Crush (Karen Vail Series)

by Alan Jacobson

  “Shit.” Dixon looked around, acutely conscious of her surroundings. “What else could he have taken or seen? The whiteboard—”

  The door swung open. Lugo stood there, his face crumpled in thought.

  “Forget something?” Brix asked.

  Lugo stepped in and let the door close behind him. “Your PC has all sorts of personally identifiable information buried in it. Like what Eddie was saying, about the date the document was created. But there’s a lot more info on there. Every single document you create embeds info that it takes from your computer.”

  “I know a guy at Microsoft who’s helped me out before,” Agbayani said. He checked the room clock. “It’s late, but maybe I can catch him.”

  “Do it,” Dixon said. “Burt, can you run down and take care of that other stuff Ray was doing? The video, county list—”

  “Got it,” Gordon said, then left the room.

  Agbayani settled himself in front of the conference room laptop and logged in to Windows Live Messenger. “Cool, he’s online. We’re in business.” He clicked, Start a live video call. It rang through the speakers, then the ringing abruptly stopped and a face and torso filled the screen.

  “Tomás, how goes it?”

  “Eddie, my man. Still catching bad guys?”

  “That’s what I’m calling about. I’ve got a thing here and I need to pick your geek brain.”

  “I’m out the door for a meeting in the EBC—I mean, the Executive Briefing Center. A delegation of security people from China are here to discuss a new relational database. My boss will have my head if I try to cut out early. Can it wait?”

  Agbayani looked off to Brix, then back to the screen. “The sooner the better. We’re really under the gun on this one. It’s bad.”

  “What’s the deal?”

  “We got an Office document written by a serial killer,” Agbayani said as he opened Outlook and started a new email. “PowerPoint. We need you to crack it. The embedded info.”

  Tomás tapped his #2 Black Warrior pencil on the desk. “Okay, send it over. I’ll get started on it as soon as I’m done with the meeting. How about I get back to you in two hours or so?”

  Agbayani hit Send and the Crush Killer’s files were on their way. “That’d be great, Tomás. Looks like we’ve got RoundTable in the sheriff’s department here, so we can video conference with the task force. And—same as before—this is confidential shit, don’t be circulating it around the campus. And for your sake, don’t view its contents. It’ll chill your flabby geek ass.”

  “That’s a geek ass of steel, bro.” The Outlook chime sounded and Tomás’s eyes canted down, away from the camera. “Got the email. Be good. Catch you later.”

  The Live Messenger webcam screen went blank.

  “Great work, Eddie,” Brix said. “Ray, email a copy of that PowerPoint file to the video guys and have them analyze the clips. Maybe something in the background’ll tip off the UNSUB’s location—a site-specific sound, a landmark sign, whatever. Eddie, you, me, and Burt, when he gets back, will work on the vics in the file. Austin, Roxxi, Karen, why don’t you three take a break, grab some dinner, meet back here in a couple hours. I think we’re gonna be here all night. We’ll work in shifts.”

  Vail caught his gaze and silently reminded him she would need to leave them at seven. Brix nodded, the twist of his lips indicating disappointment.

  She thought of sticking around to help out. But there was nothing more for her to do at the moment. They now had a dialogue going with the offender, and the key would be in his reply to their email. Her advice at that point would be critical, but until then, her expertise was not needed. And she would be back before her deadline to lend whatever final thoughts she had to offer.

  Brix turned toward the whiteboard to make some notes. “Oh, Roxx—bring back a few of those pizzas.”

  “From Azzurro?” Dixon asked.

  “Best in town.”

  Dixon glanced at Vail. “We just had that for lunch.”

  “Hey, life’s tough all over. See you in a couple. Maybe by then we’ll have something back from Microsoft.”

  FORTY-NINE

  Austin Mann had an errand to tend to, while Vail and Dixon ran over to Fit1! for a quick workout. They put their clothing in lockers, then headed out onto the gym floor. Because it was dinner time, only a few dedicated gym rats were still there, pressing weights and cycling.

  Vail migrated to the Life Fitness elliptical to get in some needed work on her knee, while Dixon headed to the Ivanko barbells and Hammer Strength machines.

  Vail punched the program buttons, then began pumping her legs and moving her arms. Five minutes in, her mind cleared and her thoughts turned to James Cannon, the guy she met here yesterday. Something about him. What is it? That whole exchange bothered her. What was it? Think . . . He’d said, “FBI, very cool . . . I feel like we’ve met before.” Did he say that because he’d sent me letters and text messages and emails? Is that what he was implying? Or was he just hitting on me?

  Vail stopped moving and stood there on the machine, sorting it through. She climbed down off the elliptical and went back to her locker, pulled her BlackBerry, and dialed Lugo.

  “Ray, it’s Karen. Listen, can you check something for me? You’ve got your ear to the ground in the wine country, right?”

  “Yeah, pretty much.”

  “Ever hear of Herndon Vineyards?”

