Vail 02 - Crush (53 page)

A gurney wheeled by in front of them, causing them to pull up and wait while the staff descended on the patient.

It didn’t take long to find the area where John Mayfield was being treated. Gray and blue curtains were drawn, but three Napa County deputy sheriffs, dressed in black jackets and pants, stood a few feet back from the foot of the gurney. Vail and Dixon badged the three men, then stepped around the curtain. Another two deputies were inside, beside the doctor and nurse, who were dressed in powder blue scrubs. A portable x-ray tube stood off to the side. A stocky physician, presumably the radiologist, was holding up an x-ray to the fluorescent lighting.

“I’ll give this a better read on the lightbox, but it’s pretty clear.” He pointed with an index finger; his colleague, a slender physician, looked on. “See? Here, and here.”

“Set it and release,” the thin doctor said.

The radiologist lowered the film. “That’ll do it.” He looked down at his patient. “Someone did a number on your elbow and knee, Mr. Mayfield.”

“That someone is me,” Dixon said. She stood there, thumbs hooked through her belt loops. Daring anyone to comment.

Everyone in the room turned to face her. No one spoke.

The doctor turned back to his patient. “We’ll get you stabilized, but you’re going to need an orthopedic consult. My best guess is surgery will be required to reduce that tib-fib fracture and repair the torn ligaments, but that’ll have to wait till the swelling’s down. It’s possible, even with surgery, that you’ll have some reduced mobility.”

“Get the violins,” Vail said.

All heads once again turned in their direction.

“I gotta listen to this bullshit?” Mayfield asked.

“Excuse me,” the radiologist said. “You mind waiting out—”

“No,” Vail said, “excuse us. Your patient is a serial killer who’s brutally
murdered several innocent people. Still concerned about the
reduced mobility
of his left arm?”

The doctor pulled his eyes from Vail, took a noticeable step back from Mayfield, and glanced at his colleague. “Well, as I said, I’m going to give these a closer look on the . . . on the lightbox.” He turned and pushed past the nurse and deputies and left the curtained room.

“Shall I call Dr. Feliciano?” the nurse asked.

The remaining physician took a step back himself. His eyes found the handcuffs that were fastened to the gurney. “Yes . . . Dr. Feliciano. Let’s get Mr. Mayfield casted and on his feet. So to speak.”

TWO HOURS LATER, Dr. Feliciano had finished casting both limbs—without incident, and, at his patient’s insistence, without pain killers. Shortly thereafter, Mayfield received an expedited release and was cleared for transport to the Napa jail.

Earlier, while Mayfield was being attended to by Dr. Feliciano, Dixon fielded calls from the maid for the Heartland bed-and-breakfast. She did not recall anything unusually out of place in Vail’s room, but she couldn’t be sure because she cleans four different B&Bs per day, and they all tended to run together. There was one that was in significant disarray, but she thought it was down the road from Heartland. Dixon tried to get her to commit, but the woman could not swear the tossed room was Vail’s.

Dixon also took three calls from other guests at the bed-and-breakfast. No one recalled anything out of the ordinary.

Vail checked with the hospital nurses to make sure a man matching Robby’s description hadn’t been brought in for emergency treatment. He had not been. They called over to Queen of the Valley Medical Center and Santa Rosa Memorial Hospital, Level II trauma centers, which is where Robby would’ve been airlifted had there been a major accident. They, too, had not treated or admitted anyone resembling Robby. The nighttime administrator made a call, herself, to other area hospitals that might have received him. But she came up empty.

As Vail and Dixon drove to the Napa County Department of Corrections, Vail was quiet, replaying in her mind the last conversations
she’d had with Robby. Nothing stood out. She’d been preoccupied with the Crush Killer case. He had been entertaining himself, going here and there . . . and she’d been too busy to really listen to what he was saying in terms of what he’d seen and where he had been. Other than visiting the castle, she couldn’t even remember if he’d told her anything about specific places he had visited.

Dixon must have sensed her mental somersaulting, because she reached over and nudged Vail in the shoulder.

“Hey.”

Vail pulled her numbed gaze from the window and turned to face Dixon.

“I’m sure he’s fine. Maybe he just had something to deal with. You said he knew some people out here, right? Maybe he went over there to help them.”

Vail pulled her BlackBerry and called Bledsoe.

“Karen,” Bledsoe said with a hoarse grogginess. “If you’re gonna be in California much longer, you’ve really gotta get the hang of that three-hour time difference. It’s almost . . . 2 a.m.”

“Sorry.”

“What’s wrong?” His voice was suddenly strong, his mind wide awake. He knew her pretty well.

“I . . .” She sighed deeply, trying to find the energy to form the words. “I can’t find Robby.”

“What do you mean, you can’t find him?”

“He’s disappeared. Gone.”

“Hernandez is a big boy, Karen. I’m sure he’s somewhere.”

“No. I’ve been trying to reach him all day. I found his phone in our room, turned off. The logs were wiped clean. No apparent sign of a struggle, but we’re not sure. His car’s gone. I take it you haven’t heard from him.”

“Not since the thing with Jonathan. How’s it going with that killer?”

“We got him. Tonight.”

“Congrats, Karen. Give yourself a pat on the ass.”

“I’ll let Robby do that. As soon as I find him.”

“You check air, car rentals—”

“Air. No, I totally spaced—”

“Look, I’ll take care of it. Flights, car rentals, I’ll check it all. I’ve got all his info in the file, down at the office, from Dead Eyes. I’ll go down there right now. I’ll call you if I find something.”

She wished Bledsoe was there, by her side. Right now, she needed something close to home. For some reason, talking to him felt better. “Call me even if you don’t find anything.”

