Crush - Alan Jacobson [156]
Dixon also took three calls from other guests at the bed-and-breakfast. No one recalled anything out of the ordinary.
Vail checked with the hospital nurses to make sure a man matching Robby’s description hadn’t been brought in for emergency treatment. He had not been. They called over to Queen of the Valley Medical Center and Santa Rosa Memorial Hospital, Level II trauma centers, which is where Robby would’ve been airlifted had there been a major accident. They, too, had not treated or admitted anyone resembling Robby. The nighttime administrator made a call, herself, to other area hospitals that might have received him. But she came up empty.
As Vail and Dixon drove to the Napa County Department of Corrections, Vail was quiet, replaying in her mind the last conversations she’d had with Robby. Nothing stood out. She’d been preoccupied with the Crush Killer case. He had been entertaining himself, going here and there . . . and she’d been too busy to really listen to what he was saying in terms of what he’d seen and where he had been. Other than visiting the castle, she couldn’t even remember if he’d told her anything about specific places he had visited.
Dixon must have sensed her mental somersaulting, because she reached over and nudged Vail in the shoulder.
“Hey.”
Vail pulled her numbed gaze from the window and turned to face Dixon.
“I’m sure he’s fine. Maybe he just had something to deal with. You said he knew some people out here, right? Maybe he went over there to help them.”
Vail pulled her BlackBerry and called Bledsoe.
“Karen,” Bledsoe said with a hoarse grogginess. “If you’re gonna be in California much longer, you’ve really gotta get the hang of that three-hour time difference. It’s almost . . . 2 a.m.”
“Sorry.”
“What’s wrong?” His voice was suddenly strong, his mind wide awake. He knew her pretty well.
“I . . .” She sighed deeply, trying to find the energy to form the words. “I can’t find Robby.”
“What do you mean, you can’t find him?”
“He’s disappeared. Gone.”
“Hernandez is a big boy, Karen. I’m sure he’s somewhere.”
“No. I’ve been trying to reach him all day. I found his phone in our room, turned off. The logs were wiped clean. No apparent sign of a struggle, but we’re not sure. His car’s gone. I take it you haven’t heard from him.”
“Not since the thing with Jonathan. How’s it going with that killer?”
“We got him. Tonight.”
“Congrats, Karen. Give yourself a pat on the ass.”
“I’ll let Robby do that. As soon as I find him.”
“You check air, car rentals—”
“Air. No, I totally spaced—”
“Look, I’ll take care of it. Flights, car rentals, I’ll check it all. I’ve got all his info in the file, down at the office, from Dead Eyes. I’ll go down there right now. I’ll call you if I find something.”
She wished Bledsoe was there, by her side. Right now, she needed something close to home. For some reason, talking to him felt better. “Call me even if you don’t find anything.”
She hung up, let her head rest back on the seat. They had arrived at the Department of Corrections’ Hall of Justice complex on Third Street.
“You wanna come in, or wait here?”
Vail sat up and rubbed her face. “I should be nearby when Mayfield’s questioned.” Her voice was tired. Truth was, she was exhausted, mentally and physically. And whatever remaining energy she did have was focused on Robby, not on John Mayfield. “I should probably be the one in the room with him. Narcissists need to be handled differently than most suspects.”
“Assuming Owens goes for it.” Dixon was staring at her. “Are you in any condition to go face-to-face with Mayfield?”
Vail popped open her door and got out. That was her answer.
They stowed their guns in the lockers, then met Brix, Lugo, Gordon, and Mann at the long, window-enclosed booking office. Timothy Nance was there as well. He did not look pleased. Vail had the fleeting thought of wondering why he was still around, but decided her waning energies were better spent on more important matters than scum like Nance.
Lugo looked particularly