  “Doesn’t ring a bell. Where’s it located? The Valley? Sonoma, Healdsburg—”

  “Don’t know. All I can tell you is they have great soil for growing Cabernet. Not sure that helps much.”

  “Actually, it might.”

  “Winemaker’s name is James Cannon.”

  “Two n’s or one?”

  “Your choice. No clue.”

  “Anything in particular you’re interested in?”

  Vail narrowed her eyes as she thought. “Nothing I can put my finger on. Just some vibes. Probably nothing. This guy, James Cannon. Roxxann and I met him yesterday. Said he was a winemaker for an upstart winery named Herndon Vineyards. They’re due to put out their first bottles of wine in a couple years.”

  “Okay.”

  Vail flashed on the letter the UNSUB had sent them. “He knew about the historic wine cave where we found Ursula Robbins.”

  “Who, James Cannon knew?”

  “No, no. Our UNSUB. I’m thinking out loud. The letter the UNSUB sent to me a couple of days ago. He knew about that vintage wine in the cave that had collapsed a hundred years ago. And he talked about ‘the crush of grapes.’ He might be someone who’d know his way around a wine cave like the one at Silver Ridge.” She stopped a moment. “I—I didn’t think of this before, but he’s dumped his bodies in vineyards and wine caves. Maybe there’s some significance to that. A guy who’s spent years plying his trade in vineyards and wine caves is comfortable there. I kept thinking it had to do with access, but . . .” She thought a second. “I don’t know. Maybe this is bullshit.”

  “I’m looking up Herndon now. I don’t see anything. No press releases, nothing online in public sources. That’s not unusual, though I’d think they would’ve issued a press release either announcing the winery, or the purchase of land and their business plans. I’ll have to do some more digging in the law enforcement databases.” Vail could hear the clicking of keys. “Zippo on a James Cannon. I’ll run him, too. I should have something in an hour or two, definitely by the time you get back here.”

  “Thanks, Ray.”

  Vail put her phone back in the locker and took a deep breath. It was probably nothing. But they were desperate, grasping at things they may not normally give any serious attention. Working out often helped clear her mind, got her thinking in ways she couldn’t do in the stress of the moment. She grabbed her towel and headed back out to the elliptical.

  DIXON, AT THE FAR END of the gym, worked her lower body with the assistance of her new workout partner, George Panda.

  Vail approached, dabbing
a towel at the perspiration rolling off her reddened face. “Hey, George. Didn’t realize you were here.”

  “Roxxann texted me, told me she was here. I’d been chained to my desk all day and hadn’t gotten in my workout, so she did me a huge favor. My office is only a few minutes down the road.”

  Vail tilted her head back and appraised Dixon. “Now I know why you wanted to ‘squeeze in’ a workout today.”

  Dixon blushed. “Karen—”

  “Just giving you shit,” Vail said. She stole a look around. “Jimmy with you?”

  Panda glanced at the wall clock. “Should be here in a little bit.”

  “I’m gonna go shower and dress. I’ll call in the pizzas so we can grab and run. Meet you out front.”

  “I’ll catch up with you,” Dixon said as she bent over to wipe the bench with her towel. “I’m just gonna snag five minutes in the steam room.”

  As Vail headed toward the lockers, Panda said, “You doing upper body tomorrow?”

  “Who knows.” Dixon tossed the towel across her shoulder. “Work has a way of interfering. But if not tomorrow, maybe the day after.”

  Panda pulled a plate off his bar and set it down. “Last minute works, too.”

  Dixon’s conversation with Agbayani flashed through her thoughts. She pushed it aside. She needed to find out if there was anything in George Panda worth pursuing. “You know,” she said as she tossed her towel into the hamper, “we should schedule a time to go to dinner. I may not be able to commit to a full evening until this case breaks, but I’m sure I can get away for an hour or two.”

  Panda grinned. “I’d like that.”

  AS EVENING FELL ON NAPA, it was a common time for people to get in their exercise after leaving work. But John Wayne Mayfield was heading to work, in a sense—a swing shift of sorts.

  He stood outside the women’s locker room, his pulse pounding. Killing someone in a public place, where anyone could walk in on you, at any time, was the ultimate challenge. The ultimate thrill.

  But he would have to be careful—being discovered in the ladies’ shower and dressing area, if there were women in there, was risky at best—and irreparable at worst. If caught, he would do his best to feign surprise at his bone-headed mistake of walking into the wrong locker room. Hopefully he could sell the “stupid me” act well enough to get him out of there without a call to the authorities.

  Mayfield had already scoped out the women’s lockers during a slow time when almost no one was in the gym. He was thus familiar with the layout, and, as it was, he would enter and hang an immediate left, which would take him to the steam room. Veering right would instead take him to the locker area.

  He wished he’d had time to watch the door, so he could know how many women were in there. But because of the room’s layout, he’d be able to enter and turn toward the stream room without being seen by others in the vicinity. That’s where he would go first.

