Crush - Alan Jacobson [57]
Before leaving, Vail had suggested they meet only a portion of the killer’s demands. They would know in a short time whether it satisfied his needs. There was debate—Lugo thought it best to give him what he wanted—if he truly stopped the killing, that would accomplish their goal in the short term while they continued to search for him.
But Vail insisted he would not comply—he would kill again, because he had to. Even if he honestly intended to honor his agreement, he couldn’t. Killing, to him, was a deeply seated psychosexual need, one that he wasn’t fully aware of. So his offer was not valid. Instead, Vail stressed that the goal was to keep him talking with them. And what she devised was designed to do just that. It also risked angering him in a way that could trigger another murder. But there was nothing she could do about that. Because if they didn’t catch him, there would be many more murders, not just the one she may or may not have instigated. They had to keep him engaged and talking with them.
Lugo continued his objections, however. He said that if they don’t give the killer what he wants, what’s stopping the guy from calling up the TV station, identifying himself as the Napa Crush Killer, and telling them about Victoria Cameron’s murder? The story would be assigned to a reporter, who’d follow up with the speed of an Olympic sprinter. They’d make a few calls and it would be a national story in the space of an hour. So they may as well try to get a deal out of it, he reasoned, because maybe, just maybe, he would honor his word.
Vail couldn’t help but shoot him down. If the killer was going to contact the media, she explained, he would’ve already called them. But there was no fun doing it that way. He wanted to force their hand, have the story come from them, from a police department acceding to the demands of a killer because they were helpless against his genius. With narcissistic killers, they needed to feel that others recognized their superiority.
Lugo steamed silently. And Brix decided they would go forward, for now, with Vail’s plan.
They filtered into the parking lot, with Brix, Fuller, Lugo, Mann, and Gordon going their separate ways.
“We’ve got forty-five minutes,” Vail said, as Dixon accelerated onto 29. “By the time we finish lunch, I have a feeling we’ll know if this was the right way to go.”
JOHN WAYNE MAYFIELD sat in his vehicle, eyes on his cell phone clock, which he knew was accurate. When the digital display read 12:00, he headed into the Java PC cybercafé in downtown Napa. There were no surveillance cameras—he had already checked.
He bought a fifteen-minute pass in cash, logged in, and went to the Napa Valley Press website. Scrolled down, then up, and down again. Refreshed the page. Nothing there about him. He glanced at his phone: 12:05. Navigated to a different website, then back again to the Press. And there it was.
The headline read: Napa Crush Lays Down Roots in Community.
What?
He read the teaser paragraph. It said something about a startup company that was launching a new soft drink that had roots in the valley, a rebirth of the wine cooler—
He fisted his right hand and was shaking it, holding back, wanting to pulverize the monitor but knowing that would draw attention—and possibly the police.
Instead, he shoved his curled fingers into his mouth and bit down. Waited for the anger to subside. Finally, he calmed enough to turn his attention back to the screen. There had to be something here. Why else would they post this article if there wasn’t information contained within to address his demands?
He read the article, looking for an embedded message of some sort. Then he found it: a quote attributed to Karen Vail, the company’s director of marketing and promotion. “We thought long and hard about how to launch this product, and we had demands that we couldn’t comply with. But we’re willing to work with the local leadership to show them how much we respect them and their abilities. We’re looking for ways of working with them