Vail had to fight to keep her eyes from closing. Now that she was sitting, her lids felt heavy. If she could just close them for a few minutes—
“We’ve got two issues here,” Brix said. “First is who torched the B&B and tried to roast Karen alive. Second is the Crush Killer, who may or may not have killed Scott.”
Dixon clicked her pen and scribbled a note on her pad. “If we can rule out an obvious link between him and the arson, we’d go a long way toward clearing his name.”
Nance spread his hands, palm up. “Sounds to me like you’re trying to find a link, not rule one out.”
“Depends on how you look at it,” Vail said. She felt like her speech was slow, possibly even slurred—but no one seemed to be reacting, so maybe it was in her mind. She pressed on. “We’re just trying to get at the truth. Wherever it leads”—she shrugged—“is where it leads. It’s our job at this point to collect evidence, not interpret it. Interpretation will come soon enough.”
“Hopefully,” Dixon said, “our digging will lead to someone else, in which case we clear Scott’s—Detective Fuller’s—name.”
Nance shook his head. “Witch hunt, that’s what it is. Twist it any way you want, that’s all it is.”
Dixon tossed down her pen. “Look, Mr. Nance. You’re here as a courtesy. As lead investigator, whether or not you’re allowed to remain is my call. But let’s get something straight. My generosity only goes so far. You need to understand that this is our investigation and we’re going to run it professionally and efficiently. We’re keeping you in the loop, but you don’t have a say in what we do and how we do it. I’m not even sure why you care so much about how we handle Detective Fuller’s death investigation.”
“I care because Stan Owens is a friend of the congressman. I care because it’s the right thing to do.”
Dixon spread her hands. “Then let us do our jobs. We’ll figure out what’s going on. No one in this room is out to pin things on Detective Fuller or tarnish his reputation in any way.”
His eyes flicked over to Vail. “I’m not so sure about that.”
Vail heard Nance’s comment, but it wasn’t registering. She needed to go lie down. But first, she had to bring a matter to their attention. “There’s something else we should look into,” she said, keeping her eyes on the table in front of her. “Because of the way our victims are killed, we need to question those men in the area who have amputated upper limbs, who wear prostheses.”
All heads rotated toward Austin Mann, who did not react. His gaze remained firmly on Vail.
“I know what you’re thinking, and I’ve already had this discussion with Agent Mann. He’s alibied.” She glanced up and saw a mix of surprise and anger on the faces of her team members. Fuck it. I had to come clean. It had to be said. She brought a hand to the back of her neck and squeezed. “It’s a bit of a long shot, but if we’re being thorough, it shouldn’t be overlooked. We need someone to follow up on this. Compile a list. Limit it to those men living within a seventy-five mile radius. That’s a bit broad, but it’ll eliminate error. If the list is too long, shorten it to fifty miles. Eliminate anyone younger than twenty-five and older than forty.”
Brix cleared his throat. “I’ll see if I can get someone from the Special Investigations Bureau on this.”
Vail rose unsteadily from her chair. “I’m not feeling so great. I’m going to lie down for a few minutes, try to shake off this fog.”
“Shift Change Room’s right down the hall,” Brix said. “Flip the sign to ‘occupied’ and no one’ll bother you.”
“I’ll be back,” Vail said. “Hopefully soon.”
JOHN WAYNE MAYFIELD fingered the pay-as-you-go phone—one of three he owned, none to be used more than once—and thought about what he would type.
It had gone exceedingly well with Vail and Fuller. He had been behind the car that was following Vail, before he realized the driver of the other vehicle was Scott Fuller. That was when an alternative plan began to take shape. He had the drug and syringe in his toolkit. Though he had never used it, he lived by the Boy Scout principle: Be prepared.
And so he was. He backed off his pursuit but remained close. Having Vail and Fuller tangle and force one another’s collision facilitated his plan. In fact, it worked out better than he had sketched it out in his mind.
Fuller’s death was the type of devastating loss that would put them back on their heels, keep them on the defensive. He would’ve loved to hang around and see their reactions when Vail awoke and tried to explain what had happened, how Fuller ended up murdered while she . . . slept, taken out by an unseen assailant. He wondered if they believed her.
But he had better things to do with his time than stick around just to see how they handled Karen Vail. More stunning things, things that would have vastly greater impact. Because he was just getting started.
He looked down at the phone and typed out a text message.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Vail’s trip to the Shift Change Room turned into a four-hour nap—still the result of the residual effects of the drugging. When she awoke, Dixon was standing over her with Dr. Brooke Abbott at her side.
A slice of light fell across her face. She squinted against the glare, then held up a hand to shield her eyes.
Vail blinked several times. “Roxxann.” She sat up on the bottom bunk, but a rush of dizziness struck her like a sharp wave on a small dingy. She stuck out an arm to grab onto something. Dixon grabbed Vail’s arm and caught her, held her steady. “Sorry. I guess whatever drug he used is still in my system.”
