Crush - Alan Jacobson [73]
“So how was Scott killed?” Dixon asked.
While Aaron continued his task, he said, “His trachea wasn’t crushed, if that’s what you’re thinking. Looks like he took three forty-caliber rounds to the chest. One is up around the dicrotic notch; looks like stippling on the neck, indicating that shot was very close range, maybe around two feet. Another one looks to be from a little further away than the others. Most likely that was the shooter’s first shot. But I’ll know more once I get him to the lab and I can do a full workup.”
“What about—”
“No. Toenails are intact.”
“Okay,” Vail said. “Figured as much. Thanks.”
“Yeah, whatever.” He pointed at her fanny pack. “You carry a forty-caliber pistol, correct?”
“A Glock 23.”
Aaron pulled an evidence bag from his pocket and extended a hand. “Your weapon.”
Vail shook her head. “Actually, it’s going to the FBI lab.”
“No,” Aaron said, drawing it out as if it was a musical note, “it’s going into this evidence bag and back to my lab.”
Vail thought about that a moment, then said, “I’m a federal agent and I have to abide by federal rules and regulations. If you’ve got a problem with that, my ASAC is Thomas Gifford. I’m sure he can quote the appropriate section from the Manual of Administrative Operations Procedures. So my sidearm is going to the FBI lab. I’d imagine you can have it once they’re done with it.”
Aaron groaned—it sounded more like a growl—and walked off, back toward the lighted crime scene.
Vail stared off at the ground for a moment, lost in thought. “This isn’t his typical kill,” she finally said. “No ritual behaviors. He didn’t choke Fuller and he didn’t yank off a toenail. He used a handgun to kill him.”
“So what are you saying?” Robby asked. “That this isn’t our offender?”
Vail shook her head. “I’m not saying that.”
“He could’ve been trying to make it look like you killed Fuller,” Dixon said.
“Why would he do that?”
“I’m not saying he did.” Dixon turned to Vail. “But how else would you explain what he did?”
Vail picked up the sterile urine specimen container Marcus had set aside. “If the UNSUB’s motive was merely to fuck with our heads, show us he’s in charge, then it doesn’t matter how he kills Fuller. He was taking a big risk by following us, by entering this vineyard. Even though it was pitch black out, either of us could’ve heard him. But the way a narcissist thinks, he figures he can do this stuff and there’s nothing we can do to stop him. Killing one of us is a big deal. The more shit he does like this, the more it starts to add up and it becomes more difficult for us to contain the fallout. I mean, he killed a cop—the sheriff’s stepson. If he knew the relationships, then his choice was purposeful.”
“He couldn’t lose,” Robby said. “The sheriff’s stepson, a sergeant, or an FBI agent. Either way, that’s big shit.”
Vail was about to respond when Stan Owens appeared behind them. Brix was trailing a few paces back. “Stan,” Brix called out. “Stan, think about this.”
Owens stopped a few feet from Vail—a bit further than normal conversation typically occurs. But Robby was at Vail’s left elbow, and Owens no doubt remembered his recent encounter with the large Vienna detective.
“I’m sorry for your loss, Sheriff.”
“That right?” Owens said. “I don’t know what happened here, but I will find out. I don’t care what it takes, but I’ll make sure you go down for this—”
“Stan,” Brix said. “Stan, you’re not seeing things objectively.”
Owens spun on him. “I’m not? Well, you tell me what happened here. Vail’s here, my son is here, she’s already shown contempt for him, with plenty of witnesses—”
“I show contempt for a lot of people,” Vail said. “When they deserve it. Doesn’t mean I meet them in a deserted vineyard at night and shoot them.”
Owens turned fully back to Vail and set his jaw. “If you did this, I will personally come after