Blood Vines

by Erica Spindler

  “Wallet’s cleaned out,” Tanner offered, indicating the wallet on the ground, a foot from the body. “Watch is gone. So is his wedding ring. Crime of opportunity.”

  “Or crime of passion, made to look like a robbery.” Reed glanced at his partner. “I saw him tonight. A wine launch party. At my folks’.”

  “What time did you last see him?”

  “Eleven or so. Right before I took Alex home.” Her eyebrows shot up at the woman’s name. “What?” he asked.

  “You have something going on with her?”

  “None of your damn business. She’s not a suspect.”

  “She may be a witness.”

  To a twenty-five-year-old crime she didn’t remember. “Just introducing her around,” he said. “Trying to jog her memory.”

  “Bullshit, partner. But it’s your ass.” Tanner motioned to the victim. “Was he drinking?”

  “Ask a better question, Tanner. Like, was he drinking heavily?”

  “Was he?”

  “Of course. The wine was free.”

  “Who was he with?”

  “His wife. I saw them together at one point.”

  “So where is she now?”

  “That’s a very good question. Maybe Ms. Calvin knows the answer.”

  He found the young woman in the back of the patrol car, wrapped in a blanket. The door stood open and he bent down and introduced himself. She burst into tears.

  “I can’t believe this has”-she sucked in a sobbing breath-“that this has… Oh, my God! Tom’s dead!”

  He handed her a tissue. She blew her nose and lifted her tear-streaked face to his. “What do I do now?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m going to have to find a new job. Another place to live. How am I going to do all that?”

  He didn’t respond, directing her to the events of the night. “I need to ask you some questions, Meri. Do you think you can remain calm enough to answer?”

  She still looked a hiccup away from total hysteria, but she nodded. “I’ll… I’ll try.”

  “Good.” He spoke slowly, keeping his tone as nonconfrontational as possible. “Tell me how you happened to be here.”

  “I told the other officer-”

  “I need to hear it from you. I hope you don’t mind?”

  “Okay.” She shredded the tissue he’d handed her. “He called me. He said he needed a ride home.”

  “What time was that?”

  “About midnight.”

  “Why did he call you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Why you? Instead of someone else?”

  “I work for him.”

  “You’re an awfully dedicated employee, to come out at midnight. I’m impressed.”

  She shifted her gaze. “I like my job… and I want to make certain I… keep…”

  Her words trailed off, as if she knew how lame they sounded. As gently as possible, he said, “You weren’t just Tom’s employee, were you?”

  She shook her head. “We were friends.”

  “Friends?”

  She started to cry again, though this time softly. “More than friends,” she whispered.

  “You were lovers, weren’t you?”

  She nodded. “He and his wife were splitting up.”

  Doubtful, Reed thought. He had heard that Tom had a weakness for women nearly half his age. If the rumors were true, young Meri here was just one in a long line of Tom’s dalliances.

  He kept that to himself. “He was at a launch party with his wife tonight. Right up the road. Red Crest Winery.”

  “It wasn’t fair! She got to go to all the really cool places and events, while I stayed home and waited for him to call.”

  Reed didn’t point out that as Schwann’s wife, that was her right. Nor did he mention all the crap the woman obviously put up with. Seemed to him both women had been getting the short end of the stick. “Tell me what happened tonight.”

  “I was already in bed when he called. He said he and his wife had had a huge fight and she’d kicked him out of the car.”

  “What did they fight about?”

  “He didn’t tell me.”

  “And you didn’t ask?”

  “I figured I’d ask when… I didn’t get the chance.”

  “How long between when he called and you arrived here?”

  “Maybe an hour.” She hung her head, looking miserable. “I was really mad. I figured he could wait, that it’d serve him right.”

  “When you arrived, did you see anyone? A car driving off? Anything like that?”