Abbott chuckled. “That drug is BetaSomnol. Based on the tox screen we did from that blood sample the medic drew from you, and doing a little guesswork—because we don’t know how long you were out before you called for help—it’s likely you were injected with fifteen milligrams. Enough to put down someone your size and weight for about twenty minutes. That’s a pretty hefty dosage. No wonder you’ve had lingering dizziness.”
“I’ve never heard of this. Beta—”
“BetaSomnol. It’s a super quick next-generation sedative, a mixture of a benzodiazepine—a drug like valium—and an antipsychotic.”
“Who would have access to it?”
“Not many people. It was developed for use in ERs and mental institutions, where they need fast-acting preparations to quickly put down a thrashing, violent patient. BetaSomnol is gradually replacing the traditional mixture of Haldol and Ativan, which are just too slow. And when someone’s doing his best to take out your eye, you want him down PDQ.”
“Is the tox screen you ran definitive?” Dixon asked.
“I’ve sent it out to a reference lab for a quantitative analysis. They’ll do a high-sensitivity screen for several hundred licit and illicit drugs, as well as alcohol. Once we get that back, we’ll have a definitive result. But that’ll take days, maybe weeks.”
Vail rubbed at her neck. “Any lasting effects of this BetaSomnol?”
“The drug metabolizes fairly quickly, so I wouldn’t worry about it. You’ll be fine.”
Dixon stifled a yawn, then consulted her watch. “So the obvious question would be, where did the drug come from?”
“BetaSomnol is a pretty new product, so there’s limited distribution.”
“Perfect,” Dixon said. “We should be able to find out fairly easily if any hospitals within a hundred miles reported a theft.”
“Of fifteen milligrams?” Abbott asked. “If you’ve got access to these drugs, you could easily siphon off a few milligrams here and there and no one’d be the wiser.”
Vail slowly swung her feet off the bed. “True—but you’re missing the point. Theoretically, someone who’d have access to the drug would have to work there, as an employee or contractor. More than that, these drugs are locked away. They’d likely have to hold a position that gives them access. Again, theoretically, that narrows our suspect pool.”
Abbott nodded. “I’ll get right on it. I’ll let you know what I find o
ut.” She turned and pushed through the door.
Vail leveraged herself off the bed, squared her shoulders, and faced a small mirror that hung on the adjacent wall. She ran her hands through her hair, turned her face to the side, then shook her head. “I look like shit.”
“You had a car accident, went toe-to-toe with Scott Fuller, then got injected with an antipsychotic cocktail. Not to mention it’s four-thirty in the morning. How did you expect to look?”
“C’mon, you know none of that matters. We can rationalize all we want, but is it ever okay for us not to look good?”
“I was just trying to make you feel better.”
“Only thing that’ll make me feel better is a hot shower, a comfortable bed. And Robby’s body beside me.” They walked out of the Shift Change Room and headed down the hall. “Speaking of Robby, where is he?”
“He’s been working with Brix and Lugo.”
Vail felt a buzz on her belt. She dug out her BlackBerry and blew off the dirt that had no doubt come from rolling around in the vineyard. Looked at the text. And stopped in midstride. She felt dizzy again—only this time it was not from a next-gen drug. It was raw fear. “Oh my God,” she muttered.
Dixon stopped beside Vail and looked over her shoulder. “What is it?”
Think, Karen. Calm down. What do I do? How do I—stop. Breathe. Concentrate. She wiped at her eyes with two fingers. “Get Robby,” was all she said.
Dixon ran off. Vail dialed Jonathan. It went right to voicemail. “Fuck!” She hung up and scrolled to speed dial looking for Paul Bledsoe’s number. But there were no speed dial entries. Damn it! Think. What’s the number? 703 . . . come on . . . She pressed her eyes shut and it came to her. Punched it in, hit Call.
Bledsoe, a friend and homicide detective with Fairfax County Police Department, answered on the third ring.
“Bledsoe, it’s Karen. I know it’s early—”
“Fuck, Karen, I was up half the night. I finally fell asleep sometime around three. What time is it?”
“Seven-thirty, your time.”
“Seven—what do you mean, ‘your time’? Where are—”
“California, working a case. I need your help.”
He moaned. “Today’s my day off. Call me back in a few hours—”
“No! Get your ass out of bed. He’s targeting Jonathan—”
“Jonathan? Who’s targeting—”
“Shut up and listen to me. Throw on your clothes and get ready to leave. I’ll call you back in thirty seconds and tell you where you’re going.” She disconnected the call.
Vail stood there staring at the text message, her pulse pounding in her head. Whoever you are, you goddamn fucking bastard—
“Karen!”
Robby came running down the hall.
She pointed at him as he approached. “Have someone look up the next flight out to DC.”
“DC? What’s wrong?”
“Jonathan.” She held up a hand. “Please, just do it.”
Robby pulled his phone and started dialing. Vail pushed Talk on her BlackBerry and waited while it rang. Bledsoe picked up.
