Vail 02 - Crush (13 page)

“Oh, sorry,” Claude said. “Brix. Grayson Brix.”

Vail started coughing. Violent hacking, struggling to take a breath. She put her hand out and grabbed the counter, then bent forward to steady herself as she fought to keep her throat from closing from the burn of alcohol.

Dixon took the wineglass from her, then said to the sommelier, “Did you say Grayson
Brix
?”

“Is there a problem?” Claude asked.

Vail cleared her throat. In a raspy voice, she asked, “Any relation to Redmond Brix?”

“Anilise is their sister. Redd is the other brother, the silent partner. He’s also a lieutenant at the Napa County Sheriff’s Department—”

“Yeah, we got that part,” Vail said. She turned to Dixon and, still trying to get the burning edge off her throat, said, “I think we’d better get back.”

They turned and started to leave. Claude called after them. “The tasting fee is ten dollars—”

“Yeah, about that,” Vail said as she neared the doorway. “Tell
Lieutenant
Brix it’s on him.”

THEY WALKED IN SILENCE to the car. Vail’s hands were clenched and she was walking briskly through the parking lot.

As they approached the vehicle, Dixon said, “Well that’s kind of disturbing.”

“How could he keep that from us? He’s a cop, doesn’t he realize he has an obligation to be straight with us?”

They got into the Ford and Dixon started the engine. “I assume we’re headed back to the sheriff’s department?”

“Oh, yeah,” Vail said. The twenty minute ride would do her good. Right now she felt a pulsing in her temples. That meant her blood pressure was high. And that meant she needed some cooling off time before she confronted Brix. It was likely going to be somewhat contentious.

A
s they drove down Highway 29, the wineries of Niebaum-Coppola on her right and Opus One flying by to her left, Vail turned to Dixon. “How solid is Brix?”

“You mean, can he be mixed up in this somehow? A serial killer?”

“No,” Vail said, “that makes no sense.”

“He doesn’t seem like the serial killer type.”

Vail hiked her brow. “No, he doesn’t.”

“Still, he may have a motive.”

“How well do you know him?”

Dixon shrugged. “Had a case with him a couple years ago. Since then, I’ve seen him around town from time to time. I like the guy. We shoot the breeze, bullshit. Cop talk. Nothing deep.”

They drove on another mile. “Are those railroad tracks?” Vail said, craning her neck to the right.

“Napa Valley Wine Train. It’s an old restored train that goes up and down the tracks, maybe an hour and a half each way, while people eat lunch or dinner. I did it once.”

“Looks like fun.” Vail reached for her phone to check for missed calls. None. “It’s not likely Brix is involved,” she said, “but it’s our job to consider him a potential suspect. Keep an eye on him.”

Vail removed the employee and guest lists, then shoved her purse beneath the seat. “You mind?”

Dixon shook her head. “I keep the car locked. Mine’s in the glovebox. Just push it all the way under.”

She drove on another minute, then Vail said, “You know, Brix really should recuse himself from the investigation.”

Dixon chuckled. “Good luck with that. Still, it might be better keeping him close, where we can keep half an eye on him.”

VAIL WAS THE FIRST through the front doors. She walked up to the desk, as she had the day earlier, only this time the clerk knew who she was. Nevertheless, the woman took a few seconds to acknowledge her.

When she finally came over to the desk, Vail asked, “Where’s Lieutenant Brix?”

“Would you like me to page him for you?”

Dixon came up behind Vail. “Come on, I know where he is.” She held up her cell phone. “Just spoke to him.” Dixon swiped her prox card and proceeded down the hall.

“You didn’t say anything about—”

“I told him we were in the building and we had something to discuss with him.”

They walked into the Major Crimes Task Force room. Redmond Brix was seated at the head of the conference table, a file splayed open in front of him. Beside him was a uniformed officer.

“Give us a moment,” Vail said to the cop.

The man looked at Vail, then Dixon, before coming to rest on Brix, who made the same rounds with his gaze. Brix nodded and the officer left.

Brix leaned back in his seat. “What’s up?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Vail said. “How about you own the winery where the vic was murdered, a winery that’s been locked in a decades-long family feud with Frederick Montalvo? And how about you . . . uh . . .
forgot
to mention any of this?”

“First of all, I’m more of an investor—”

“Bullshit,” Vail said. She placed both palms on the desk in front of her and peered at Brix. “You and your brother own it. True or false?”

“It’s not black and white—”

“Answer my question. Please,” she added.

“True.”