  She hadn’t, and after exacting her promise to call if she remembered anything else, Reed decided his next move had to be a face-to-face with Schwann’s wife.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Sunday, March 7

  4:10 A.M.

  Tom and Jill Schwann lived in a big house on Arrowhead Mountain. Reed had gone to school with Jill; they’d been in the same high school graduating class. He couldn’t imagine her getting pissed off enough to kill her husband, but what did he know? The brutality of the human animal continually surprised him.

  He brought a couple uniformed deputies along with him, just in case he needed assistance.

  Reed reached the front door, rang the bell. A dog started to bark, one of those high-pitched, yappy barks that brought to mind celebrities Paris Hilton and Britney Spears.

  Jill answered the door looking totally wrung out. Marriage to an asshole had that effect; he’d seen it time and again. She wore a wrap robe, her feet were bare. Her blond hair had mostly come out of its chignon and hung in hanks around her face. Obviously she had been crying: her nose was red and mascara had created dark tracks down her cheeks. A small white dog growled and bared its teeth at him.

  “Dan?” She shifted her gaze to the officers behind him and frowned. “What’s going on?”

  “I’ve got some bad news, Jill. Can I come in?”

  She scooped up the dog. “Pinot,” she admonished, moving aside, “shush, baby.”

  Reed stepped into the foyer, the deputies behind him. He took in the area-the white carpeting, the marble foyer, the silk wall coverings-looking for a trail, smear or drop of blood. He knew the deputies behind him were doing the same.

  “Maybe we should sit down?”

  “You’re scaring me, Dan. What’s-”

  “Tom’s dead, Jill. I’m sorry.”

  For a split second her expression went totally blank, a moment later it lit with fury. “I get it. That son of a bitch. He put you up to this, didn’t he? To teach me a lesson. Prick.”

  “Jill, that’s not why-”

  “Save it, Danny. He thinks this is all right. That it’s okay for him to fuck anything that moves and I should take it because he pays the bills.” She strode to the large, open living room, dropped Pinot on the couch and swung back to face him. “Well, it’s not okay. I kicked his two-timing, drunk butt out of the car. Told him to get his latest piece of ass to give him a ride home. I don’t deserve this.”

  “Jill,” he said quietly, “Tom’s dead. He was murdered.”

  Several different emotions raced across her face. Shock and disbelief. Horror. She opened her mouth, then shut it. Her throat worked. The dog growled.

  “This isn’t a setup?” He shook his head. Again she looked at the deputies, as if she needed further confirmation. “I left him just an hour or two ago.”

  “Are you certain about the time?”

  “No, I-” She brought a hand to her throat. Reed saw that it shook. “I was drinking. We argued… It’s all a blur now.”

  “Why don’t you sit down?” She nodded but didn’t move. She swayed slightly, face ashen. He caught her elbow and led her to the couch. She sank onto it. Pinot hopped onto her lap.

  “Can I get you some water?” he asked. “Anything else?”

  She shook her head, threading her fingers in the animal’s silky fur. “Tom’s dead?”

  “Yes. I’m sorry.”

>   “How?” she asked. “Who?”

  “We don’t know who. His throat was slit.”

  “Oh my God!”

  “Can we call someone for you?”

  “My mother.”

  He remembered Jill’s mother. Very involved in her daughter’s life. Ambitious for her. He wondered if she had known about her daughter’s marital troubles.

  “I’ll have someone pick her up and bring her over. How’s that?”

  She nodded, throat working. Reed instructed one of the deputies to call it in, then turned back to her. “While we talk, may my deputies take a look around? We’ll need to check your car as well.”

  She looked surprised. “Look around? Here? Sure, but I… I don’t understan…” But then she did; the realization crossed her face. “You don’t think I had anything to do with his… death?”

  “Of course not,” he said gently, taking a notebook and pen from his jacket pocket. “But it’s standard operating procedure. You were his wife. Maybe the last person to have seen him alive. Is it okay if they look around?”

