soon. Just so you know, I did a search for the place online. Nothing.
Searched for Cannon. Nothing again.”
“So Ray was tel ing the truth,” Dixon said.
“About that, yeah.”
Brix’s dig was not lost on Vail. She opened her mouth to comment, but both her BlackBerry and Brix’s phone vibrated. She pul ed hers and read the display.
“My son just emailed me a photo of Robby.”
Dixon pointed to the BlackBerry. “Send it to al of us. I’l print copies for everyone.”
Owens looked up. “Include me in that. Time being, I’m gonna sit in on the task force, help you people out.” His eyes found Dixon. “If that’s okay with you, Ms.
Dixon.”
Dixon’s expression was neutral. “Thanks, sheriff. We can use any help we can get.”
The door swung open and Mann and Gordon walked in.
“That’s my point,” Mann said to Gordon. “Who woulda thought.” They both took a seat at the conference table.
“Who woulda thought, what?” Vail asked.
Using his prosthetic hand, Mann deftly pul ed a notepad from his pocket. “I didn’t think it’d be the case, but there’s a fair number of Sebastians in the area. Between first names and surnames, we’ve got over forty in the greater region. I mean, Sebastian ? I wouldn’t have expected it to be that popular. We got a list of names and numbers and started dialing, the ones closest to Napa city limits first. So far, no one knows a Robby or Roberto Hernandez. We asked a couple guys from NSIB to work the rest of the list.”
“I just emailed al of you the photo of Robby,” Vail said. “Can you forward it to the NSIB investigators?”
Gordon pul ed out his phone. “Done.”
Brix disconnected his cal , then sat down in front of the laptop perched in the middle of the conference table. “NSIB got Cannon’s home address from DMV, an apartment on Soscol. But it’s old. They’re there now. Landlord said he hasn’t lived there for two or three years.” He struck some keys and brought up Robby’s picture, then sent it to the color LaserJet in the corner. “They’re gonna see about getting a forwarding address.”
“Who’s Cannon?” Mann asked.
As Dixon made her way to the printer, she said, “We’re looking into the possibility that a guy who was friends with Mayfield may be involved in this. James Cannon.
Karen and I met him a couple days ago. Said he was a winemaker with a start-up cal ed Herndon Vineyards. Anyone hear of it?”
Owens, Mann, and Gordon shook their heads.
Brix pushed his chair back from the table. “Herndon’s supposedly not releasing their first cases for another couple years, so they’re not putting out any promo materials. No product, no press. I’m hoping that my brother, with his wine industry contacts, can get us a twenty on Herndon.”
Dixon scooped up the photos from the printer tray. “That’s assuming that Herndon is real. Could’ve been a bunch of crap.”
“We’l find out,” Brix said, again stealing a look at his watch. “If it’s legit, we may end up locating the winery before we get Cannon’s current home address.”
“I can give Ian Wirth a cal ,” Vail said, referring to a vintner in the Georges Val ey region, where the Crush Kil er had a propensity for choosing his victims. “Ian would probably know just as much as your brother about how new winery applications are handled.”
Brix shrugged. “Go for it.”
Dixon handed a copy of Robby’s photo to each of the task force members.
After leaving a message for Wirth, Vail said, “What happened with the media?
Last night we had TV and print reporters here. When that Microsoft techie gave you Mayfield’s name and you took off for my twenty, what’d the reporters do?”
“No idea,” Brix said. “We left through the back. We didn’t want to get stuck answering questions, and we certainly didn’t want them fol owing us down the road and getting in the way of a high-speed chase.”
Stan Owens leaned forward. “I told them it didn’t
Searched for Cannon. Nothing again.”
“So Ray was tel ing the truth,” Dixon said.
“About that, yeah.”
Brix’s dig was not lost on Vail. She opened her mouth to comment, but both her BlackBerry and Brix’s phone vibrated. She pul ed hers and read the display.
“My son just emailed me a photo of Robby.”
Dixon pointed to the BlackBerry. “Send it to al of us. I’l print copies for everyone.”
Owens looked up. “Include me in that. Time being, I’m gonna sit in on the task force, help you people out.” His eyes found Dixon. “If that’s okay with you, Ms.
Dixon.”
Dixon’s expression was neutral. “Thanks, sheriff. We can use any help we can get.”
The door swung open and Mann and Gordon walked in.
“That’s my point,” Mann said to Gordon. “Who woulda thought.” They both took a seat at the conference table.
“Who woulda thought, what?” Vail asked.
Using his prosthetic hand, Mann deftly pul ed a notepad from his pocket. “I didn’t think it’d be the case, but there’s a fair number of Sebastians in the area. Between first names and surnames, we’ve got over forty in the greater region. I mean, Sebastian ? I wouldn’t have expected it to be that popular. We got a list of names and numbers and started dialing, the ones closest to Napa city limits first. So far, no one knows a Robby or Roberto Hernandez. We asked a couple guys from NSIB to work the rest of the list.”
“I just emailed al of you the photo of Robby,” Vail said. “Can you forward it to the NSIB investigators?”
Gordon pul ed out his phone. “Done.”
Brix disconnected his cal , then sat down in front of the laptop perched in the middle of the conference table. “NSIB got Cannon’s home address from DMV, an apartment on Soscol. But it’s old. They’re there now. Landlord said he hasn’t lived there for two or three years.” He struck some keys and brought up Robby’s picture, then sent it to the color LaserJet in the corner. “They’re gonna see about getting a forwarding address.”
“Who’s Cannon?” Mann asked.
As Dixon made her way to the printer, she said, “We’re looking into the possibility that a guy who was friends with Mayfield may be involved in this. James Cannon.
Karen and I met him a couple days ago. Said he was a winemaker with a start-up cal ed Herndon Vineyards. Anyone hear of it?”
Owens, Mann, and Gordon shook their heads.
Brix pushed his chair back from the table. “Herndon’s supposedly not releasing their first cases for another couple years, so they’re not putting out any promo materials. No product, no press. I’m hoping that my brother, with his wine industry contacts, can get us a twenty on Herndon.”
Dixon scooped up the photos from the printer tray. “That’s assuming that Herndon is real. Could’ve been a bunch of crap.”
“We’l find out,” Brix said, again stealing a look at his watch. “If it’s legit, we may end up locating the winery before we get Cannon’s current home address.”
“I can give Ian Wirth a cal ,” Vail said, referring to a vintner in the Georges Val ey region, where the Crush Kil er had a propensity for choosing his victims. “Ian would probably know just as much as your brother about how new winery applications are handled.”
Brix shrugged. “Go for it.”
Dixon handed a copy of Robby’s photo to each of the task force members.
After leaving a message for Wirth, Vail said, “What happened with the media?
Last night we had TV and print reporters here. When that Microsoft techie gave you Mayfield’s name and you took off for my twenty, what’d the reporters do?”
“No idea,” Brix said. “We left through the back. We didn’t want to get stuck answering questions, and we certainly didn’t want them fol owing us down the road and getting in the way of a high-speed chase.”
Stan Owens leaned forward. “I told them it didn’t
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