“Did you have anything to do with the murder of Victoria
Cameron? Anything at all, ordering or facilitating a contract hit, killing her yourself, assisting your brother or anyone else—”

Brix rose from his seat. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“I’m part of a task force investigating the murder of a young woman. And you, a Lieutenant and the senior cop heading the investigation, decided to willfully hide facts from the rest of us.”

“I didn’t hide anything,” Brix said. “It’s just not relevant.”

“Redd,” Dixon said softly, “that’s for all of us to decide.”

“Scott knows. Stan knows. It’s not a secret.”

“Look,” Dixon said, “as soon as we discovered the vic was Victoria Cameron, you should’ve disclosed your ownership of the rival winery to
everyone
on the task force.”

“And you should recuse yourself from the investigation,” Vail said.

“Bull-shit,” he sang, drawing out the word.

Vail rested her hands on her hips. “How could you stay on, given what—”

“It’s not our call,” Dixon said. “If he wants to stay on the investigation, it’s not our decision.”

Vail had to concede that point. She had no authority here, other than to help and advise. But Dixon, as lead investigator, could have pressed the issue. Dixon had apparently decided not to pursue it—so Vail let it drop. “Fine,” she said. “Whatever. Any other secrets half the task force knows and the other half doesn’t?”

Brix ground his molars, perhaps waiting for his anger to fade. He turned to Vail with a heavy stare. “I’ve never had my integrity questioned. Never. And I’m not about to allow a Fibbie to dictate to me, or anyone else—”

“That’s enough.”

They all turned to the door, where Sheriff Stan Owens was standing.

“I don’t want to hear any more of that derogatory bullshit. I know the FBI doesn’t always get along with cops, and vice versa. But I respect both state and federal law enforcement. We’re all in it together. Learn to play on the same field.” He surveyed their faces. “Now, is there something you want to share with me?”

Vail looked at Brix. She wanted to disclose Brix’s conflict of interest.

But she didn’t want to be seen in the wrong light, particularly after Owens’s admonishment. Besides, this was Dixon’s fight, if she chose to take it on.

Dixon said nothing. Brix said nothing.

Owens nodded slowly. “Fine.” He disappeared out the door.

“Anything else worth reporting?” Brix asked.

Vail dropped the guest and employee list printouts on the table. “We’ll fill you in at four,” she said. “That way
everyone
knows what’s going on. For a change.” She walked out of the room, leaving Dixon behind.

J
ohn Wayne Mayfield pulled into the Napa County Sheriff’s Department parking lot and backed into a spot opposite the morgue’s access gate. A moment later, the two foxes got out of their Ford and walked toward the building’s entrance.

The redhead was moving faster. Urgent. Angry.

Interesting. She’d looked angry when they left Silver Ridge. What had gotten under her skin so deeply that it was still bothering her? He’d have to find out, take a look around tonight, when no one was on duty.

He pulled the pad from his breast pocket and opened it to the next page. Clicked his pen and began making notes. He needed to find out who they were, but he was almost sure they were working on the Victoria Cameron murder. Which meant they were looking for him.

“Right here,” he said under his breath. “Better come get me before I come get you-ou,” he sang.

VAIL LEFT THE SHERIFF’S DEPARTMENT and stood outside, waiting for Dixon. A few minutes later, Dixon walked through the front doors carrying a small brown bag. She tossed it to Vail, then got in the car.

“Late lunch,” Dixon said. “There’s turkey and veggie.”

Vail opened the bag, peered in. “Either’s fine.”

“I’ll take turkey. I need the protein for my workouts.” She took the sandwich from Vail and put the Ford in gear. Peeled back the wrapping, took a bite.

Their phones rang simultaneously. Vail pulled her BlackBerry—a text message from Ray Lugo:

It was followed by the address.

“You know where that is?” Vail asked.

Dixon nodded, then depressed the gas pedal, sandwich in one hand and steering wheel in the other.

VALLEJO, CALIFORNIA, was a straight shot south down Highway 29, a fifteen-minute ride under normal circumstances. But with her lightcube flashing, Dixon downed her sandwich in four minutes and arrived at the Vallejo Police Department seven minutes after that.

Vallejo is part of the San Francisco Bay Area, one of the more expensive regions in the country in which to live. But Vallejo, at the lower end of the income spectrum, provided affordable housing for those not able to purchase the more ritzy addresses of a Silicon Valley or North Bay neighborhood. Still, its location, on San Pablo Bay and within a short drive of the Napa Valley as well as the greater Bay Area, provided picturesque views and prime weather patterns.