“This is my first time in here,” Dixon said, perusing the magnum bottle of Anomaly Vineyards Cabernet. “Probably my last, too.”
Vail and Dixon settled down in chairs facing the windows. Brix took a seat opposite them, then engaged the waiter with a nod as the man entered the room. “Bring us a spread. Whatever you’ve got prepared. We’re hungry and we need some time to talk undisturbed. There’ll be five of us.”
“Yes sir,” the server said.
After he had left the room, Brix turned toward Vail and Dixon. “I know we’re under the gun. I realize you’re leaving in a few hours. And I know Detective Hernandez is still AWOL. But what the hell were you thinking? The warrant—” he lowered his voice and glanced around, even though they were in a private room. “The warrant was denied. You’re both vets here, you know the deal. I mean, what the fuck?”
“It was my call,” Vail said.
“No, Karen, it wasn’t your call. There was no call to make.”
Vail leaned back in her seat. She wasn’t in the mood for this. “What’s done is done. If it matters, it wasn’t a waste.”
“It doesn’t matter, because anything you think you may’ve gotten, it doesn’t count for shit.”
“Legally,” Dixon said, “that’s true. But it is significant.”
Mann and Gordon entered the room and, in unison, craned their necks to take in the decor.
“It’s nice,” Brix said. “We’ve covered it. Have a seat.”
As they settled in, Gordon said, “I take it you’re ripping them a new one.”
“I was just getting started.”
Dixon set both her elbows on the table. “Before you get too upset, the address we found was Ian Wirth’s.”
Gordon stuck out his pudgy hands, palms up. “So Ian Wirth’s address was found in Guevara’s house. Guevara’s company had a contract with the Georges Valley AVA board. Victoria Cameron was a board member and Isaac Jenkins’s business partner was on the board. Are you saying we’re back to thinking Guevara was involved in the Cameron and Jenkins murder? I thought we settled that when we caught Mayfield.”
“Not the least of which,” Brix said, “is that if Guevara’s wrapped up in that, there’s nothing we can do about it because you broke into his fucking house!” He took a breath, calmed himself, and lowered his voice. “Do you see what—”
“It’s not that,” Vail said. She brought both hands to her face and rubbed her bloodshot eyes. “The address. Yes, it was Wirth’s
There was silence at the table. The waiter must’ve sensed the opening, because he slipped in with plates cradled across his left forearm. He deftly set them down across the center of the table and said, as he pointed, “Halibut wrapped in prosciutto. Grilled lamb chops with creamy spinach. Artisanal cheese plate with apple slices, spiced almonds, and dried dates. Clams, served with a warm sauce drizzled on top and presented on a bed of sea salt. Finally, fennel sausage pizza. Need anything else, please let me know.” He turned and left.
Austin Mann looked at Brix, who held up his hand. “I got it covered. Honest.”
They all stared at the food. Poking out from between the halibut and lamb chops was the Wirth address. It served as a barrier to the decadent treats in front of them.
“So what does this mean?” Mann finally said.
Vail sat back. “I’m at a loss. I’m too close. I can’t see it objectively. The obvious questions are, Why did Robby know Cesar Guevara? Why did Robby write down Wirth’s home address? Why did he give it to Guevara? What’s Guevara’s relationship to John Mayfield?”
Dixon shook her head. “You’re getting ahead of yourself. We don’t know Robby knew Guevara. All we know is that Guevara was in possession of a piece of paper containing something Robby had written.”
“That’s true,” Brix said. “So let’s all calm down a minute.” He motioned to the food. “Eat. We need to get something in our stomachs.”
They hesitated until Brix himself grabbed a slice of pizza. Then Gordon, Mann, and Dixon dug in. Vail was the last to toss some food on her plate. She reluctantly stabbed at the halibut and scooped the fish into her mouth. But despite the promise of heavenly flavors, she didn’t taste anything.
“The pressing question,” Dixon said, “is why Robby had Ian Wirth’s home address. There’s just no obvious reason for that. Robby was on vacation. He didn’t know Wirth. He had no
“He’s on the Georges Valley board, right?” Mann asked.
“Yes. And if Robby had any contact with Wirth, I want to know why.”
Brix leaned to the left and pulled a sheaf of papers from his right rear pocket. “You gonna call him now? Kind of late—almost 11:00.”
“It’s about his dead colleagues. I don’t think he’ll care.”
Brix read her the number. Dixon dialed, then rose and stepped outside the room.
“I wish Mayfield was conscious,” Vail said. “I’d like another crack at him. I didn’t do such a good job the first time around.”
“Bullshit,” Brix said. “You did great. That shit with making him talk to his mother, that was fucking brilliant. If your phone hadn’t rung—”
“If Ray hadn’t unloaded on him,” Gordon added, “things would be different.”
Vail lifted a shoulder, played with her food. “But my phone did ring. Ray shot Mayfield. And Robby went missing.” Saying the words, at the late hour with her flight looming, finally hit. She dropped her head to keep from bursting into tears—but it didn’t work.
“Ah, shit,” Brix said. He got up and moved to the other side of the table, beside Vail. Took her in his arms and let her bury her face in his chest. Her shoulders lifted and shuddered, and she grabbed his arms, wanting to escape the embarrassment, the pain, the stress, the strain of the past week.
Dixon walked back in and said, “What happened?”
Vail lifted her head, pushed away from Brix and grabbed her napkin. She stuck her elbows on the table and wiped the thick, rough cotton against her eyes. “I’m sorry. That shouldn’t have happened.”
“Nonsense,” Mann said. “Probably best that it did. You needed that release. We’re not robots, Karen. We go about our jobs seeing all sorts of shit—violence, greed, death, you name it—and we try to bury it. Well, sometimes, especially when it’s personal, it just fucking gets to you.”
She nodded, then reached for her glass and swallowed a mouthful of water.
Brix straightened out his shirt, then left the room.
“Thanks,” Vail said. “I—You’re right.”
Dixon held up her phone. “Wirth didn’t know a Robby or Roberto Hernandez, and said he didn’t remember having any contact with him.”
Gordon frowned. “Worth a shot.”
“But . . . he did receive a call a few days ago, a voice mail from some unidentified caller. Warning him that his life was in danger.”
“Why didn’t he call us?”
“He did,” Dixon said. “But Wirth didn’t get the message right away because they called a line for a small subsidiary of his. He doesn’t check it daily. Once he retrieved his messages, which was yesterday, he called the number on the card I gave him.”
“Which is your office line,” Mann said.
“Right. And I haven’t been to the office, and I haven’t checked my voice mail. I’ve been a little busy. He’s beefed up his security, just in case it wasn’t a prank.”
“He didn’t recognize the voice?” Vail asked.
“Nope.”
“So he’s got a guardian angel.”
“That guardian angel could be the key to all this. Someone who knows what’s going on—which is more than we can say for ourselves.”
