Vail closed her menu and looked at Bledsoe. “This is a waste of time.”
“No, it’s not. Just tell Hector what you know.”
Before Vail could answer, the waitress appeared, ready to take their order. DeSantos, who hadn’t even looked at the menu, ordered first. “You have steak?”
The waitress pointed at the closed menu in front of Bledsoe. “We’ve got a grilled sixteen ounce rib eye with —”
“Perfect.”
“I’ll have the Rueben,” Bledsoe said.
Vail handed over her menu. “Salmon for me.”
The woman asked a few more questions, then left.
Bledsoe gestured to Vail to pick up the conversation.
“Robby—Roberto Enrique Umberto Hernandez. Thirty years old, detective with Vienna PD.”
“Little Vienna? They have detectives on their force?” He looked at Bledsoe. “I’m serious.”
“Yes, Hector, they’re a real PD and they’ve even got real detectives.”
“So Robby and I were in Napa,” Vail said, “and I was working the Crush Killer case, and he was out sightseeing and wine tasting.”
DeSantos held up a hand. “So if Robby wasn’t working the case with you, why did he tag along to California?”
“I didn’t go there to work. It was supposed to be a vacation for both of us. But it didn’t work out that way.” Vail felt a pang of guilt in her abdomen. Heck, it was more than a pang. It was a lancing wound.
“So from what little Bledsoe told me,” DeSantos said, “your friend’s gone.”
“That’s about it. Cell left in the room, log deleted. Everything there, even his car. A bloodstain on the carpet, near the bed, cleaned up. We’re awaiting DNA on the blood. We did the usual workup, but no one had seen him around. He had a friend, some guy named Sebastian, but we couldn’t find a Sebastian in the whole freaking region who knew Robby. Wait, that’s not true—what I said before, about no one seeing Robby. Someone had seen him. The serial killer we grabbed up last night recognized Robby when I showed him a photo. He wasn’t sure where he’d seen him, but then he left me a message that seemed to suggest he’d seen Robby with a guy named Cesar Guevara.” Vail then provided further details, including background on Cesar Guevara and his Superior Mobile Bottling business.
DeSantos leaned back, his head tilted, processing all the info. He looked at his water glass, lifted it, and took a drink. Finally he said, “This is some fucked up shit, Agent Vail. I don’t know what to make of it. Or where to even begin.”
“Call me Karen. And I know very well what we’re dealing with. Thanks for your expert assessment.” She looked at Bledsoe, thinking,
“You don’t even know if he’s still alive. Chances are good he’s not. Are you prepared for that?”
“No, Hector, I’m not prepared for that. Would you be prepared to accept the death of a loved one if she went missing, without doing everything in your power to find her?”
DeSantos seemed agitated. He glanced at Bledsoe but did not look at Vail.
Bledsoe said, “Hector went through the death of a loved one. He knows what it’s like. I don’t think he made that comment lightly.”
“I didn’t,” DeSantos said. “And the facts are that after the first forty-eight hours—”
“I’m not some ill-informed civilian. I know what the deal is with missing persons. That’s why I’ve been running myself ragged. Because I know that every minute that passes, the likelihood of finding him, if he is still alive—” She felt her throat catch and stopped.
DeSantos sucked on his cheek a moment, then said, “I’ve got some materials Bledsoe put together for me. I’m going to review them tonight and poke around. But I want to be totally honest with you. I’m probably going to have to dig deeper, use resources that should only be used for sensitive government work. Robby going missing is a personal case. At best, it’s a local case for Napa County to deal with.”
“That’s not tr—”
DeSantos held up a hand. “I deal with issues where national security’s at risk, where thousands, tens of thousands, or millions of lives are at stake. To use my resources for one life . . . ”
“Rewind a bit, Hector,” Bledsoe said. “If you were sitting in Karen’s seat—”
“I get your point,” DeSantos said firmly. “I already said I’d help and I’ll honor that. You know me, you know I’m good for that. But you’ve gotta understand there are limits. That’s just the way it is. Because if I step too deep into the shit, the director will be on my ass. I know him personally, and I try to keep my relationship with him in a good way.”
Their food came, and Vail looked at the salmon in front of her. The presentation was exquisite and the aroma rising from her food did not disappoint. But she had lost her appetite. Robby was on her mind. She thought of all the serial killer victim families she had met over the years. Most at least knew the fate of their loved ones. Robby was gone. Alive? Injured? Dead? Tortured? Inhumanely disposed of? Not knowing was an internal torment she would have to deal with for now. It would fuel her hunger for finding him. Or finding answers to what had happened to him—and why.
Then she would catch whoever was responsible. And make him pay.
35
Bledsoe dropped Vail at home. She said a few words to the cop Fairfax County had assigned to watch over Jonathan, and then trudged up to her front door.
The porch light was out, making the area darker than usual. She made a mental note to change the bulb. For safety’s sake, it’s the least she could do. Lighting and trimmed shrubs were as important as locks . . . they acted as deterrents and indicated to a would-be offender that the occupant was aware of her environment and personal security.
Before Vail could bring up a fist to knock, the wooden door swung open. Her Aunt Faye was standing there, a dishrag in hand. “Well, well, well. I was beginning to wonder if you were ever going to come home.”
Vail pulled on the screen door, then gave her aunt a hug. “It’s good to be home.”
Faye squinted, looking around Vail at the dark stoop. “Where’s your luggage?”
Vail lifted her arm, revealing the day bag. “I packed light.”
“Nonsense,” she said, looking intently into Vail’s eyes. “I remember you leaving with a large suitcase.”
Vail moved into the house and tossed her bag onto the couch. “Let’s just say it’s a long story and leave it at that.”
“Did your friend drop you off? Robby, isn’t it?”
“He’s—no, another friend of mine brought me home.”
Faye leaned in closer, then turned on the living room light. She made a point of studying Vail’s face. “What on earth happened to you?”
“Me?”
“Uh-huh.” She turned her head away, viewed Vail from the corner of her eyes. “So what was it, really?”
“A case. It got a little rough. Good thing is the bad guy got the worst of it.”
“Your work is so dangerous, Kari. I don’t know why you do it.”
Vail wasn’t going to be baited into this discussion. She was not in the mood to discuss it. Instead, she stepped into the hallway. “Jonathan home?”
“In his room.”
Vail took another few steps to his door. Knocked. No answer. Napping? Not likely at 8:00 PM. Tried the knob—unlocked—so she walked in. Jonathan was sitting at his desk, his back to her, large black gaming headphones covering his ears and his Xbox 360 controller in his hand.
She came up behind him and tapped him on his shoulder. He twisted his neck quickly up and back—saw his mother—and set the controller down and pulled off the headset in one motion.
He rose to give her a hug but stopped an arm’s length away. “What happened to your face?”
“All in a day’s work. No big deal. Looks worse than it is.” She took him in her arms and gave him a squeeze.