  Seconds ticking. Pulse pounding.

  Mayfield pushed through the locker room door slowly, his head down. He moved in, turned left, all the while listening. The echoing sizzle of a shower in the distance. Eyes scanning the floor around him, looking for feet—for trouble.

  He strode purposely down the narrow corridor, his shoes squeaking against the wet cement floor. There it was—on his left—the glass door to the steam room. It was opaque, the view impeded by thick vapor. He pushed in. The loud hissing of the jets and dense steam deadened all noise.

  The odor of eucalyptus oil stung his nose. He hated that smell. It made his throat close down.

  He stood there a second, his eyes darting around, looking for a body. There—sitting on the top step—was Roxxann Dixon. He moved forward, the swirl of steam moving aside as he approached, fearful of his presence. Like she should be—would be—in a matter of seconds.

  FIFTY

  Brix was looking at a database onscreen with Agbayani when an instant message came through:I told my boss what you needed and he let me leave early. still in the executive briefing center. you ready to login with roundtable?

  Agbayani typed back:you bet. give me a sec.

  “Hey,” Brix said. “We’ve got Microsoft online. Have a seat and Eddie will link us all in.”

  Mann, Gordon, Brix, and Lugo took their chairs while Agbayani opened Office Live Meeting and got RoundTable online.

  All of the task force members appeared on the large, wall-mounted flat screen. The 360-degree panoramic camera and associated software knitted them together into a virtually seamless image.

  “Cool stuff,” Lugo said.

  “We’re on,” Agbayani said. “Everyone, meet Tomás Palmer, Senior Security Program Manager at Microsoft.” Agbayani made introductions of the task force members. “The way RoundTable works is that you’re all on camera in the video panorama at the bottom of the screen. Whoever is speaking loudest will appear in a close-up at the top left.” He turned back to Microsoft’s RoundTable device, a small circular unit about the size of a dollar bill, with a central telescoping extension that contained the camera. “Tomás, it’s all yours.”

  “I’ve got some pretty cool technology here, so I may as well use it to show you what I’ve got so far on your document.”

  “Sounds to me like an excuse to play with the new toys,” Agbayani said.

  Tomás smiled. “You know it.” He sat at the far end of a long, empty conference table. Behind him was a flat panel that nearly filled the wall. “I’ve got a monitor in front of me. I’m seeing what you’re seeing on the large screen behind me.” Images popped up; Tomás flicked them aside with his fingers.

  “Whoa,” Brix said, staring at the screen. “What is that?”

  “Surface technology. C’mon, Eddie, you haven’t told them about Surface?”

  “Another time. The documents—”

  “It’s okay, bro. I can multitask. Surface is a PC that’s embedded in a tabletop with Microsoft’s touch interface. There’s no keyboard or mouse. You move things across the screen with your hands and fingers. Like the technology Hollywood envisioned in the movie, Minority Report.” He swiped his hand across the monitor. Icons whisked by and spun across the screen. He spread his fingers apart and the image in front of him instantly enlarged. “Okay, here’s the document you sent me.”

  “This is the PowerPoint file, right?”

  “Yeah, and now I know why you told me not to look. Bad shit there, bro. Be really cool if I could help you catch this psycho sicko.”

  “It’d be more than cool. You have any luck?”

  “First thing I did was to take the jpegs that are embedded in the file and applied some new technology out of Carnegie Mellon. This stuff is gonna blow your mind. The computer analyzes the image and determines where in the world it was taken.”

  “There are a few photos we really need to place,” Brix said. “If you could help with that, you’ll be my new best friend.”

  Tomás’s eyes swung left, then right. “Right. Well, in spite of that, I do have some answers.”

  “What does it do?” Lugo asked. “Look for similar shapes and landmarks?”

  “No, not landmarks. That’d be too limiting. It records the distribution of textures, colors, lines, vegetation and topography in the photo and then compares it to the database they’ve created using GPS-tagged images in Flickr.”

  “The online photo album site?”

  “Yup. So here’s what I’ve got. The first three photos appear to be from Albuquerque, New Mexico, the next two from Southern California and the last two from Northern California.”

  “Ray,” Brix said, “when the dust settles, contact Albuquerque PD and tell them we have the killer of three of their unsolveds. Pull the jpeg images from the PowerPoint and email them the photos. Do the same for SoCal.”

  Mann pointed at his pad. “Other than his trip up north in ’98, looks like he came from Albuquerque, shot west along I-40 to L.A., then worked his way up the state.” He touched the pen to the paper with each location, as if it w
ere a map. To Tomás, he said, “Can this image analysis technology also date the photo?”

  “No,” Tomás said. “But it’s funny you should ask. I started thinking, if your bad guy took any of these photos with a GPS-enabled phone, the time, date, and place of the picture would be embedded in the photo. When I looked at the individual image files, some were taken with a regular digital camera, and they’re time-and date-stamped. I’ve got the camera model and exposure for each photo, but that’s not going to help you.