  She nodded and began to cry. Reed instructed the deputies to get started, found a box of tissues, then sat beside her, waiting, giving her time.

  After several minutes had passed, she blew her nose, then looked at him. “You probably think I’m an idiot. Crying over a man who treated the dog with more respect than he did me.”

  “I don’t think you’re an idiot, Jill. Far from it.”

  “I loved him.” She snatched another tissue from the box. “At least I did, once upon a time. Lately, I mostly hated his guts.”

  Reed laid a hand on her arm. “Jill, anything you say can be held against you. You know that, right?”

  “And I have a right to have a lawyer present. I know. I watch TV.”

  “This isn’t television. It’s real.”

  She laughed, the sound also equal parts sob and hiccup. “I have nothing to hide, Reed.” She curved her arms around her middle. “Thank God we didn’t have children. Thank God.”

  “Jill, I need you to think carefully about the time. It’s important.” He paused to let his words sink in, then pressed on. “What time did you leave the party?”

  “I don’t… I know it was after midnight. Because I remember looking at my watch and thinking it was Sunday already and mass wasn’t that far off. We left maybe a half hour after that.”

  “And he was drunk?”

  “Totally inebriated. Disgustingly sloppy.”

  “What happened next?”

  She looked away, then back, expression tight. “He was acting all sexed up in the car. Like, com’on, baby, pull over and do me. Give ‘Big Tom’ a honk.”

  “A honk?”

  “Blow job. I told him to blow himself.”

  “That’s when you fought?”

  “Oh yeah. We fought. I pulled off the road. Told him to get the fuck out. He was so drunk, I don’t think it occurred to him that I was the one who was driving.”

  “Did anyone else see him get out of the car?”

  “No.”

  “There was no one else, no other vehicles, anywhere around?”

  She shook her head. “I saw him on the phone as I pulled away. I figured he was calling his little whore.” She flushed, as if suddenly realizing who she was talking to.

  He made a note. “Who is she? Do you know her name?”

  “She works for him. At the winery.” She pulled another tissue from the box and balled it up in her fist. “It’s not about her. She’s just one of his many… indiscretions.”

  “Do you know her name?” he asked again.

  “Meri,” she whispered. “Like I said, she works at the winery.”

  “After you kicked him out, did you make any calls?”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  “He was robbed. His wallet emptied, his watch and wedding ring taken. Did he have any other valuables on him, that you know of?”

  She shook her head again as her mother arrived, sweeping into the room, the deputy trailing behind. Jill cried out and leaped to her feet and ran to her. “Mom, I can’t believe this happened!”

  “My God, Jill! The deputies told me Tom-”

  “He was murdered, Mom. Murdered!”

  The tears flowed again. Reed left the women alone, using the opportunity to confer with the deputies: the search of the house and vehicles had turned up nothing, no blood, bloody clothing or evidence of a cleanup.

  He also learned that Jill’s mother had been deeply asleep when the deputy called for her. Her live-in boyfriend had been in front of the TV, also asleep. Neither of them had been out that night. And both had been convincingly shocked and horrified by the news of Tom’s murder.

  “Who could have done this?” Jill’s mother demanded, when Reed rejoined them. “How could this have happened here in Sonoma County?”

  Reed figured she wouldn’t appreciate the truth-that crimes like this happened every day, here in Sonoma County and everywhere else, that this one only felt unique and impossible because it had touched her.

  When he left a short time later, he acknowledged a sense that before it was all over, this case would personally touch many more in this small valley. And he sensed, also, that it was going to get ugly.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Sunday, March 7

  5:10 A.M.

  Back in his SUV, Reed let out a long breath. That had been particularly unpleasant. There were things you just didn’t want to know about neighbors or old classmates.

  Reed gazed a moment at the horizon, the first glimmers of light announcing the new day had arrived, like it or not. He flipped open his phone and punched in Tanner’s number.

