Velocity

“Jesus Christ,” Gordon said. “What the hell does that mean?”

They sat in silence for a moment. Finally Mann cleared his throat. “We’ve also got Mayfield’s comment, ‘There’s more to this than you know.’ Maybe he was referring to Ray’s involvement.”

Brix’s phone rang. He reached into his pocket and fished it out. “Brix.” He listened a moment, then his eyes flicked across the face of each task force member. “And when will we know?” He nodded, thanked the caller, then snapped his phone shut.

“What’s up, boss?” Dixon asked.

Brix shook his head, freeing him from his fugue. “Mayfield. He’s still alive.”

Vail rose so quickly from her chair that it flew back into the wall. “Let’s go—”

Brix’s hand went up faster than a crossing guard stopping traffic. “He just got out of surgery. They removed a .40-caliber round lodged near his brain.”

Mann asked, “Is he gonna live?”

“They’re going to keep me updated,” Brix said. “Soon as I hear something, I’ll let you know. When he wakes up, if he wakes up, whoever’s closest when that call comes through, get your ass over there as fast as possible and find out what you can from him.”

“He’s not going to be motivated to help us,” Vail said.

Brix capped his marker. “Any suggestions on how to approach him?”

Vail pulled her chair beneath her and sat heavily. “What I should’ve done from the start. My focus should’ve been to connect with him on a level he’s never experienced before, to knock him off his pedestal. Throw him a curve. I should’ve related to him intimately, deferring to his superior abilities with a subtle sexual undertone. When I did finally get him talking, that’s what I was doing.”

“I may be able to do that,” Dixon said. “But no offense—” she tossed a glance at the other task force members—“I can’t see any of these guys connecting with him on a subtle sexual level.”

That brought some chuckles and broke the tension for a fleeting moment.

“No,” Vail said. “You guys would have to connect with him from a distance, in a less intimate manner. More professional. Be awed by his superiority. Tell him how great he is, dwell on how he outsmarted us by eluding capture for so long. Relate to him clinically, marvel at how efficiently he handled his homicides, how you’ve never dealt with a killer as clever as he is. It’s similar to what I’d do, but where I’d admire up close and personal, you’re admiring from afar. Done well, it can be very effective.”

The men were all wearing frowns and expressions of distaste. Vail couldn’t blame them. But this was the most effective way to get the information they needed.

“As repulsive as it may seem,” she said, “find a way to see his point of view. Build rapport.”

Mann asked, “Can it be done in a hospital room? With interruptions and machine noises and other people around?”

“It’s far from ideal, but we take what we can get.”

“I’ve got Mayfield’s booking photo,” Brix said. “I’ll email it to all of you in case you need it.”

“There’s something else we need to look into,” Vail said. “Robby had a friend in town. I think his name was Sebastian. I don’t know anything about him. Actually—he gave Robby a bottle of delicious Madeira two or three months ago. All I can remember is that it was a winery that began with a v and it was a short bottle with red wax dripped across the top—”

“V. Sattui,” Brix said. “Good stuff.”

Vail pointed a finger at him. “Yeah, that’s it. It’s a long shot. Maybe they remember him, if he’s a regular customer.”

Various members of the task force cocked their heads or licked their lips, nodded slowly . . . clearly, they didn’t hold high expectations for this “lead.”

“Trying to find a guy who bought a bottle of Madeira is not much to go on,” Brix said. “Some wineries have a thousand people come through every month.”

“We don’t have much to go on, period,” Dixon said. “We’ve gotta do our best with what we’ve got.”

“Assignments,” Brix said.

Dixon, the task force lead investigator, nodded. “Okay. Let’s grab a few hours of sleep and hit the trails as soon as people start getting to work. Mann—track down Sebastian, our V. Sattui Madeira drinker. Brix—follow up with Matthew Aaron, see what forensics he’s gotten from the B&B room Karen and Robby were staying in. Gordon. Coordinate with Napa Special Investigations Bureau and start showing Robby’s photo around. Never know, someone may give us something we can use. Karen and I will go pay Ray’s wife a visit, wake her up, and give her the bad news. See what she knows about a disc or John Mayfield. Hopefully something.”

“‘Minor’ detail,” Gordon said. “You got a picture of Robby?”

Vail frowned. “On my old phone.”

“The one that burned in the fire?” Dixon asked.

“Yeah, that one.” Vail checked her watch. It was just after 1:00 AM. “I’ll have something for you in the morning. Brix, you got another one of those contact sheets with everyone’s phone and emails? I gotta enter it all into my new phone.”

Brix found the correct manila folder and removed a sheet of paper. “Let’s not leave it lying around.”

Vail took the paper, folded it, then rose from her seat. “Thanks, everyone, for your help. Robby—he’s very important to me.”

“We’ll find him,” Brix said.

Vail made herself smile. “Thanks.” She wished she was as confident as Brix. At this point, she could not delude herself into thinking they had anything worth pursuing. That meant no viable place to start.

And that’s what bothered her most.

4

Agent Vail!”

Dixon and Vail, having just left the task force conference room, turned in unison. It was the sheriff—Stan Owens.

“A word?” As Owens approached, his eyes flicked to Dixon, then back to Vail. “Alone.”

Vail and Dixon exchanged glances. With Owens’s stepson, Detective Scott Fuller, having been murdered less than forty-eight hours ago—and Vail still in the sheriff’s crosshairs as the likely suspect—their silent glance was like shouting in a quiet room.

“Go on,” Vail said to Dixon. “I’ll be fine.”

Dixon nodded, then headed off down the hall as Owens approached.

“Sheriff.” Vail bit her lip. “Again, I’m very sorry for your loss.”

“Let’s go in here and talk.” He motioned to the nearby interview room. While it would certainly give them quiet and privacy, the irony was not lost on Vail; this was where she had interviewed Walton Silva, Scott Fuller’s alleged conspirator in setting the fire designed to kill her.

As Vail pushed through the door, she caught sight of Brix lurking down the hall.

He tilted his head ever so slightly. “Everything okay?”

Vail shrugged. “Yeah. Sheriff just wants to talk. In private.”

Brix squinted but didn’t reply. He headed toward her as she disappeared into the room.

Owens was already seated at the small faux marble table. He left vacant the seat facing the concealed wall camera. On purpose? What was his purpose?

Was he hoping to elicit a confession? Was he fishing for information? Or was this meeting something more benign?

“What can I do for you, sheriff?”

Owens squirmed in his chair. Leaned back, loosened his tie. But didn’t look at her. “Scott did set that shed on fire. At the school, when he was a kid.”

Interesting. “I know. We got hold of the sealed file.”

“Yeah.” He looked around at the table, the walls. Licked his lips. “We got him help. Therapist said it wasn’t a problem with him loving fire. It was just his way of acting out, of rebelling. He was the right age.”

Vail wondered why he was telling her this. Because he’d made such a scene of accusing her of Fuller’s