She hung up, let her head rest back on the seat. They had arrived at the Department of Corrections’ Hall of Justice complex on Third Street.

“You wanna come in, or wait here?”

Vail sat up and rubbed her face. “I should be nearby when Mayfield’s questioned.” Her voice was tired. Truth was, she was exhausted, mentally and physically. And whatever remaining energy she did have was focused on Robby, not on John Mayfield. “I should probably be the one in the room with him. Narcissists need to be handled differently than most suspects.”

“Assuming Owens goes for it.” Dixon was staring at her. “Are you in any condition to go face-to-face with Mayfield?”

Vail popped open her door and got out. That was her answer.

They stowed their guns in the lockers, then met Brix, Lugo, Gordon, and Mann at the long, window-enclosed booking office. Timothy Nance was there as well. He did not look pleased. Vail had the fleeting thought of wondering why he was still around, but decided her waning energies were better spent on more important matters than scum like Nance.

Lugo looked particularly worn. His face was taut and his gaze was focused on the ground.

Normally, the arresting officers discharged their duties and returned to patrol once their prisoner was brought into the jail and turned over to prison personnel for processing. But in this case, the task force members were not about to let anyone handle John Mayfield. He was their collar, and they intended to see this through to the end.

Austin Mann stepped over to Dixon and Vail, then nodded at Mayfield, who stood off to the side in prison blues, getting his fingerprints digitally scanned. “Property and medical intake’s been done. And the nurse already came down to clear him.”

Vail folded her arms across her chest. “He just came from the hospital. The docs released him. What’d they need the nurse for?”

“Liability,” Brix said, joining the huddle. “CYA, that’s all. But because of his injuries, they’re gonna house him separately, outside the general pop. In case someone were to attack him, he couldn’t defend himself.”

“That’d be a damn shame,” Vail said.

“Wouldn’t it,” Mann said with a chuckle. He glanced over at Mayfield, who obviously heard his comment, then turned his body slightly, away from the arrestee. In a lower voice, Mann said, “Watch Commander’s cleared us to interview him in the Blue Room.”

“Yeah,” Brix said. “About that.” He touched Vail on the elbow. “Can I have a word with you?”

As he moved her aside, out of earshot of the others, Mayfield was escorted down the hall and through Door 154, which separated the booking area from the prison.

“When I saw him, I felt like I’d seen the guy before, but I couldn’t place where. Then it all made sense. Asshole is a pest control and mosquito abatement technician. He used to spray around the department when we’d get ants in the winter, after the rains. I think I even spoke to him once or twice.”

“Here’s one better. Yesterday, Roxxann and I worked out with the guy.” Vail didn’t say anything about Dixon’s considering a date with the man. “I saw the guy, Brix. I looked the monster in his eyes and I didn’t know. I’m supposed to be able to recognize evil. If I’d only—”

He held up a hand. “Don’t. We’re not perfect, Karen. We’re just cops. We do the best we can with what we’ve got. Yeah?”

She sighed deeply. “Yeah.”

Brix leaned in close. “Listen . . . the sheriff wants you to take the lead on Mayfield’s interview.”

“The sheriff?” After what had happened with Fuller, Vail figured she’d be the last one on his list to reward with the prized interview. The detective who nailed the killer was the one who usually did the interview. In this case, Vail figured that’d be Dixon.

“The sheriff. He says you’re the best man for the job. No offense.”

Vail tried to smile. “No offense taken.”

“Last thing. Are you okay with being alone in the room with him?”

Vail sucked on her bottom lip, glanced over at her fellow task force members. They were all looking at her, including Dixon. “No big deal. Let’s do it.”

T
he task force members settled into the video monitoring room down the hall from the Blue Room. It contained a faux wood media cabinet outfitted with a Sony television, videotape recording facilities, and several chairs.

“You’ll need this,” Brix said, handing her a file. “Oh—the prick insists his real name’s John Wayne Mayfield. We did a quick records search. Looks like he added the middle name himself.”

Vail snorted. “Yeah, that definitely fits.”

“Karen,” Brix said. “Good luck.”

The rest of the task force members nodded their agreement. Dixon dipped her chin.

Vail closed the door and walked across the hall into the Blue Room, where John Mayfield sat behind a round table. She carried the manila folder against her chest; she entered and set the file down on the table and looked at the arrestee.

Mayfield’s left arm was casted from the thumb to a point above the elbow. An equally large plaster cocoon immobilized his left leg. As a result, only his right arm was handcuffed to the belly chain that was wrapped around his waist. The other cuff, which normally would’ve been on his left wrist, was instead secured to the metal armrest of his chair. His left arm and both legs were free.

Knowing firsthand what this man was capable of, Vail couldn’t help but wonder:
Is he effectively restrained?

But she couldn’t worry about it. She had a job to do and she sure as hell wasn’t going to back down now, in front of the men on the task force. Besides, in the mood she was in, she thought she could kill him if he got loose and came at her.

She flipped open the file. “Says here you claim your name is John Wayne Mayfield. That a joke?”

Mayfield squinted. “The only joke in this room is you.”

Vail pouted her lips and nodded slowly. “Okay, John, I hear you.” She made an exaggerated motion with her neck of examining the room. It was immediately clear why this was called the Blue Room. The cement walls and floor were covered with a tight, thin blue carpet, which had a peculiar sound absorbing effect.

Vail sat in the brown chair to the left of the table. Mayfield was across from her. Behind and above Vail’s head was a small camera lens, embedded in a wall-mounted, cream-colored apparatus that resembled a smoke alarm. It was beaming real-time video to the task force members in the video monitoring room.

“I hope you like your new home. I guess if you’ve gotta do time, might as well be in Napa. Then again, who knows where you’ll end up after you’re convicted. Probably someplace nowhere near as nice.”