Finally, with Vail itching to address what was on her mind—it was bothering her like a piece of food stuck between her teeth—she turned to Lugo. “Ray,” Vail said nonchalantly, “do you have a history with César Guevara?”
Lugo looked up, as if suddenly realizing others were at the table with him. “A history?”
“Do you know him?”
“Why are you asking?” Dixon asked.
Vail had to tread carefully. She had a knack for alienating people, and Lugo was a good guy and well liked. She didn’t want to start something that would undoubtedly leave a bad taste with everyone on the task force. Clearly, Dixon had not picked up on the silent interplay between the two men. Did I imagine it? She tore open a packet of Splenda and dumped it in her glass. “I just thought I noticed Guevara giving him some strange looks.”
Lugo took a drink from his iced tea. “Really?”
He’s not making this easy. Careful . . . “So you didn’t notice him giving you looks, like he was pissed at you or something?”
Lugo pursed his lips and shook his head. “No.”
“So you don’t know him then.”
Lugo bobbed his head. “Sort of yes, sort of no. We worked the vineyards as migrant workers back when we were teenagers. But we weren’t friends or anything.”
“Have you seen him lately? Run into him somewhere, grab a beer?”
“I haven’t talked to him in twenty years.”
Nowhere to go with that answer. He’s either telling the truth or he’s a good liar. Regardless, without causing hard feelings, Vail had to drop it here. But the more she thought about it, the stronger her sense that there was something going on between the two men. If Superior Mobile Bottling and/or César Guevara continued to remain under suspicion, she would have to convince Dixon to take the next step: check out their colleague’s story. Get his phone LUDs and see if any of Guevara’s contact numbers showed up.
Their pizzas came and Vail acknowledged the “bursting flavors.” If there was one thing about this trip she found enjoyable—other than her limited time with Robby—it was the food. She even had to admit to Dixon that the Funghi pizza was “killer.”
Now if she could just find the real killer—the Crush Killer—she’d be happy.
FORTY-SEVEN
When Vail, Dixon, and Lugo returned to the conference room, all of the task force members were present except for Burt Gordon, who had left to follow up a lead. Brix finished a phone call, then riffled through a short stack of papers, removed a document, and brought it over to Dixon.
“The board list you got from Crystal Dahlia. We should divide up the names, start running backgrounders on them.”
Vail rubbed at a kink in her neck. “Actually, if now’s a good time, we’ve got some stuff to go over with the group.”
Brix glanced around. No one was on a call, so he stood and said, “I need everyone’s attention.” He nodded to Vail.
“We just paid a visit to César Guevara, the principal at Superior Mobile Bottling. We didn’t come away with anything concrete other than some strange vibes.”
“How so?” Agbayani asked.
Dixon leaned back in her seat. “Evasive answers, nervous and defiant body language.”
“Is he alibied for any of the murders?”
“That’s where the evasive answers started. Whatever alibi he comes up with we’re going to have to hit pretty hard.”
“I got the sense there was something else going on,” Vail said. She could not bring up the interplay with Lugo, but figured she would put it out there and see what came of it. “I think we need to look hard at Guevara, and separately at Superior Mobile Bottling.”
Lugo spread his hands. “We already looked at Superior.”
“Look harder.”
“Before we get all hung up on hunches,” Austin Mann said, “what do you think about this guy from a behavioral analysis perspective?”
Vail curled some hair behind her right ear. “César Guevara is in the right age range. He runs a successful company, and he was guarded in his answers. This tells me he’s a smart guy—higher IQ—which fits with our offender. We need to run him through DMV, see what kind of car he drives. I’m betting it’s something expensive and flashy.”
Brix nodded at Lugo, who swiveled his chair over to the laptop on the conference table.
“He might have unresolved issues with his mother, which is common with narcissists. He’s defiant, even when challenged by law enforcement. He’s got a very healthy ego. If we can find out the history behind his company, we may know more. Did he start it or buy it? Does he have a partner or partners? We have to keep sight of the fact it’s called ‘Superior Mobile Bottling.’ That’d be a name a narcissist might choose for his company.”
