Vail 02 - Crush (45 page)

“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:

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 analysis 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—”

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?”

“HDTs?” Vail asked.

“Hazardous Device Technicians,” Dixon said. “They handle all suspicious packages for the Explosives Ordnance Division.”

Although this offender had not yet shown any proclivity toward bombs, it was always an option for your friendly neighborhood narcissist looking to grab attention. Vail was about to weigh in when Dixon spoke up.

“Let’s first see what the package looks like before we call out the troops.”

A moment later, they had their answer: A photo came to the sheriff’s department in an email from the officer on-scene. The phone rang and Lugo picked it up. “Yeah, patch her through.” He covered the receiver and said, “The officer’s on the line. Putting it on speaker.”

“Hello? This is Davina Erickson with CHP. I just sent you a photo—”

“This is Roxxann Dixon, Major Crimes Task Force. We’ve got the photo.” She bent over the laptop and scrutinized the image. “Looks like a USB flash drive. Is that what it is?”

“Yes, ma’am. Secured with masking tape to the Silver Ridge landmark sign.”

“Okay,” Dixon said. “Carefully remove the tape and preserve any fingerprints that might be on it. Secure the area as a crime scene. I’ll send a CSI to document it. But get that flash drive over to us as fast as you can.”

“Lights and siren, got it,” Erickson said. “Do you want me to leave before the scene is secured?”

Brix snapped his handset shut, then turned toward the speaker phone. “This is Lieutenant Redmond Brix. St. Helena PD just dispatched an officer to secure it. Soon as he arrives, get that flash over here.”

“Ten-four.”

Lugo disconnected the call.

Vail rose from her seat and paced. In a matter of minutes, they would have some answers. And hopefully some way of tracking the offender. But no matter what information they obtained from that flash drive, it would be more than they had now.

She glanced at the clock: 4:05. Less than three hours before she was
supposed to walk out the door, officially on vacation.
How the hell am I going to do that? Can’t deal with that now.
She turned away. “Anyone know how USB drives work?”

Agbayani looked up from his pages of notes. “Beyond the obvious, you mean.”

“Yeah,” Vail said. “Like what can we tell from the device?”

Lugo lifted the receiver. “I’ll call down, see what the geeks can do for us.”

As Lugo made the call, Agbayani held up his notepad. “Did anyone happen to notice when Maryanne Bernal was murdered?”

Dixon held up a hand in a gesture that said,
of course.
“About three years ago.”

“And . . .” Agbayani said, as if they should all suddenly “get it.” When no one replied, he said, “That was around the time the Georges Valley AVA board was discussing Superior Bottling’s first contract. Right? It’s now up for renewal. The initial term was three years. Maybe Maryanne was against it back when she was on the board.”

“And she was killed because of her opposition to the contract?” Vail asked.

Agbayani nodded.

“I’ve got a problem with that. It just doesn’t fit. Roxxann and I have been through this. Serial killers don’t kill for money, they kill because it fulfills a psychosexual need that’s rooted in their past.”
Actually,
male
serial killers don’t kill for profit.
For now, she was comfortable rejecting the possibility the killer was a woman. But if the offender was a man, it could mean they were seeing something different here. She had to be more flexible in her thinking.

“Still,” Agbayani said, “I think we should look into it.”

Dixon pulled her phone. “I’ll call Ian Wirth, ask him about Maryanne and see if that was the case.”

“I’ve got an answer for us on the USB device.” Lugo leaned back in his chair and swiveled to face everyone. “We can track the device to a particular PC, maybe get a set of prints off the keyboard and desk if they haven’t been used. But it doesn’t give us a location, so unless we know where that PC is located, it won’t tell us where to find it.”

“So in a legal sense, if we know what PC he used, we can prove it in court by tracing the USB to a specific PC.”

“Yes. According to Matt Aaron, when a flash drive is inserted into a PC, Windows logs it and writes a little bit of code to the drive to make a record of the device. This ensures the operating system doesn’t get confused when you insert or remove it. It also records successful file transfers and even the file transferred and when. He also said the drives have serial numbers embedded in them as well as the manufacturer, model, and device characteristics. So once we get the UNSUB’s file off it, maybe we can trace it, see where he bought the flash.” He tossed his pen on the table. “As if that’s gonna do us a whole lot of good. Other than wasting more time.”

The conference room phone rang. Lugo looked at it, then sighed and leaned forward to pick it up. He listened a moment, then said, “Erickson just delivered the flash drive. Aaron’s got it.”

Vail leaned both elbows on the desk and ran fingers through her hair.
This has to be it. For me, at least, time is running out. Just like it could be running out on the next victim.

MINUTES PASSED. The room phone rang. Lugo answered it, listened, then told the caller to hold.