Crush - Alan Jacobson [100]
As Vail took a position to Dixon’s left, Brix came up behind them. “Jesus Christ, Miguel. We just had some questions. What were you thinking?”
“I don’t want to go back. Don’t send me back!”
Vail and Brix shared a look. Brix closed his eyes, then holstered his weapon. “You ran because you’re illegal?” He motioned to Dixon. “Let him up.”
“But—”
“Miguel, get to your feet.”
He stood up, keeping his hands above his head. “I thought you think I had something to do with that woman. In the cave. After we talk the other day, I was worried. I no want to go back home.”
“If you had something to do with that woman in the cave,” Vail said, “we’d arrest your ass. And believe me, you wouldn’t ever see home again.”
Brix stepped closer and banded his arms across his chest. “Miguel, we need you to tell us the truth. Will you do that?”
“Sí, sí.”
Brix nodded at Dixon, who holstered her weapon and did a thorough pat down of their suspect.
She stepped back. “He’s clean.”
“You can put your hands down.” Brix shook his head. “When you run from the police, we think you’re guilty of something.”
“No, no guilty.”
“Okay, then. You haven’t told anyone what you saw in that cave, have you?”
“No, you tell me not to. It was important, no?”
“Yes, that’s exactly right. It’s important. It’s still important.”
“I won’t tell.” He shifted his feet nervously. “Can I go now?”
“In a minute. First, tell us about Isaac Jenkins.”
Miguel’s eyes flittered between Brix, Dixon, and Vail. “Who?”
“What about Dawn Zackery?”
Miguel shook his head. “I do not know these people.”
“Where were you yesterday?”
“In the vineyard, tending to the vines.”
“Where?”
Ortiz pointed at Brix. “In yours. Silver Ridge, the Bella Broxton Cabernet vineyard.”
“Who were you with?” Brix asked.
“Mr. Styles. We were putting sulfur on the vines and working the soil. For the cover.”
Brix turned to Vail. “We sometimes use a cover crop between the rows as an early warning system. If there’s something affecting the vines, the cover will show it first.” To Ortiz: “When were you with Mr. Styles?”
“All day. From six in the morning to sundown.”
“I’m going to ask Mr. Styles, Miguel. Will he tell me you were with him the whole time? Did you ever leave him?”
“We were in different rows of the vineyard. But we were talking the whole time. Yes, he will tell you that.”
“And what about after you left Mr. Styles? Where were you and who were you with?”
Ortiz squinted, looked off at the parking lot behind them. “I went home, had dinner with Enrique. My friend.”
“Anyone else see you?”
“The people in the restaurant. El Brinquito.”
Brix nodded. “I know the place. I’m going to check that out, too. And what time did you leave?”
Ortiz looked down and rubbed at his forehead. “I think it was around eight. I went home. Miss Wright can tell you. And I stay there all night and then went to bed.”
Brix pulled out his phone, flipped it open, and aimed it at Ortiz. The electronic click of a simulated camera shutter sounded. “You can go, Miguel. But next time when you see the police, don’t run. Especially if it’s me.”
Ortiz nodded with an embarrassing shift of his eyes. He walked off, his head down. When he was far enough away, Vail said, “He’s illegal. You knew that?”
Brix pocketed his phone, then lifted a shoulder. “If we got rid of all the illegals in California, it’d bring our economy to a screeching halt.”
Vail watched Ortiz in the distance as he crossed East Napa Street. “If Ortiz were a serial killer, he’d fit more in line with a disorganized killer. Not very sociable, lower education, average intelligence at best, manual labor type job. But like I said before, our offender is more complex. He’s predominantly organized. He brings the weapon with him. He’s purposeful, he plans his kills. He’s intelligent, sharp,