Vail 02 - Crush (12 page)

Dixon handed him her card. Lugo made no such move. He and Kevin were friends, and Kevin undoubtedly had Lugo’s number. In fact, without question, Kevin’s call—should he make one—would go to his buddy.

Lugo led them to the front door. Out of earshot of Kevin, he said, “I don’t think this feud is related to the murder.”

“Too soon to say for sure,” Vail said. “But the odds are strongly against it.”

Dixon held out a hand. “I wouldn’t discount it just yet. The body was found at their winery. But we don’t have enough info yet. We need to dig more before we make any decisions.”

BACK AT THEIR CAR, Dixon stood at the driver’s door and looked across the vehicle at Vail. “The things that were done to the body could be taken as being a personal attack. Severing the breasts, for one.”

Vail shook her head. “Severing the breasts is probably not personal.”

“Overkill, right? Excessive violence shows a relationship between the offender and the victim.”

“Up until very recently, that was our operating theory. We automatically considered overkill to be rooted in anger, and then we extrapolated that into a personal relationship. If the offender’s angry, he had to have something against that person. Bingo. He knew the vic, hated her or was pissed at her for something. But the new thinking is
that psychopaths, who don’t feel any anger at all, are not necessarily angry at the victim. They’re angry at someone else and projecting onto the victim.

“Even more significant is that we’ve found that some psychopaths enjoy inflicting damage and injury—for them, there’s no anger or projection involved. So we have to be careful with calling severe violence ‘overkill.’ It could be a sign of anger, but not always. The other thing to consider,” Vail continued, “is that serial killers target strangers. There’s no relationship with the victim. It’s not personal because they don’t know the victim personally.”

“So you’re not buying this feud as a motive.”

“First of all, anger is not a motive. Revenge is, but anger is an affect, not a motive.” Vail looked over at the house. “The feud was a disagreement between the patriarchs, right? It’s what, forty years old? There’s just no energy left in the feud. So if we’re looking at revenge as the motive, and not anger, why wait all these decades to act? Montalvo’s an old guy. Unless we’re missing something, it doesn’t look like it filtered down to the kids. It might have to some degree—but at the same intensity? They’re aware of it, of the history, but it’s not really their battle—certainly not enough to kill over.”

“We need to dig deeper,” Dixon said. “Make sure you’re right.”

“Here’s something else to consider. There were no defensive injuries on the vic; at the same time, there was a lot of control involved in her capture, and the killing, as well as the postmortem mutilation of the body. The UNSUB was very much in control of Victoria and of himself. He was methodical and careful. He didn’t hack at the breasts with a machete, but he excised them neatly. That reinforces my feeling that there’s no anger in the crime scene. And the killer’s definitely satisfied with what he did there.”

“So if Victoria was killed because of a personal feud, you’re saying we’d see more damage, more anger, possibly even rage. But what if the killer got interrupted and had to leave?”

Vail smiled. “I had a case like that very recently. Dead Eyes. You hear of it?”

“I read some stuff about it. Several women killed. Virginia, right? A couple months ago?”

“Yeah.”
Doesn’t come close to summing it up, but that’s good enough for now.

“That was you?” Dixon snapped her fingers. “With the state senator—”

“Yes again.” Vail waved her hand. She wasn’t sure if she was waving it to get off the topic or to . . . get off the topic. “So yeah, it’s possible the UNSUB heard something and freaked, like you said. But there’s the issue of the other body we dug out of that collapsed wine cave that was missing the toenail. So I don’t think that’s what we’re looking at here.”

“The choking, crushing injury is pretty violent. That could be a sign of anger.”

Vail considered that. “True. Let’s wait and see what your coroner tells us about the other body. Then we can make some additional judgments, build on our profile. Right now, with just two vics, it’s hard to be accurate in our conclusions. I can only tell you what it looks like, but the odds of me being wrong are higher with so few bodies. We need more bodies, more behavior, to evaluate.” Vail shook her head. “That didn’t come out right. I’m not wishing we had more bodies—”

“I know what you meant,” Dixon said.

“I can draw one conclusion with reasonable certainty. We’re dealing with an organized offender. Intelligent and potentially socially adept. Since there were no defensive wounds, it appears he was able to co-opt his victim in such a way that she doesn’t see him as a threat. In other words, he was capable of emotionally disarming her so she’d go along with him until he could strike. If she had any objections, he successfully neutralized them.”

Dixon’s phone began vibrating on her belt. She flipped it open and listened a moment. “Okay, meet me over there.”

She closed the phone and turned to Vail. “Warrant’s ready. Clerk is delivering it to Silver Ridge.”

VAIL AND DIXON arrived at the winery a moment ahead of the law clerk, who handed over the warrant in the parking lot.

“You sure we’re going to need that?” Vail asked. “We’re not talking about protected information.”