“It could also be a name a normal businessperson might choose,” Agbayani said. “All this stuff could be explained differently. He might just be a confident and cocky asshole. It doesn’t mean he’s a serial killer.”
“He drives a Beemer,” Lugo said, staring at the onscreen data. “A five series.”
“Pricey,” Dixon said. She leaned over and made a note on her pad.
“But,” Vail said, “as Eddie pointed out, in and of itself, it doesn’t mean anything. Successful guy, making good money, buys a nice toy. Status symbol. Fun to drive.”
Dixon put down her pen. “Let’s get some background on him. Married, kids, siblings, place of birth, known acquaintances. Ray, shoot us over a copy of his CDL photo.”
Lugo went back to working the keyboard. “Emailing it to everyone.”
Vail leaned over to Dixon. “There’s something we’re missing. I’ve had this feeling all along. I don’t know what it is, but it’s eating away at me.”
“Any idea what it is?”
Vail thought a moment, then shook her head. “It’s like something on the tip of your tongue. Your brain reaches out but it just can’t grab the thought.” Vail’s BlackBerry vibrated. She checked the display: Gifford. Shit. I know what this is about. “I gotta take this,” she said, then rose and left the room. Outside, she answered the call. “Hey, boss.”
“Lenka’s booked you on Virgin, the nine thirty-five red-eye out of SFO to Dulles.”
Vail had to chuckle at the irony. That was the flight the Crush Killer supposedly took to Virginia. “I’m unfortunately familiar with that flight. But that’s not why you’re calling.”
“Actually,” Gifford said, “that is why I’m calling. Because I know that if I had Lenka call you, you’d blow her off or not answer it. Either way, it’d end up back on my desk and I’d be calling you anyway. So before you argue with me, here’s the confirmation number—”
“Sir, we’re closing in on the scumbag. We’ve got a suspect.”
“Fan-fucking-tastic. Then the good men and women of the Napa Major Crimes Task Force can take it from here. I want you on that flight.”
Vail did not reply.
“Karen, I know you heard me. Now, I want to hear you. Tell me you’re going to be on that flight.”
So . . . do I tell him I’ll be on it, when I’m not sure I will be? Or do I level with him? He’s not interested in discussing it. I’d just be wasting my time. “I still have vacation time left. I’m going to spend it with Robby. I deserve it.”
Gifford laughed, a bellicose outburst. “Do you really think you’re gonna be able to shut it out of your mind and relax while your former task force colleagues pursue these leads? I mean, are you thinking you can snow me, or are you deluding yourself?”
Why does everyone think they know me so well? “I think I can shut it down.” Okay, that’s total bullshit. But did I at least sound convincing?
A rustle of papers. “I can’t order you home because you do, in fact, have vacation days left. And you are there on vacation. Or were.” He sighed, audibly. “Karen, you’ve given me an ulcer, you know that?”
“I think you’ve already told me, sir. Again, sorry to hear that.”
“Now that
I know is a lie.”
“Actually, in spite of everything, I like you, sir. You’re a good man. And given everything that’s happened recently, you’ve come through for me.”
“I’m glad you realize that. But I wanna be perfectly clear with you so there’ll be no misunderstandings later. You’re there on vacation. This isn’t some wink across the phone line for you to continue working this case. You’re off the task force effective immediately. And I’m going to call Lieutenant Brix and let him know.”
“At least give me until the evening, like our original agreement.”
“I didn’t realize we had an agreement—on anything.”
“Sir, please. Let me see this one lead through.”
There was a moment of silence while Gifford considered. “You have until 7 p.m. Then you’re done.”
Vail bit her lip. “I understand your position.” And she did, though she didn’t agree with it.
“Enjoy the rest of your vacation. Tell Hernandez I wish him luck, ’cause you’re going to be a bear to live with the next few days.”