“Bledsoe, I’m putting you on speaker. I’ve got Robby here, too, and Roxxann Dixon, an investigator I’m working with.” She pressed a button on her phone then held it out. “Can you hear me?”
“Yeah,” Bledsoe said, his voice filtered and tinny. “Now what the hell’s going on?”
“Start driving toward Jonathan’s school. Lincoln Intermediate, you know where it is?”
“Yeah, but—”
“Just get in the car and I’ll explain.”
The crank of an engine turning over came through the speaker. “Already in the car, on my way.”
Robby ended his call and stepped closer to Vail and Dixon.
“I just got a text from a serial killer we’ve been tracking here in Napa.” She played with the device’s joystick and brought up the message. “He said, and I’m quoting, ‘I’m watching a very interesting young man. Reminds me of a young Karen Vail. He’s on his way to school right now. Lincoln Intermediate is a lot nicer than the school I went to, which was a real shit hole. I’ll be sure to say hi to Jonathan for you. Hope you enjoyed your little nap. A nap in Napa. LOL.’”
Dixon and Robby exchanged an uneasy glance. “Did you call Jonathan?” Robby asked.
“Went right to voicemail. He turns his phone off because the school confiscates it if it so much as vibrates.”
“Well that worked out great,” Bledsoe said. “Smart rule.”
“I’ll call the school,” Robby said, flipping open his phone. “Have them go into lockdown.”
“They can’t go into lockdown before school starts,” she said. Into her phone: “Bledsoe, you’ve gotta find him—”
“I’ll find him, Karen. I’ll be there in ten. I’ve got it handled, okay?”
No, not okay. That’s not quick enough. “Yeah, sure. Thanks.” She hung up, then leaned back against the wall and sank down to the floor.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Robby’s cell phone was clasped in his left hand as he knelt in front of Vail. He lifted her chin with a finger. “Karen, look at me.” He waited until her eyes met his. “It’s going to be okay. Bledsoe knows what he’s doing.”
She took a deep, uneven breath. Rage was building beneath the surface. Anger at having been so close to this killer, at having him over her shoulder—he touched her—and now, several hours later, he was within striking distance of her son.
He could’ve killed me, but he didn’t. Now he’s flown across the country. Why? Control. Power. That’s an awful lot of effort to go through to show her he’s running the show. Unless he intends to kill Jonathan.
She pulled herself to her feet, shook off Robby’s attempt to help her.
“Karen,” Dixon said. “There’s nothing you can do but sit and wait. Let’s go down the hall, get a cup of coffee.”
Vail ground her molars. She knew Dixon was trying to help, to help her pass the time until Bledsoe called with news. Of what? That Jonathan was safe? Or—
She pulled her gun and swung her arm, backhanding the window in the door to her right. The glass shattered with a crisp, jolting crash.
“Jesus, Karen.” Dixon grabbed her hand and forced the Glock toward the floor. “Calm the fuck down, will you?”
Vail yanked her hand free. “Goddamn bastard. No one threatens my son!”
Robby held up a hand. “Karen, look at me. Karen—” He waited while she focused on his face. “Put your weapon away.”
Vail ripped open her fanny pack and shoved the Glock inside. “I swear, I’m gonna kill this guy. If he touches Jonathan, I will castrate the fucker.”
“I hear you,” Robby said.
“Then I’m going to put a bullet in his deranged brain.”
Robby drew her close and enveloped her in his large torso.
“After he begs for his life,” she mumbled into his chest.
Robby stroked her hair. “That’s only if I don’t get to him first. I won’t be so nice about it.”
Lugo and Brix were walking down the hall toward them. Brix said, “We heard a window—” His eyes followed the door down to the floor, where shards of glass had landed. “What the hell happened?”
“Bats,” Dixon said.
Brix looked at her, then at Robby. “Bats?”
“Bats. Their sonar got fucked up.”
Brix took a step to his left, saw Vail huddled in Robby’s arms. “What’s going on?”
“UNSUB says he’s in Virginia,” Dixon said. “He texted Karen. He’s at her son’s school.”
“You’re shitting me.”
“I need to go,” Vail said. She craned her neck up toward Robby. “When’s the next flight?”
“There’s a six-twenty-five out of SFO,” Lugo said.
Robby shook his head. “Even if you left now, you probably wouldn’t make the flight. Besides, it won’t even get there till almost six, and that’s if there are no delays. Then yo
u have to get out of Dulles in rush hour.”
“I don’t care. I need to do something—”
“You called Bledsoe. He’ll handle it—if there’s even something to handle.”
Vail’s BlackBerry rang. She shoved Robby aside and fumbled the phone from her belt. Bledsoe’s number. “Yeah.”
“I’m on-site. Everything looks okay. I’ve got six officers en route, should be here any minute. We’ll comb the place, make sure everything’s cool. Then I’m gonna put someone on Jonathan, shadow him till you catch this guy. Good?”
Crush (Karen Vail Series) Page 21
