Crush - Alan Jacobson [126]
SUPERIOR MOBILE BOTTLING operated out of a large warehouse in an industrial area of American Canyon, a few miles south of the sheriff’s department. Vail and Dixon left Lugo in the car and walked up to the concrete tilt-up building that featured an oversize gold crest above its entrance, emblazoned with a large seriffed S in the middle, sandwiched between a smaller M and B.
Dixon had decided on a straightforward, direct approach. If Guevara ducked them, they would leave and Lugo would then come in under the guise of a vintner inquiring about their bottling services and fee structure.
Dixon pulled open the glass door and stepped into a small, well-appointed reception room. Tastefully decorated with high-resolution photos of grapes on the vine, it also included industry-specific pictures of buffed stainless steel machinery involved in the various production steps of mobile bottling.
A woman with platinum hair and a face that had seen its share of facelifts walked in through a side door. “I’m Sandra. How can I help you?”
“Roxxann Dixon, Napa County District Attorney’s office. This is my associate, Karen Vail. Is César Guevara available for a brief chat?”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“We were in the neighborhood and were hoping he could help us with a case we’re working on.”
“I’ll go see if Mr. Guevara can meet with you. He was out back doing some maintenance on one of the trailers—”
“Perfect,” Dixon said. “We’ll just go on back ourselves. If he’s in the middle of something mechanical, I’d rather not drag him away from his work. We just have a couple background questions. Around the side of the building?”
Sandra seemed a bit flustered. “I—yes, but I really should—”
“Thanks,” Dixon said.
Vail was already through the door and signaling Lugo with a tilt of her head. Lugo slowly climbed out of the car and joined them as they walked down the asphalt roadway that abutted the long building.
Lugo slowed his pace. “Why don’t I wait out here, have a look around the periphery?”
“We can look around after if we want,” Dixon said, motioning him along. “I think you’d be more valuable with us.”
“Or, I could talk with the front office personnel while you’re in with Guevara. Sometimes they’ll give you more than the main guy.”
“We met her,” Vail said. “I didn’t get the sense she knew anything important.” She gave Lugo a playful shove with her forearm. “You okay?”
Lugo swiveled to look over his shoulder. “Fine.”
“They probably park the rigs indoors,” Dixon said. “With the cost of that equipment, I’d imagine they don’t take any chances with someone hauling off their trailers.”
They walked briskly. Vail was sure Sandra had, by now, notified Guevara of their presence. Whether that mattered or not, she wasn’t sure. It depended on whether Superior had done anything wrong. And all indications were they had not—other than being at the center of a contentious political squabble among business partners.
Dixon, a stride ahead, turned back to Vail and Lugo. “Security cameras.” She indicated small surveillance devices mounted atop steel poles at various points in the lot. They were all aimed at the building.
A few feet ahead was a gray rollup garage door. It was in the up position, revealing three highly polished full-size semis parked alongside one another.
They walked in. A radio was playing music with a Latin beat. Vail knelt down and looked beneath the rigs. She saw two sets of feet a dozen yards away, one male and the other female.
Vail motioned to the others that Guevara was ahead, between the farthest two trailers. They turned left down the aisle between the trucks and saw a man of medium build, strong jaw and prominent forehead. He had a red flannel shirt on with the sleeves rolled up.
He turned to face them as they approached. Vail led the way, followed single file by Dixon and Lugo.
“Mr. Guevara?”
“Who wants to know?”
“I’m Karen Vail.” She held up her credentials. Dixon moved alongside Vail and displayed her badge, then thumbed the area behind her. “And this is Sergeant Ray Lugo, St. Helena PD.”
Guevara had a