“Not personally. But it’s proprietary information important to Silver Ridge’s business. A place like this is going to want to protect its guest list. Eventually, they’d turn it over. But this makes it a whole lot faster and easier.”

As they got out of the car, Vail sighed and shook her head. “This is where my vacation started. And ended.”

“How so?”

“We were first on the scene, so to speak. We were on the tour and pairings dinner.”

“How’d you score a Silver Ridge tour? Pretty exclusive. And expensive.”

“It’s both. Robby’s got a friend here who’s got connections.”

“Nice friend to have.”

They took the warrant into the main building, walked through the large, windowed tasting room with low-hanging fiber-optic lights, and asked for the administration office. After Dixon badged the secretary, they were handed off to the wine sales manager.

A tall woman with chic black-rimmed glasses, she leaned back in her chair and appraised Vail and Dixon.

“I take it you’re not here to join our wine club.”

Vail glanced at the placard on the woman’s desk. “Thanks, Catherine. Perhaps another time. We would, however, like a copy of your guest list, specifically those people who’ve purchased tickets for wine cave tours or the wine-pairing dinners during the past five years.”

Catherine removed her glasses and studied Vail’s face. “You were here the other night, when Miguel found—”

“The dead body, yes,” Vail said. “I don’t know why, but wherever I go, violence seems to follow me. Let’s hope history doesn’t repeat itself.”

Catherine gave her a look Vail took to be somewhat hostile.

“So,” Dixon said. “Your guest list. We’ll also need a list of all your employees going back ten years.”

Catherine thinned her lips into a tense smile. “That’s not going to happen. I’m sure our customers don’t want their names ending up in some police file associated with a murder investigation—”

“I thought you might say that,” Dixon said. “So I had this prepared. Just for you.” Dixon grinned politely, then handed over the warrant as if it was a gift certificate.

But, of course, it wasn’t. The woman perused the document, then gave Dixon the same look she’d previously reserved for Vail. It didn’t look any better the second time around.

Catherine leaned forward, pressed two buttons on her phone, then lifted the receiver. “I need you to do something for me.” She proceeded to give the person instructions on what to print and where to find it. She tossed the warrant back at Dixon, who fumbled it before getting it in her grasp. To Dixon’s credit, she merely refolded the document and placed it on the desk. “No, no,” she said. “This is yours, for you to keep. Our gift to you.”

“Thanks so much for your cooperation,” Vail said. “It’s people like you that make our job just a tad bit tougher.”

TWENTY MINUTES LATER, lists in hand, they started back toward their car. Vail shoved the paperwork in her purse, then stopped as they passed through the tasting room. She went over to a sommelier who was handing a customer his just-purchased case of wine.

“Would you like a tasting?” the man asked.

“I’d love one,” Vail said.

Dixon joined her at the counter and gave her a questioning look.

The sommelier—whose name tag read Claude, turned to the wall of wine bottles behind him. Vail leaned closer to Dixon. “Go with me on this,” she said.

“Oh,” Claude said, now facing them. “I’m sorry, will that be two tastings?”

“Just the one,” Vail said. “My partner doesn’t drink.”

Dixon cleared her throat.

Claude lifted a bottle and cradled it in two hands so they could view the label. “I’m starting you off with our Pinot Noir, from our vineyard in the Carneros region.”

Claude poured it. Vail lifted the glass to her lips.

“No, no,” Dixon said. “I may not drink,” she said, eyeing Vail with a sharp look, “but I sure know how to taste wine.” She took the glass from Vail, placed it on the countertop, then swirled it rapidly. The red liquid shot centrifugally around the edges before coming to rest. “Aerates it,” Dixon said. “Releases the nose.” She handed the glass back to Vail.

“The nose?” Vail asked.

“The scent,” Claude said.

Come to think of it, Claude’s nose was a bit outstanding as well. Large and bulbous.

Vail took a sip. It slid across her tongue and down her throat effortlessly. “Very nice. Strawberries and . . . peach?”

“Yes, yes,” the man said. “Very good.”

Vail flared her nostrils. “A big, broad nose, too.”

Dixon rolled her eyes.

“Go ahead and take another sip. This time let it flow over the palate, see how the taste buds on different areas of your tongue pick up different flavors.”

Vail brought the glass to her mouth. Stopped, sniffed the wine. “So tell me a little about the winery,” Vail said. “Who owns it?”

“Oh,” Claude said, his face brightening. “It’s owned by two brothers and their sister, but Gray is the main one. He’s here every day—in fact, he was in here not five minutes before you came in.”

“Does Gray have a last name?”

“He’s always gone by Gray, or Grayson. He’s very friendly with all the staff. Good man, I’ve known him about eleven years now.”

Vail lifted the glass again to her lips. “Good to know. And Grayson’s last name?” She tilted the glass and took a mouthful, as Claude instructed. Concentrated on tasting it—couldn’t really see a difference—then swallowed.