“A guardian angel?” Brix was standing in the doorway holding an open bottle of red wine.
Dixon briefed him on the Ian Wirth phone call.
“Let’s get the audio over to the lab,” Brix said. “Have it analyzed.”
“Already asked him to save it.”
“Whaddya got there?” Gordon asked, wagging a stubby finger at the wine.
“Kelleher Cabernet,” Brix said, spinning the bottle to display the label. “From the owner’s own vineyard. Out there,” he said, gesturing out the windows. “Good stuff.” He reached across the table and poured a glass for Vail. “You need it.”
Vail took it and swallowed a mouthful. It was “good stuff,” as Brix said. By the second gulp it was hitting her bloodstream and she could feel the relaxation flowing through her arms, her legs, and her face.
She put down the glass and leaned back in her chair.
“Now get some more food into you,” Dixon said.
Rather than filling her plate, Vail said, “Aside from this mysterious guardian angel, there’s only one source of information right now.”
Brix held up a hand. “Stay away from Cesar Guevara. We’ll need to take it slow with him. Put some guys on him, build a case. Get a warrant. Do it right.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Dixon glanced over at Vail, who was staring at her plate. Nudged her elbow.
“Yeah,” she said, at the prompt, “no problem.”
“Let’s look at what we’ve got so far,” Mann said. He lifted his prosthetic left hand and tapped the fingers on his right. “Blood evidence on the carpet of your B&B. A fair amount, but not really enough if he’d bled out. But enough if he’d been shot or stabbed, then moved. No results yet on matching the DNA to Hernandez. Then we’ve got the leather jacket found in Mayfield’s house. Hernandez’s?”
“I’m not sure,” Vail said.
Brix pulled his phone. “Aaron should’ve had something on that by now. Prints, DNA. Something.” He began thumb typing.
“We got Mayfield’s boast,” Mann continued. “‘There’s more to this than you know.”
“And,” Dixon said, “Robby’s phone logs were deleted. That might or might not mean anything. If he was the kind of person who regularly emptied out his phone, means nothing. But if someone did it for him, it could tell us a story: who called him or who he called before he disappeared.”
“Any way we can recover that data?” Gordon asked.
Vail swallowed another sip of wine. “I sent it back to the FBI. Theoretically, the lab should be able to read the memory. They were also supposed to get his logs from the wireless carrier. Haven’t heard anything yet.”
“That’s a big one,” Dixon said.
“I know, Roxx.” Vail’s tone was short. “I should’ve thought of it earlier, when I could’ve called the lab. I fucked up.”
Dixon placed a hand on Vail’s forearm to calm her. It worked.
Mann glanced over at Vail and said, “Where are we in finding Hernandez’s friend? The Sebastian dude.”
Brix shook his head. “Last I heard from NSIB, none of the names checked out. And we hit a zero with V. Sattui, the winery that sells the Madeira that Sebastian supposedly drinks. Customer listing, charge receipts, nothing. No one’s recognized Robby’s photo, either.”
“And,” Gordon said, “there’s the fact that Robby’s gone off the grid. No credit or debit card use. No hotels. Nothing at area hospitals or—excuse me, Karen—or at morgues. No plane, train, car rentals.”
“He had a car rental,” Brix said. “He would’ve just taken it if he left of his own choosing.” The sudden vibration of the phone in his hand nearly sent it careening to the floor. Brix angled his gaze down to read the text message. “Aaron—analysis of the leather jacket. He’s able to account for 14 out of 16 latents as—” He scrolled down and continued: “as belonging to Mayfield. The others were unidentifiable partials. Nothing on DNA. Too soon.”
“Doesn’t look like it’s Robby’s coat,” Vail said. She let her head fall forward into her hands and rubbed her temples. “I’m not sure if that’s good or bad.”
“It’s good,” Dixon said. “Anything that removes, or weakens, a connection between Robby and Mayfield is good in my book.”
Brix set down his phone and piled a few squares of cheese on his plate, followed by a couple of clams and a lamb chop. “But it does bring up the issue of James Cannon. He’s still in the wind. We’ve got about two dozen deputies and investigators looking for him. His photo has been sent around to LEOs in a hundred mile radius. I’ve even snagged a chopper to scour the woods with infrared. So far, nothing.”
“So it comes back to Guevara,” Mann said. “He’s got skin in the game, but we can’t prove it and we can’t nail it—or him—down.”
Vail sat there, the wine stirring her head in pleasant waves. Her lids felt the weight of a lack of quality sleep and an overabundance of stress. But through it all, the broad outlines of a plan began to form. It wouldn’t be something she could share with the others because they would explicitly forbid her from carrying it out. With time disappearing like a painter rolling a primer coat on a wall, covering all beneath it, she didn’t see a choice. They were beating their heads against a wall. At least, that was how she felt.
Vail pushed her chair back from the table. Her body had the heavy and sloppy movements indicative of high blood alcohol content. “I’d totally understand if you guys wanna knock off. Go catch some sleep. We haven’t had a whole lot of it lately.”
Brix and Dixon locked eyes, silently weighing the offer.
“Seriously, guys. I’m leaving for SFO in like four hours. Unless we’ve got something pressing to follow up on that’s not already being done, there’s no reason to work through the night. Again.”
Brix hiked his brow. “I guess you’re right. Let’s go catch forty winks, start fresh at 8:00 AM. Roxx?”
As the lead investigator, she had to make the call.
Dixon turned to Vail and read her face.
“Yeah. Let’s call it a night. Keep your cells by your beds. Just in case.”
Brix wiped his napkin across his mouth, then threw the soiled cloth on the table. He stepped around the table and spread his arms. He gave Vail a firm hug, then leaned back. “Karen, I never, ever thought I’d say this . . . that first day we met we kind of got off on the wrong foot. But I’ve really enjoyed working with you. You challenge me —all of us. You make us better.”
Vail tilted her head. “I don’t know about that.”
“I mean it. It’s been an honor.”
“Same here.” She turned to Mann and Gordon. “All of you. Thanks for putting up with me. My attitude.”
“Hey,” Mann said, “you just wanna get the damn case solved. We may go about it in different ways, but . . . Well, Redd’s right. Thank you. If there’s anything we can do on our end—”
“We’ll keep working this,” Brix said. “Tomorrow morning, we’ll be right back at it. We’re gonna find Robby and we’re gonna find Cannon.”
Vail tightened her lips, then nodded appreciation.
“C’mon,” Dixon said. She led Vail away, back toward the car. Neither of them said a thing until they got inside. When the doors closed, Dixon pulled away and let loose.
28
I know you, Karen. You’re thinking of doing something stupid.” She turned to face Vail, her eyes hard and wide and angry. “And don’t fucking lie to me.”
“So after all we’ve been through these past seven or eight days, working in close quarters and dealing with all the shit we’ve dealt with, all you can say is that you know me and that I’m going to do something stupid?”
Dixon extended the fingers of her right hand, which remained on the steering wheel. “That didn’t come out right. I’m sorry. I just think, well, I think you’re reacting emotionally. I’m sure I’d be the same way if this had happened to me, with Eddie. If I could’ve prevented his death, had I known he was in danger . . . ” She curled her hand around the wheel. “So let’s cut through all the shit. Can you do that for me?”
