Vail 02 - Crush (7 page)

As Robby and Vail neared, Vail made out Redmond Brix, beer in one hand and the handle of a shovel in the other, the tip stuck into the grass.

“Can I help you?” asked a man in a security uniform standing beside Brix, a two-way fastened to his belt. “This is private property.”

“Front gate was open.”

Brix turned. His face drooped as he caught sight of Vail. He frowned, then motioned to a man in jeans, leather gloves, and designer sunglasses. “This is one of my closest friends, Al Toland. He owns this property. Al, this is FBI Agent Vail and Detective Hernandez, from Virginia.” Brix introduced
the rest of the men, other friends and hired workers, who dipped their chins and tipped their hats in acknowledgment.

One of them had a high-end digital SLR camera around his neck,
Nikon D700
embroidered into the strap.

“Good to meet all of you,” Robby said. “Sorry to intrude.”

“Goddamn right,” Brix said. “It’s my day off. Can’t a guy get a break?”

“Hey, this is our
vacation,
” Vail said.

Brix cocked his head. “No one’s asking you to keep sticking your nose in places you don’t belong.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Robby said.

Vail threw him a look.

“Javi,” Toland said to the uniformed security guard, “go shut the front gate, please.”

The security guard immediately headed off in the direction from which Vail and Robby had come. Brix stuck his shovel deeper into the dirt and trudged toward them, then motioned them to an area a few yards from the other men.

Vail faced Brix and said, “Look, we’re just trying to help, that’s it. If there’s some information we can offer to help catch the guy who filleted that woman, then we’ve done our job.”

“Your job? You have no job here. Do us all a favor, Agent Vail, go and visit some wineries, enjoy your time in the wine country with Detective Hernandez. Once you get home, it’s back to the grind.”

Vail couldn’t help but think that this could’ve been Robby uttering those same words. And in another sense, Brix was right. What the hell was she doing here? She was on vacation. She should’ve been enjoying the beauty of the Napa Valley, tasting some of the world’s best wine, decompressing, letting her knee heal. That was the plan. But some killer with a sharp knife had shredded those plans.

“You don’t know what you’re dealing with here, Lieutenant. If this guy has killed before, and I think that’s very likely, this is something you don’t want to fool around with. You need to get out in front of it now, before it’s too late. Ask Sheriff Owens. He’s been through the FBI’s National Academy program. He’s been exposed to this type of killer.”

“Then I’ll know who to ask if we find another body.”

“The woman from Silver Ridge Estates had a missing toenail. Second digit, forcibly removed.”

“Yeah, I heard all about it. Stan called me. You were at the morgue. Those are some balls you got there, Agent Vail. You sure know how to endear yourself with the locals.”

“We’ve offered our help, but you haven’t exactly been open to what we have to offer.”

“We’re not small-town cops. We can do our job just fine without the FBI’s help. Thanks for your concern.” He took a quick pull from his beer, then pointed the mouth of the bottle to a spot behind them. “Why don’t you two run along now and have a nice day.” He turned away, then walked back to his shovel and pulled it from the ground. “Let’s get back to it, guys, we’re losing light.”

Vail sucked on her lip but didn’t move.

“Come on, Karen,” Robby said, gently taking her hand and leading her away.

“WE’VE DONE EVERYTHING WE CAN,” Robby said, as they hiked past the six-car garage, headed toward the Murano.

“He doesn’t know what he’s dealing with. And that means more women are going to be killed because he can’t put his ego aside.”

“Sheriff Owens understands. Let him do his thing, maybe he can talk Brix into asking the BAU for help.”

Vail sighed. “Fine. We’ve done everything we can, right?”

“Right.”

She squeezed his hand. “So there’s nothing left for us to do but enjoy our time together.”

“Right again.”

As they neared their car, the gate at the end of the road was closed. And Javi was by the guard shack reaching for his two-way.

“Gate is closed, yes sir.”

“Don’t let anyone in,” the filtered voice of Redmond Brix said. “We’ve found a body buried down here. At least, part of a body. I’m
gonna call in CSI. His name’s Matthew Aaron. Let him through when he gets here.”

“Roger,” Javi said. “Uh, that FBI agent and detective are here. You want me to send them back?”

There was a long silence. Robby and Vail exchanged a glance.

Robby was holding Vail’s hand tightly; she was sure he was keeping her from turning around and running back to where they’d come from.

“Send them back,” Brix’s filtered voice finally said.

Vail detected a note of dejection in his tone. But it didn’t matter. She was already en route.

W
hen they arrived, the men were ringing the large pit, kneeling and staring at something at the far end. Brix was blocking their view, but judging from his body language, he was not pleased. He was on one knee and his head was bowed. The guy with the camera was snapping away, his flash bursting like lightning in a night sky.

As Vail moved closer to the hole’s boundary, two of the men stood and moved out of her way. That’s when she saw it: Two dirt-crusted feet were protruding from the edge of the opening, the flesh partially decomposed.

“Hey,” Vail said to the man with the Nikon. “What are you doing? Why are you taking pictures?”

“I’m with the
Napa Valley Press.
I was covering the excavation of the cave. It’s historic. I didn’t think we’d find a—a dead body.”

