“And it puts you back in the business of maintaining and owning bottling facilities.”
“Sort of. You don’t have permit issues, which is a big deal nowadays. Trying to get permission to build out new space to expand your bottling line is tough, if not impossible. So if we built trailers, we’d get around those issues. Still, there are other things that wouldn’t make sense if we were to own our own trailers. Like some of our members have restrictions on the roads that lead to their wineries, so they’d need to have smaller trucks, which, obviously, have less bottling capacity. Superior takes care of all that for us. They have trailers that can accommodate all our members’ needs.”
Vail swallowed the strawberry she’d been chewing and dabbed her mouth with a napkin. “What about the issue of natural versus fake?” She was trying to be nonchalant with the question, hoping to place less emphasis on it. Because she didn’t really know what she was asking, should it involve something significant, she didn’t want Crystal to feel the weight of the question and attempt to snowball them.
Crystal leaned back. “Well, that was another thing that led to intense debate. I’m not sure that got resolved. I guess we’ll find out where we are at our next meeting.”
“Why such disagreement?”
“What do you know about corks?”
Vail and Dixon shared a glance. Vail’s look said, This is about corks?
“I don’t know a whole lot,” Vail said. “Wineries stick them in wine bottles to seal them. But my guess is there’s a lot more to it than that, isn’t there?”
Crystal smiled again—but this was not her promotional smile. It was a one-sided smirk that conveyed depth and irony. “Your guess is correct. It’s sparked quite the debate in the wine community, and our board is no exception. There are those who are fervent supporters of natural cork, to the point of being fanatics. They claim that not using cork is breaking with centuries of wine-making tradition.”
“What alternatives are there?” Vail asked.
“Synthetic corks or screw tops.”
“Screw tops—like a twist-off on a bottle of soda or tea?”
“Yes. We don’t like that model, for that reason. Screw tops solve a lot of the problems that come from natural or synthetic corks, but they’re cheap looking. They fit more with a cut-rate label than the quality of a Georges Valley wine. There’s something about a twist-off top that just doesn’t fit with a fine bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon, Pinot Noir, or a highly regarded blend such as ours.”
Dixon nodded. “Same could be said about those synthetic corks, right?”
Crystal’s face firmed. “No. Not right. Not in my opinion. You still have the feel of opening the bottle with a corkscrew. The only difference is that the good ones are made of thermoplastic elastomer.” She waved a hand. “That’s not entirely true. There are other differences. Cork comes from tree bark, a very specific oak tree grown in the Mediterranean and Portugal—and the trees can’t have their bark stripped until they’re twenty-five years old. After that, they can only be harvested once every ten years or so. But there are nearly twenty billion bottles of wine produced each year. There just isn’t enough natural cork to go around.”
“So it’s a supply and demand issue.”
“On the surface, yes. But there’s much more to it.”
Dixon leaned back and placed a hand on her chin. “Doesn’t cork allow some air to get into the bottle, which promotes natural aging of the wine?”
“It also allows TCA into the bottle, which causes what’s called cork taint. It ruins the wine, gives it a moldy smell that tastes like wet cardboard.”
“TCA?” Vail asked.
“Trichloro-something. It’s a fungus that grows because of naturally occurring chemicals found in cork. Depending on who you believe, between 3 and 20 percent of bottles are ‘corked.’ Basically, those bottles are ruined by TCA contamination. The winery can avoid that by using the thermoplastic elastomer, or synthetic, corks that I mentioned. Some synthetics aren’t as good, and they actually let more air into the bottle than natural cork. But the ones Superior uses are, well, superior. They don’t have that problem.
“Then there’s also the issue of cost. With our volume pricing, we can get these synthetics at about four cents apiece, compared to fifteen to seventy-five cents for natural cork. Add it up over the millions of bottles our members produce, year after year, and you’re talking real money.”
Vail hiked her brow. “So it seems like the synthetic would be the way to go.”
Crystal grinned—that same deeper-meaning half-smile. “One would think. But there was considerable debate over whether to renew that three-year contract with Superior.”
Dixon shook her head. “What does Superior have to do with the cork issue?”
“They only have one trailer that’s still equipped to handle natural cork. They’ve refitted the rest of their trucks to synthetic-only because they’ve developed custom machinery that allows them to bottle faster with the synthetic.”
“So,” Vail said, “there are a couple people on the board who didn’t want to renew the Superior contract. Did Superior know this?”
“Absolutely not. The business of the board and its member wineries is confidential and we don’t discuss it outside the boardroom. We each sign confidentiality statements preventing us from discussing board business with anyone who’s not a board member.”
Vail wondered if Crystal had herself signed one of these statements—here she was telling them all about the board’s deliberations. But she wasn’t complaining. Still, it made her wonder who might also have thought it was okay to tip off someone at Superior that their contract renewal was in jeopardy.
