full on. She slowed to a jog, then stopped, bent over at the waist, hands on her knees.
She looked up to see the cloud of brown dirt hooking into the dense blind of trees to her right. Just as she had suspected.
Vail straightened up, her eyes tracking Cannon’s visible trail as she felt with her fingers to insert the Glock into its holster.
A moment later, she was joined by Dixon and Brix. She pointed toward the plume, somewhere in the distance, a location that was now only accurate in her imagination. She had no idea where James Cannon had gone. She just knew he wasn’t lying at her feet, handcuffs encircling his wrists.
“Totally sucks,” Dixon said.
“Saw it coming. Nothing I could do.”
Brix stepped forward and peered out over the vines, into the forested land half a mile away. “I called it in. There weren’t any choppers on alert. I think we just gotta face the fact he’s gone.”
“For now,” Vail said. “Let’s poke around his house, see what we can turn up.”
Dixon sighed. “Somehow that doesn’t seem . . . adequate.”
Vail turned and headed back toward their car. “It’s not.” She spit a mouthful of grainy soil from her mouth. “Not even close.”
CAP KRANDLE HAD CONTACTED Herndon’s chief executive and asked him to pull James Cannon’s employment application and hiring paperwork, which contained a home address that matched the one Gordon and Mann had obtained. If it had been as she suspected, that Cannon had not been looking to be a killer when he’d taken the job with Herndon, but had merely been someone capable of violence and had it unlocked through an association with Mayfield, then it made sense that he had not had the forethought to use subterfuge by listing false addresses and using disposable phones.
And if he was truly a narcissist like Vail believed, then Cannon probably felt he was smarter than everyone else and would be capable of eluding the grasp of law enforcement if the need ever arose.
Thus far, Vail had to admit, Cannon’s plan—whatever it was, and though far from ideal—had kept him a free man. Just how long that lasted, however, was not something the guy should take to the track. If Vail had something to say about it, he’d end up being disappointed with the results.
Vail finished cleaning her face with the wet cloth Krandle had given her. “Something to keep in mind, Mr. Krandle. We’ve got reason to believe James Cannon is a violent individual. You’d be smart to avoid contacting him. And if he comes back here—which I sincerely doubt—play it cool. We didn’t tell you anything and you don’t know anything. But as soon as it’s safe, call us. Better yet, text us so there’s no chance of him overhearing you.”
Brix handed him his card. “He calls, comes by, anything—let us know.”
WHILE BRIX TENDED TO AN ERRAND, Vail and Dixon made their way to Cannon’s house. Upon arriving, they saw three county vehicles parked out front at various angles, a haphazard job that suggested they arrived on scene in a hurry.
Through the front window, its blinds parted by the tip of a SIG Sauer handgun, Burt Gordon was motioning them in. He stepped back and the aluminum slats fell closed.
Vail led the way across the lawn, green and thick and robust—which did not surprise her. The medium gray house, set back and sandwiched between two equal size single-story homes, was located in what appeared to be a respectable middle class neighborhood.
Vail pushed the door open and entered ahead of Dixon. As expected, the interior was well-maintained and obsessively clean.
A series of reference texts on the art and science of enology lined the bookshelves of his family room. Dixon pulled one and thumbed through it. “He was clearly serious about being a wine maker.”
“Lots of people have dreams,” Vail said. “Just because he had books about the subject doesn’t mean he would’ve been any good at it. But the point is, he didn’t think there was much value in being an inventory control manager. It was a job he took because he couldn’t secure the position he really wanted. To him, being a wine maker held the prestige he sought.”
Dixon shoved the book back onto the shelf. “So he saw his job as a failure?”
Vail pressed on through the house. “That could’ve been a trigger. Frustrated in his ability to capture the position he really wanted, he saw the power and ‘respect’ Mayfield commanded by killing. He began to thirst for that power. Killing was a way for him to achieve that. Posing the body on the steps of the Hall of Justice put him front and center. Bang—he’s got the power.”
“PC?” Dixon asked.
They swiveled, did not see one, then split up and searched the two bedrooms.
“Got a laptop,” Vail said. “It’s unplugged.” As Dixon joined her, she lifted the lid. The screen remained black. “Looks like it’s off. Let’s have Gordon and Mann bring it to the lab for the techies to comb through.”
They moved into the living room. Bodybuilding magazines were stacked on the coffee table—and in the master bathroom, too. Empty MET-Rx canisters sat stacked atop the recycling bin in the garage, near an extra set of dumbbells and a weight bench perched in front of a mirror in the second, empty port. A half-filled Platypus water bottle stood on a chair by the far wall.
Mann appeared in the doorway to the garage. “Anything?”
“Got a laptop for you to take back to the lab.” Vail then told him her developing theory on the trigger behind Cannon’s suspected act of murder.
“We’ll get a deputy posted here in case he returns,” Mann said, “but I doubt he’ll come anywhere near here.”
“Where’s that shed?” Dixon asked.
Mann led them out the backdoor into a medium-size yard. Through a stand of tall bushes and trees was an evergreen-painted structure that blended into the existing flora.
They stood inside, a ceiling mounted fluorescent fixture providing adequate light. Vail knelt and examined the dried, matted blood.
“The CSI took samples,” Mann said, “so don’t worry about messing it up.”
“Did he agree—was it a deer?”
“He said that was a good guess, but you know those guys. They’d rather have facts than spend time debating possibilities.”
They left the shed and stood in the yard.
“He knows we know,” Dixon said. “We’ve set up roadblocks on all roads leading out of the valley, but he’s on an ATV. He could be anywhere. Question is, how far can he get on that thing before he runs out of gas? And how far can he go before he hits a natural barrier he can’t cross?”
“From what you described,” Mann said, “sounds like he could get lost in those woods. Unless he’s a survivalist, sooner or later he’s gonna need food and water.”
“There are plenty of houses to breach,” Dixon said. “I say we go public, put the word out. Make everyone aware he’s out there. We can circulate a photo. Go full blast.”
Vail had to hold her tongue. If they had gone public a couple days ago with the Crush Killer’s murders, John Mayfield might’ve been caught sooner.
She stopped herself. No sense in looking backward. It was time to move ahead, keep tending the path they had started clearing.
Dixon’s phone buzzed. She lifted it, listened, and said, “Be right over. Have her wait—” Dixon’s eyes rose from their focus on the ground and met Vail’s. “Really. Okay, thanks.”
“What?” Vail asked.
Dixon turned to Burt Gordon, who had just entered the yard. “Finish up here, then meet us back at the department.”
“What’s the deal?” Vail asked.
“Merilynn Lugo. That’s where Brix went. She gave him a DVD for us.”
24
