Mayfield’s whom Dixon and Vail had met at the gym. He had hit on Vail, then took offense to something Dixon had said. Shortly before they had identified John Mayfield as the Crush Kil er, Vail thought Cannon might be the offender.
Vail shook her head. “Ray tried to locate him. He searched for that start-up winery where Cannon was supposedly the winemaker. Herndon Vineyards. Nothing came up.”
Dixon narrowed her eyes in thought. “I’m not sure we can trust anything Ray told us. We don’t know how he’s wrapped up in al this. We need to look into Cannon and Herndon Vineyards ourselves.”
“Best we start with someone who knows the operations of a winery up close and personal. Brix.”
“Silent partner. But I’m sure he can hook us up with his brother or sister, since they’re the ones who run the place. And I’l see if he can have NSIB get us Cannon’s home address from DMV.”
While Dixon made the cal and told Brix what they needed, Vail wandered over to their car and rested her forearm on the passenger window, then dropped her head against her arm. Thoughts of Robby flittered through her mind . . . and came to rest on yesterday morning when she was leaving for the Sheriff’s Department. She had kissed him good-bye and he stirred.
“See you tonight,” he had told her.
She replied, “Yes, you will.”
Except that she didn’t. He was gone.
“Okay,” Dixon said, pul ing Vail from her reverie. “Brix is gonna touch base with NSIB, then have his brother cal us.”
Vail pushed away from the car door and nodded.
“Look, I know you wanted to put Mayfield six feet under back there—believe me, I would like to have helped you do it—but that’s not what this is about.”
Vail looked away. “Yeah.”
“We’l find him, Karen. Eddie’s gone. But Robby . . . We’l find him. You have to believe that.”
Vail felt a tear rol down her cheek. She flicked it away. “Let’s get going.” As she climbed into the car, she realized she wished she knew where to go. She wished she knew where to go to find Robby.
10
T he clock was ticking; Vail kept track of the seconds as they melted into oblivion.
She knew better than most that the initial twenty-four to forty-eight hours in a missing person’s life were crucial. Even Robby, a homicide detective, was subject to the same rule. Because cop or not, at the end of the day, stripped of gun and badge, he was just a human being, a vulnerable civilian. When bound and gagged, or being held captive—if that’s what was going on here—the victim was usual y powerless to help himself.
The image of Robby being powerless was incongruous with his imposing physical presence: a thick but trim six foot seven. She had seen him vulnerable only once before—the result of a stun gun attack. And that had nearly been disastrous.
But if Robby was not injured or under someone else’s control, a remaining option was one Vail could not bring herself to consider. Whenever her thoughts meandered in the direction of Robby’s death, her subconscious yanked away her mind, much like old Vaudevil e acts were pul ed from the stage if they bombed.
As they entered the task force conference room, Vail took a deep breath and realized that her anxiety was causing her to grind her molars. Her dentist would peer inside her mouth at her next cleaning and, once again, admonish her for wearing down her teeth. She would, once again, give him a sharp retort—
something like, “If you think stress has worn down my teeth, you should see my arteries.”
But of course none of that mattered at the moment.
“You hear from my brother?” Brix asked.
Brix sat huddled over a stack of documents, a legal pad off to his right fil ed with scribbled notes. Stan Owens was on the phone, his own comments scratched out on a page at his elbow. Gordon and Mann were not in the room.
“Not yet,” Vail said.
Brix twisted his wrist and consulted his watch. “He was in a meeting. He should be out
Vail shook her head. “Ray tried to locate him. He searched for that start-up winery where Cannon was supposedly the winemaker. Herndon Vineyards. Nothing came up.”
Dixon narrowed her eyes in thought. “I’m not sure we can trust anything Ray told us. We don’t know how he’s wrapped up in al this. We need to look into Cannon and Herndon Vineyards ourselves.”
“Best we start with someone who knows the operations of a winery up close and personal. Brix.”
“Silent partner. But I’m sure he can hook us up with his brother or sister, since they’re the ones who run the place. And I’l see if he can have NSIB get us Cannon’s home address from DMV.”
While Dixon made the cal and told Brix what they needed, Vail wandered over to their car and rested her forearm on the passenger window, then dropped her head against her arm. Thoughts of Robby flittered through her mind . . . and came to rest on yesterday morning when she was leaving for the Sheriff’s Department. She had kissed him good-bye and he stirred.
“See you tonight,” he had told her.
She replied, “Yes, you will.”
Except that she didn’t. He was gone.
“Okay,” Dixon said, pul ing Vail from her reverie. “Brix is gonna touch base with NSIB, then have his brother cal us.”
Vail pushed away from the car door and nodded.
“Look, I know you wanted to put Mayfield six feet under back there—believe me, I would like to have helped you do it—but that’s not what this is about.”
Vail looked away. “Yeah.”
“We’l find him, Karen. Eddie’s gone. But Robby . . . We’l find him. You have to believe that.”
Vail felt a tear rol down her cheek. She flicked it away. “Let’s get going.” As she climbed into the car, she realized she wished she knew where to go. She wished she knew where to go to find Robby.
10
T he clock was ticking; Vail kept track of the seconds as they melted into oblivion.
She knew better than most that the initial twenty-four to forty-eight hours in a missing person’s life were crucial. Even Robby, a homicide detective, was subject to the same rule. Because cop or not, at the end of the day, stripped of gun and badge, he was just a human being, a vulnerable civilian. When bound and gagged, or being held captive—if that’s what was going on here—the victim was usual y powerless to help himself.
The image of Robby being powerless was incongruous with his imposing physical presence: a thick but trim six foot seven. She had seen him vulnerable only once before—the result of a stun gun attack. And that had nearly been disastrous.
But if Robby was not injured or under someone else’s control, a remaining option was one Vail could not bring herself to consider. Whenever her thoughts meandered in the direction of Robby’s death, her subconscious yanked away her mind, much like old Vaudevil e acts were pul ed from the stage if they bombed.
As they entered the task force conference room, Vail took a deep breath and realized that her anxiety was causing her to grind her molars. Her dentist would peer inside her mouth at her next cleaning and, once again, admonish her for wearing down her teeth. She would, once again, give him a sharp retort—
something like, “If you think stress has worn down my teeth, you should see my arteries.”
But of course none of that mattered at the moment.
“You hear from my brother?” Brix asked.
Brix sat huddled over a stack of documents, a legal pad off to his right fil ed with scribbled notes. Stan Owens was on the phone, his own comments scratched out on a page at his elbow. Gordon and Mann were not in the room.
“Not yet,” Vail said.
Brix twisted his wrist and consulted his watch. “He was in a meeting. He should be out
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