Vail hung up, then texted Robby and told him the “good” news: that they were going to be able to spend some together on this trip, after all. She would touch base with him later about dinner because she was apparently going to be done by six. She sent the message, then pushed through the wood conference room door. She caught Brix’s attention and motioned him over to the far corner.
“Everything okay?”
“Not really.” Vail scratched at her head. “I’ve been ordered off the task force. Effective 7 p.m. My ASAC is going to call you.”
“What? We’re looking at Guevara, but we’ve still got nothing. He can’t just pull you off. We need you.”
Vail looked down at the carpet. “I tried, Brix. You know I tried.” She turned toward the windows to her left. “I’ll still be in town because I have vacation days left. But he specifically prohibited me from working with you guys.”
Brix’s phone buzzed. He locked eyes with Vail, then she walked away.
“Karen,” Dixon said. “We got another fax from Crystal Dahlia. Board bylaws.” She flipped the sheet and held up another page. “And here’s the info Kevin Cameron had promised.”
“Bad news, Roxx. Just spoke with my ASAC. It’s official. I’m off at 7 p.m.”
“Total bullshit,” Dixon said.
Vail rubbed her eyes. “Maybe it’s for the best. I’m really tired.”
“You don’t believe that.”
Vail yawned. “I am very tired.” She wore a weary smile. “But no, I don’t believe that.”
“Karen,” Brix called out. He held up his phone. “That wasn’t who we thought it was. Everyone, listen up.” He waited for Agbayani, Mann, and Lugo to make eye contact. “Just got off the phone with my wife. I’d told her we were working with a profiler, she loves that show Criminal Minds—anyway, our UNSUB took out an advertisement in today’s Press.” He looked down at his pad. “It says, ‘Karen Vail Photography. Get your profile taken, 50 percent off sale. Act now. Limited time offer.’”
“This may be our last chance,” Vail said. “Can we get hold of a copy of the ad?”
“She’s faxing it over right now.”
“We need to call the Press,” Lugo said, “see if the guy paid for it with a credit card.”
“Do it,” Dixon said.
“Was there a phone number or contact info?” Vail asked.
“Email address.”
Vail pulled her BlackBerry and started to compose a message.
“What are you doing?” Dixon asked.
“Sending him a message. I think it’s time to cut a deal.” She looked up at the others. “Anyone have a problem with going public?” Vail knew it was a sore point: Fuller had forcibly objected—as did Nance—and both had since been discredited.
Brix shook his head. “If Guevara is our guy, we don’t need to do that anymore.”
“And if he’s not,” Vail said, “we blow this chance to make contact. I can at least promise it to him. Whether we follow through with it is something we can hash out later.”
“Can we get a subpoena for Guevara’s computer and Smartphone,” Mann asked, “and any other email-enabled devices he may have?”
Agbayani said, “We should at least get someone on him, keep an eye on him.”
Dixon pulled her cell and dialed. “I don’t think we have enough for a subpoena, but I’ll see what I can do.”
Brix flipped open his phone and pressed a couple of numbers. “I’ll call Gordon. He’s only about ten minutes away from Superior. I’ll have him keep an eye on the place, give him Guevara’s Beemer plate in case he’s our guy and he goes to a cybercafé to use an anonymous PC.” He gave Gordon instructions, then closed his phone. Almost immediately, Brix’s phone rang. “Caller ID says 703 area code.”
Vail frowned. “My ASAC.”
Brix silenced the ringer, then winked. “I’ll have to call him back.” Vail smiled warmly. It really wouldn’t buy her any time with her boss, but it made her feel good. When this case started, Brix wouldn’t give her the time of day. Now, he was doing what he could to keep her on the team.
The fax machine in the corner of the room rang. As Brix retrieved the document, Vail pushed thoughts of Gifford’s directive from her mind and concentrated on the wording of the message she would send. She closed her eyes and considered what she would say. Keep it short. Unemotional. Build him up without being obvious. She typed:Got your message. Love the ad. Very clever. I want to take advantage of your offer. Let’s make a deal. If you provide us with a list of all your victims—all of them—going back to the very first one, I’ll have the Napa Valley Press here at our offices within an hour of receipt of the list, and you’ll have a front page story in tomorrow’s paper. Let me know if those terms are acceptable.
