Crush - Alan Jacobson [107]
“I’m not sure—”
“This isn’t confidential board business,” Dixon said. “It’s just someone’s name at a company. We can call Superior and ask them the same question, but you can save us some time and effort. And we’d appreciate that.”
Crystal reached to the right corner of her desk and removed a file folder from a standing portfolio. She opened it and traced a finger across a page. “César Guevara. He’s their CFO.”
Dixon pulled a spiral notepad from her inside jacket pocket and made a note of the man’s name.
Vail sensed they were reaching the end of the interview. But there was one more piece of information they needed. “Who on your board,” she said, “has the initials TN?”
“Todd Nicholson. Why? What—”
“Active investigation,” Dixon said. “Can’t say.”
Crystal looked to be getting increasingly frustrated by their refusal to answer her questions. Vail didn’t care—truth is, that’s the way it was with the police. They asked the questions, the interviewees answered them and didn’t get the opportunity to ask their own. Crystal clearly didn’t understand the relationship. But she was getting the idea.
“And who on the board has a last name that begins with W?” Dixon asked. “Would that be Mr. Wirth?”
Crystal pursed her lips, clearly debating whether to keep answering these questions—then obviously deciding one more won’t hurt. “Yes,” she said.
“How is Mr. Nicholson?” Vail asked. What she wanted to ask was, Is Mr. Nicholson still alive?
“I spoke to him this morning.”
“Nice guy?”
“Spineless, if you ask me.”
“I just did.” Vail forced a smile. “But if he’s spineless, why did he defy the board and vote against the Superior contract?”
Crystal’s jaw dropped. Before she could ask, Vail said, “You’re not the first person we’ve spoken to about this.” She shrugged. “But you can understand that, from our point of view, that doesn’t fit. A spineless guy doesn’t oppose the others. He goes along. He doesn’t want confrontation.”
“Yes. Well, I suggest you ask him about it.”
“Last thing,” Dixon said. “What’s the status of the Superior contract? If there were only a few who opposed it, did they win the renewal?”
“Actually, no,” Crystal said. “First, that was a preliminary vote. I wanted to see where we were. Second, because it affects everyone’s business, it’s one of the only things where we require a unanimous vote. As I said, this AVA board is very unusual in how it works. I don’t know of any other AVA that works the way we do.” She tried to smile—but it was only a half-hearted effort. “But it’s worked for us.”
Vail was the first to stand. She placed her used napkin on the food tray. “Thanks so much for your hospitality—and for the food.”
Crystal rose from her chair. Dixon motioned her down. “No need to show us out.”
“Yeah,” Vail said. “The way out is pretty obvious. One might say it’s crystal clear.”
THIRTY-SEVEN
As Vail and Dixon walked down the glass stairs, Dixon said, “‘One might say it’s crystal clear’? Were you trying to be funny?”
“I was trying.”
Dixon shook her head. “Try harder.”
They cleared the sliding front doors and headed toward the parking lot and Lugo’s car.
“Three people opposed the vote on Superior’s new contract,” Dixon said. “If César Guevara found out about this, that’s something to kill over. They’d lose millions in business. He does it himself or he hires someone to take out Victoria.”
Vail stopped at the edge of the crushed glass path. “See, this is where this case doesn’t make sense. Serial killers don’t kill for money—I mean, there were a couple of exceptions, and they were women—but we’re talking about a psychopath who’s living out his psychosexual fantasies, which are rooted in a dysfunctional childhood. And what about this Todd Nicholson? He’s still alive and kicking.”
“Maybe he’s the next victim.” Dixon’s phone buzzed. She flipped it open. “Text from Brix. They checked Ortiz’s story. El Brinquito, the restaurant, confirms his alibi. Wants to know if we’re still here. He and Lugo want to meet us here in five.” She tapped out a message to him.