Yeah, dipshit. I’m sure no one here expected that.
Vail thought of telling him to shove his lens where the light doesn’t shine, but then figured the photos could be useful to their investigation. Besides, she had no right to tell him not to take photos. That was Brix’s job.

Robby joined Vail and got down on his stomach to get as close a look at the feet as possible. Brix rose and moved back, then wiped at his sweat-pimpled forehead with the back of his leather work glove.

“Karen,” Robby said. “Come closer. Take a look at this.”

In the burst of light from the flash, she saw what drew Robby’s attention. The second toenail of the right foot was missing.

THEY WERE ALL SILENT A MOMENT before Vail said, “Lieutenant, can you get these men out of here?”

Brix complied without comment, giving head signals to the workers. Toland followed. “I’m gonna have to ask you not to go public with those photos, Randy.”

The
Press
photographer chortled as his gaze flicked between Brix and Vail. “We can discuss that later.”

“Nothing to discuss,” Brix said. “I invited you here as a guest because I thought you’d appreciate the exclusive on the cave. If you want to come back when we finish this thing, you’ll honor my request.”

Randy gave him a hard look, but nodded.

Brix extended a hand. “The memory card.”

Vail could see Randy’s facial muscles contracting as he flipped open the side compartment and withdrew the compact flash card.

Brix took it from him. “I’ll make sure you get this back.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Randy said, then walked off.

When he was out of earshot, Vail said, “Well, guess that answers our question. This guy has killed before.”

Brix’s shoulders were rolled forward and his gloved hands hung at his sides. He spoke without meeting her eyes. “What’s the procedure for bringing the profiling unit on board?”

“It’s a pretty informal process. If an agency wants help from the BAU, they’d either call the unit and talk with an agent, or contact their local FBI office. Since I’m already here, all you had to do was ask. I’ll call my supervisor for approval. Be a good idea to write me a formal request on letterhead for the file. But that’s all just a red-tape formality. I’m here, and I want to help. Let’s not waste any time.”

“We’ve got a major crimes task force. Obviously, this is top priority. We’ll start in the morning. I’ve got your number, I’ll text you the info.”

J
ohn Wayne Mayfield sat in his idling white Jeep in the parking lot of Dean & Deluca, munching on a veggie sandwich. Country music was pouring from the dash speakers, the vocals pining about hating his job but not having a choice because he needed the money for alimony.

Mayfield didn’t have the alimony problem, but it made him think of his job, and how he always strived to do it the best he could—but was it too much to ask that he wanted to enjoy himself, too? Sometimes he did, but oftentimes he did not—the reasons were obvious, but there was nothing he could do about it. He was given a task to complete and if he didn’t complete it successfully, he didn’t get paid. Simple as that.

It was a common dilemma with workers all over the world, he imagined: the desire to do something you enjoyed doing, but still earn a living doing it. In his case, it was not always possible to accomplish both.

But his hobbies, those were where he was able to feed his hunger, where he satisfied his desires.

As he bit into his sandwich, he saw a blonde exit the store, a white bag hanging from her hand. Diamond ring on her finger, but no male companion in sight. Was he waiting for her in their car? Mayfield watched her as she traversed the parking lot, passing right in front of his truck. His eyes were riveted to the sway of her hips, the slink of her thighs as they rhythmically moved through space. She stopped at a dark blue Mercedes and got into the passenger seat.

Mayfield swallowed, then took another bite of his sandwich. All in all, it wasn’t a bad existence. And to be able to live in the area where he lived, in the house that he owned, that had to be factored into the equation. Some people killed for the sport, some killed over drugs, or
money, or sex, or anger. Those were largely unfulfilling, without any of the satisfaction and sense of accomplishment he sought when he stalked his victims, and then ended their lives.

Unfulfilling, but necessary. Some things just had to be done, whether you liked it or not. For John Wayne Mayfield, this was both fulfilling and enjoyable. He crumpled the paper wrapping of his sandwich and shoved his truck into gear.

There was work to be done.

T
hey ate dinner at Angèle, which abutted the recently refurbished Napa River embankment. The food was exquisitely tasteful. But Robby was unusually quiet. Vail sensed he was frustrated that she had pushed so hard to be included in the investigation, and now the task force.

“I ruined our vacation,” she said over a sip of Duckhorn Merlot.

Robby put down his fork and sat back. “No, the UNSUB ruined it. Wrong place, wrong time.” He chewed a moment, then added, “But that doesn’t mean you had to pursue it so aggressively.”

“I had to.”

“Karen, there are murders all across the country—hell, all across the world—and you can’t be at every crime scene. You can’t draw up a profile on every UNSUB. You can’t help catch every psychosexual offender who’s on the loose.”

“I know that.”

He splayed out his large hands. “So then what gives?”

Vail took another sip of wine. She put it down, studied the glass, then said, “I don’t know. I saw that body, the—well, the behaviors—and my mind switched into work mode. I—this is what I do, and I’ve got very specialized knowledge that can help apprehend this guy before more women are killed. Am I wrong to want to help prevent that?”

Robby looked to his left, out the window at the Napa River. The sun had set and a blue-orange blush reflected off the water. The lights along the river’s edge began glowing.