She read it back to the task force members, who had completed their respective phone calls. They asked a few questions, but the message was largely left intact.
“Any way we can track the email?” Agbayani asked.
Lugo nodded. “If we send it from Outlook through the county’s mail server, yes.”
“But he’ll know it’s not coming from me,” Vail said. “That might spook him.”
“I can set up a mail account for you here. I can spoof it so it’ll look like your BlackBerry mail. But if he knows more than the average Joe about email, he may be able to tell.”
Dixon rose from her chair and stretched. “If he’s reading his mail in a cybercafé, I don’t think he’s going to take the time to dig into it.” She stood behind her chair and leaned on the seatback. “I think we’ll be okay.”
Vail pointed at the laptop. “Do it.”
“I’ll need some help from IT,” Lugo said. He lifted the corded room phone and dialed an extension. He pinned the handset against his shoulder with his head and configured the mail account per the tech’s instructions. He hung up and said, “I’m ready. I’ve got tracking enabled. He won’t know. We’ll see when it’s delivered to his mail server.”
Lugo sent the message, then leaned back in his chair. “Now we wait.”
The mail delivery receipt came back almost immediately; the UNSUB’s response within thirty minutes. The familiar Outlook “mail received” chime sounded. Lugo slid his chair squarely in front of the laptop and yelled, “Got something.” He opened the message and read: “I want TV news there, too. I will send you the document soon. You’ll then have sixty minutes to get a TV reporter there. I’ll know. I’ll be watching.”
“Call the news desk at KNTV,” Dixon said to Agbayani. “Tell them we need a reporter and cameraman, in a marked van. Explain to them we have an exclusive breaking story that’s fluid. But,” she said, raising a finger, “do not mention the words serial killer.”
Agbayani nodded, then pulled his phone.
“Ray,” Brix said, “anything on the tracking?”
“Delivered to the mail server. I’ll ask the IT guys to do a more thorough an
alysis of its path. But I would guess it’ll end up at some generic wireless connection and he’ll be long gone.”
“We don’t know if we don’t try. Have them look into it.”
FORTY MINUTES PASSED. The task force members performed follow-up on their various outstanding tasks, compared notes, and discussed the information they had amassed that had not yet been shared with the group. It didn’t necessarily get them closer to identifying the Crush Killer, but it helped pass the time while they waited for some indication that the UNSUB was going to fulfill his end of the agreement.
A reporter and photographer from the Napa Valley Press arrived and were ushered to the morgue conference room on the first floor. They were told they would likely have a major story to write about, but the investigation was in a sensitive phase. Against the promise of an important scoop, they took seats and waited.
Vail stood to stretch when her BlackBerry buzzed. She nonchalantly read the display. That’s it. “Text message. From the offender—”package taped to silver ridge sign for you. cute trick with the email agent vail. don’t deceive me again.
Vail read it to the group.
“Let’s get a fix on him,” Dixon said. “Triangulate that text.”
Lugo grabbed the phone and started dialing.
“What’s the point?” Vail said. “If he left something for us at Silver Ridge, we know where he was—or is. Why don’t we check in with Gordon, see if Guevara has moved?”
“On it,” Brix said.
Dixon said, “Ray, cancel the triangulation and get the closest LEO over to Silver Ridge ASAP. Call CHP, see if an officer’s near. Or contact NSIB. Just get someone there fast.”
A moment later, Brix ended his call. “Gordon went in and eyeballed Guevara after I sent him over there. No one’s been in or out of Superior since. While we were on the phone, he checked in on him again. Still there.”
“CHP was nearby,” Lugo said, hanging up his phone. “They’re about to pick up the package at Silver Ridge. I told him to take photos before he picks it up. But you think—should we call in EOD, at least alert the HDTs we may have a job for them?”
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