“Who usually deals with Superior?”
“Our Contracts VP. Ian Wirth.”
“And who’s the board’s contact person at Superior?”
Crystal hesitated. Her eyes moved between Vail and Dixon. “Why?”
“Same reason it was five minutes ago,” Vail said. “We’re investigating something and this information may or may not be germane to the issue we’re looking into.”
“I’m not sure—”
“This isn’t confidential board business,” Dixon said. “It’s just someone’s name at a company. We can call Superior and ask them the same question, but you can save us some time and effort. And we’d appreciate that.”
Crystal reached to the right corner of her desk and removed a file folder from a standing portfolio. She opened it and traced a finger across a page. “César Guevara. He’s their CFO.”
Dixon pulled a spiral notepad from her inside jacket pocket and made a note of the man’s name.
Vail sensed they were reaching the end of the interview. But there was one more piece of information they needed. “Who on your board,” she said, “has the initials TN?”
“Todd Nicholson. Why? What—”
“Active investigation,” Dixon said. “Can’t say.”
Crystal looked to be getting increasingly frustrated by their refusal to answer her questions. Vail didn’t care—truth is, that’s the way it was with the police. They asked the questions, the interviewees answered them and didn’t get the opportunity to ask their own. Crystal clearly didn’t understand the relationship. But she was getting the idea.
“And who on the board has a last name that begins with W?” Dixon asked. “Would that be Mr. Wirth?”
Crystal pursed her lips, clearly debating whether to keep answering these questions—then obviously deciding one more won’t hurt. “Yes,” she said.
“How is Mr. Nicholson?” Vail asked. What she wanted to ask was, Is Mr. Nicholson still alive?
“I spoke to him this morning.”
“Nice guy?”
“Spineless, if you ask me.”
“I just did.” Vail forced a smile. “But if he’s spineless, why did he defy the board and vote against the Superior contract?”
Crystal’s jaw dropped. Before she could ask, Vail said, “You’re not the
first person we’ve spoken to about this.” She shrugged. “But you can understand that, from our point of view, that doesn’t fit. A spineless guy doesn’t oppose the others. He goes along. He doesn’t want confrontation.”
“Yes. Well, I suggest you ask him about it.”
“Last thing,” Dixon said. “What’s the status of the Superior contract? If there were only a few who opposed it, did they win the renewal?”
“Actually, no,” Crystal said. “First, that was a preliminary vote. I wanted to see where we were. Second, because it affects everyone’s business, it’s one of the only things where we require a unanimous vote. As I said, this AVA board is very unusual in how it works. I don’t know of any other AVA that works the way we do.” She tried to smile—but it was only a half-hearted effort. “But it’s worked for us.”
Vail was the first to stand. She placed her used napkin on the food tray. “Thanks so much for your hospitality—and for the food.”
Crystal rose from her chair. Dixon motioned her down. “No need to show us out.”
“Yeah,” Vail said. “The way out is pretty obvious. One might say it’s crystal clear.”
THIRTY-SEVEN
As Vail and Dixon walked down the glass stairs, Dixon said, “‘One might say it’s crystal clear’? Were you trying to be funny?”
“I was trying.”
Dixon shook her head. “Try harder.”
They cleared the sliding front doors and headed toward the parking lot and Lugo’s car.
“Three people opposed the vote on Superior’s new contract,” Dixon said. “If César Guevara found out about this, that’s something to kill over. They’d lose millions in business. He does it himself or he hires someone to take out Victoria.”
Vail stopped at the edge of the crushed glass path. “See, this is where this case doesn’t make sense. Serial killers don’t kill for money—I mean, there were a couple of exceptions, and they were women—but we’re talking about a psychopath who’s living out his psychosexual fantasies, which are rooted in a dysfunctional childhood. And what about this Todd Nicholson? He’s still alive and kicking.”
“Maybe he’s the next victim.” Dixon’s phone buzzed. She flipped it open. “Text from Brix. They checked Ortiz’s story. El Brinquito, the restaurant, confirms his alibi. Wants to know if we’re still here. He and Lugo want to meet us here in five.” She tapped out a message to him. Sent it. “What do you say we talk with Todd Nicholson, as well as one of the other board members who was in favor of the Superior contract? See what their take was.”
“Board confidentiality might get in the way.”
“Maybe, maybe not. Sometimes a couple of badges opens their mouths.”
They stood there for a bit, alone with their thoughts, before Vail said, “Look. There are five vics attributed to the Crush Killer. There are few commonalities among them. We’ve got Victoria Cameron and Maryanne Bernal, whose wineries were members of the Georges Valley AVA. Victoria was an active board member. Maryanne was a former member. We need to find out more about Isaac Jenkins and Dawn Zackery. Ray was looking into Ursula Robbins, whose winery was in Georges Valley AVA.”