  She answered almost immediately. “Please tell me the wife did it. That the evidence was not only overwhelming but she spilled a full confession.”

  “Sorry, Babs. No evidence, no confession. Just a tearful widow who’ll be so much better off without her prick of a husband.”

  “You’re no damn fun at all.”

  “Tell me about it. According to her, they left the party together around twelve thirty. They fought about his latest girlfriend and she kicked him out of the car. Says he was drunk on his ass and only too happy to escape her bitching.”

  “That’s where Meri Calvin comes in.”

  He heard the fatigue in her voice. “How’s it going there?”

  “Slow. There’s a lot of blood to collect. We’ve got footprints, tire tracks and debris to sift through.” She sighed heavily. “It’ll be awhile.”

  “You have my sympathy. I’m going to swing home, shower, change and eat, then head to the Barn. You got Schwann’s cell phone?”

  “Bagged and tagged.”

  “Wife said when she pulled away he was already on it. My guess is he called Meri. But you never know.”

  “I’ll get you the call record ASAP.”

  “And here I thought you’d call me a demanding bastard.”

  “Give me a minute.”

  He laughed, told her to keep in touch and hung up.

  A little over an hour later, Reed arrived back at the Barn. Schwann’s cell phone call record was waiting for him on his desk. A yellow Post-it attached read: As usual, you owe me.

  He grinned. As usual, he did. He tossed the Post-it, sat and studied the list.

  Schwann had made four calls between twelve forty-two and twelve fifty-nine. The first, third and fourth had been to the same number. Meri Calvin’s was his guess. And easy enough to check.

  Reed swung toward his computer terminal, fired it up and tapped in the appropriate code. The responding officer would have taken her contact information; he should have already inputted his report.

  Sure enough, he had. Reed scrolled through the information, stopping on Calvin’s entry.

  Her cell number matched the one Schwann had dialed three times the night before. Made perfect sense, Reed decided. He’d called her first, cooled his heels, then being his impatient demanding self, had called two more tim
es. And in between he had called someone else and been on with them two and a half minutes. Who?

  Maybe the person who had killed him.

  He opened his cell phone and punched in the number. It connected and rang; he counted fifteen rings before he ended the call. So much for the quick and easy way. He made a note to expedite getting the information from the phone company.

  “No rest for the wicked, man.”

  Reed looked up. A sleepy-looking Cal stood at his cubicle door. “What’s up, dude? Why not out at the Schwann scene?”

  “Got called off.” He yawned. “Wanted to let you know, we got that analysis back on the doll late yesterday. Tested negative for blood.”

  “Okay.” Reed inclined his head. “Looks more like a stupid prank now. I would have had a hard time picturing a couple spoiled teenagers slaughtering a farm animal for a joke.”

  Cal yawned again, and backed out the door. “Wish me luck staying awake.”

  “What’s going?”

  “More weird Sonoma Valley shit. Somebody’s built their own little church up by Castle Road. Got ourselves an altar and all sorts of crazy symbols. Biker called it in.”

  “Our corner of the world at its best.”

  “No joke. We got our Bohemian Grove in Monte Rio, the Manson Family in San Francisco and Shambahala up north. Why not a bit of animal sacrifice in Sonoma?”

  He started off; Reed stopped him. “Did you say animal sacrifice?”

  “Yeah, maybe. That’s what the biker thought, but who knows?”

  “If you confirm that, let me know. I might want to check it out.”

  Less than an hour later, Cal confirmed and Reed headed up to the site. The spot had been an observation point and picnic area. It not only overlooked the valley, but on a clear day, offered a view of the Golden Gate Bridge.

  “What’s the nearest winery?” Reed asked.

  “Bart Park. Up and around the bend. Ceased public tours two years ago. Looks like this spot was a casualty.”

  Reed could make out the peak of a roof through the stand of oak trees. “Casualty is right,” he muttered. “Not quite what tourists come for.”