged, or being held captive—if that’s what was going on here—the victim was usually powerless to help himself.

The image of Robby being powerless was incongruous with his imposing physical presence: a thick but trim six foot seven. She had seen him vulnerable only once before—the result of a stun gun attack. And that had nearly been disastrous.

But if Robby was not injured or under someone else’s control, a remaining option was one Vail could not bring herself to consider. Whenever her thoughts meandered in the direction of Robby’s death, her subconscious yanked away her mind, much like old Vaudeville acts were pulled from the stage if they bombed.

As they entered the task force conference room, Vail took a deep breath and realized that her anxiety was causing her to grind her molars. Her dentist would peer inside her mouth at her next cleaning and, once again, admonish her for wearing down her teeth. She would, once again, give him a sharp retort—something like, “If you