“Do you see the common thread? Georges Valley.”
“We’ll see when we find out more about the other two vics. In one way, it makes sense because of the male vic—Jenkins. This type of killer wouldn’t go after men. But looking at it from a for-profit motive, it doesn’t make sense. That’s just not what drives these psychopaths. I mean, severing sexual organs—like what this UNSUB’s done with the breasts—that could point to an offender with mental health issues. But the rest of his behaviors are very well explained by his psychopathy.” She leaned back against a pillar that separated the small entry plaza from the parking lot, staring out at the glass building, then shook her head. “This case . . . I can’t get a handle on it. Things just aren’t adding up the way they should be. Something’s not right.”
Dixon looked at her phone and pressed a button. “Email from Crystal.” She scrolled and pressed the trackball. “Board roster.”
“So let’s pick someone who wasn’t opposed to the Superior contract and start there. See if he or she talks to us.”
“They’re here,” Dixon said with a nod to the lot’s entrance.
They met Brix and Lugo halfway to their car and watched their reactions as they tilted their heads, taking in the winery. “I’ve read about this place,” Brix said. “Never been here. Pretty impressive.”
Lugo nodded appreciatively. “The photos I’ve seen don’t do it justice.”
Vail’s phone rang: Art Rooney’s number. “I’ve gotta take this.”
“No problem. I’ll brief them on what Crystal told us.”
Vail stepped away and answered. “Art, what a pleasant surprise.”
“Wait till you hear what I have to say. You might not think it’s so pleasant.”
“Go on.”
“I was looking through the file we have here, and dipshit Del Monaco did his usual thorough job.”
“What did he miss?”
“He ran the VICAP search too narrow. So I expanded it and added some stuff, and bingo. I got you another vic to run down. From ’98.”
“Where?”
“Frisco.”
“Yeah, Art . . . I should’ve told you before. They don’t like that abbreviation.”
“Offer my sincere apologies. Meantime, I’ve spoken with an Inspector Robert Friedberg with the San Francisco PD. He’s waiting to hear from you. I just emailed you his direct line.”
“Thanks, Art. This case is really bugging me. Maybe this’ll help.”
“Anything you wanna run by me?”
“If we were in the same room, yeah. I’d sit down with you for a couple of hours and go through everything. Bottom line is nothing’s adding up. Based on what we know, which is incomplete, this UNSUB might have a profit motive. But—”
“But that doesn’t make sense. Not for a male SK.”
“Exactly.”
“Keep looking, Karen. You’ll find something.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t have much longer. Gifford wants me home tomorrow night.”
“I’m sure you’ll find a way.”
Vail turned back to Dixon and Brix. “I wish I was as confident about that as you are.”
“Look on the bright side. If you head back tomorrow night, we can sit down in the same room for a few hours and hash this thing out.”
“Thanks, Art. Talk to you soon.” She hung up, scrolled to Rooney’s email, and dialed through to Inspector Friedberg. She mentioned Art Rooney and Friedberg agreed to meet her in the Marin Headlands, just north of San Francisco.
Vail hung up and rejoined Dixon, Brix, and Lugo. “Did you tell them about Superior Mobile Bottling?” she asked Dixon.
Before Dixon could answer, Brix said, “I’m vaguely familiar with Superior. Privately held, family-owned business. Like half of all the other businesses in the valley.”
“Privately held,” Vail said. “Meaning we don’t know much about their operations. Their financing, investors, the people with skin in the game.”
Brix nodded. “That’s pretty much true. But they’ve been around a long time, as long as we’ve been contracting out bottling for Silver Ridge. Like most mobile bottlers, they own a fleet of semis outfitted to do bottling, corking, and labeling on-site at the wineries that contract with them. It’s pretty lucrative, because they can turn out a lot of finished product pretty efficiently, and very reasonably. They make their money on volume. Kind of like the Costco model. Small margins, high volumes. And the wineries don’t have to invest in the equipment themselves, so everyone’s happy.”
Dixon rubbed her eyes. “Any reason to look into them further?”
“Waste of time,” Lugo said.
Brix raised an eyebrow. “Never heard of any complaints. You want more, we can have Agbayani do some checks.”
Lugo shook his head. “I’m telling you. Waste of time. Just like Ortiz.”<
br />
Dixon twisted her lips in thought, then said, “Give Eddie a ring, have him do some digging. Meantime, let’s focus our energies on what’s most likely to net us something useful.”
“And on that front,” Vail said, “we might have something. A VICAP hit in San Francisco. I’ve got us an appointment with the detective who’s got a cold case from ’98. Rooney already spoke with him. We’re meeting him in an hour and a half.”
Crush (Karen Vail Series) Page 29
