Crush - Alan Jacobson [63]
“Who’s the vic?” Mann asked again, craning his head around her, toward where Matt Aaron was bent over the body.
“You sure you don’t know?”
Mann swung his gaze to Vail. “Huh? Should I? Who is it?”
“It’s a male. No ID yet.”
Even in the fading light, Vail could see his eyes narrow. “So why should I—” He stopped. His body stiffened, and he seemed to lean back, away from her. Staring at her.
Vail did not speak. She remained still herself, measuring Mann’s response. A brisk wind whipped through her shirt. Damn, it’s cold.
“Vail,” Aaron called out. “Get your ass back over here!”
Vail ignored him. She looked at Mann.
“Well,” he finally said, “go ahead. Ask.”
Vail folded her arms across her chest. She did it for warmth, but it served the dual purpose of exhibiting body language of someone in charge. “Where were you when each of our victims was killed?”
“That’s not the question you want to ask me, Agent Vail. I’ll give you another shot. Ask your question or get the fuck away from me. Now.”
“Did you kill Victoria Cameron?”
“No.”
“Did you kill Ursula Robbins?”
“No.”
“Did you kill Maryanne Bernal?”
“No.”
“How about the vic lying out in the vineyard behind me?”
“No. Satisfied?”
Vail snorted. “Not really.”
“You’ve really got a set of balls, you know that? To question a person who’s given his life and career, hell, his goddamn left arm for the job—you really think I could be your killer?”
Vail ground her teeth. “I have a job to do, Agent Mann. And part of that job is to look at this case logically, without bias. Our victims were killed by a crushing blow to the trachea. The coroner can’t rule out the use of a tool or appliance. Something that’d make crushing the trachea—normally a tough thing to do—much easier. Then you walk in with a prosthesis. And yeah, I’m thinking, shit, that’s pretty obvious. Too obvious. But I have to look into it, you hear me?”
Mann stared at her but did not reply.
“It’s nothing personal. In fact, someone I respect a great deal vouched for you.”
“You discussed this with Rooney—”
“No,” Vail said. “I didn’t. I’ve thought about it. I couldn’t rule it out in my mind, beyond saying ‘He’s a great agent and great agents don’t do this type of thing.’ Well, that doesn’t cut it when time comes to present my case. You know that. Don’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“So again. Nothing personal. Got that?”
“Yeah.”
“So as to where you were—”
“I was out of town when you found Victoria Cameron’s body. On ATF business. You can ask my partner, if you want.”
“When did you get back?”
“We flew back from New Mexico yesterday morning. Two days after Mrs. Cameron was killed, if I’m not mistaken. Check it out with my partner. We were together just about every minute of the five-day trip.”
“Vail!” Aaron said. “Now or never—”
“You insist it’s not personal.”
“It’s not,” Vail said. Where’s he going with this?
“Have you brought this up to the task force? Have you or anyone else looked into other men in the vicinity who have prostheses? Because if you really think this makes it a slam dunk”—he held up his left arm—“then you would’ve checked into that. Did you?”
“No.”
“Didn’t think so. So don’t fucking insult my intelligence.”
Vail sighed. “I’m sorry. Honestly, I meant no disrespect.” She extended a hand. Mann looked at it a long moment, then turned around and got back into his car.
MATT AARON DROVE UP to the police department, in the heart of downtown St. Helena, a one-story shared-use structure that also housed City Hall. Aaron pulled to the curb and dropped off Vail in front of the building.
Vail opened her door. “Thanks for the ride.”
Aaron didn’t bother turning to face her. “And thanks so much for your help.”
She could tell he didn’t mean it. Sarcasm. A dose of her own medicine.
Vail swung the door closed, but Aaron drove off before it had completely shut.
She pushed through the police department’s front door and walked into a small anteroom separated from the rest of the office by a pane of bulletproof glass. She spoke to the community service officer and explained she was going to be taking the