Crush - Alan Jacobson [75]
“We’ve got two issues here,” Brix said. “First is who torched the B&B and tried to roast Karen alive. Second is the Crush Killer, who may or may not have killed Scott.”
Dixon clicked her pen and scribbled a note on her pad. “If we can rule out an obvious link between him and the arson, we’d go a long way toward clearing his name.”
Nance spread his hands, palm up. “Sounds to me like you’re trying to find a link, not rule one out.”
“Depends on how you look at it,” Vail said. She felt like her speech was slow, possibly even slurred—but no one seemed to be reacting, so maybe it was in her mind. She pressed on. “We’re just trying to get at the truth. Wherever it leads”—she shrugged—“is where it leads. It’s our job at this point to collect evidence, not interpret it. Interpretation will come soon enough.”
“Hopefully,” Dixon said, “our digging will lead to someone else, in which case we clear Scott’s—Detective Fuller’s—name.”
Nance shook his head. “Witch hunt, that’s what it is. Twist it any way you want, that’s all it is.”
Dixon tossed down her pen. “Look, Mr. Nance. You’re here as a courtesy. As lead investigator, whether or not you’re allowed to remain is my call. But let’s get something straight. My generosity only goes so far. You need to understand that this is our investigation and we’re going to run it professionally and efficiently. We’re keeping you in the loop, but you don’t have a say in what we do and how we do it. I’m not even sure why you care so much about how we handle Detective Fuller’s death investigation.”
“I care because Stan Owens is a friend of the congressman. I care because it’s the right thing to do.”
Dixon spread her hands. “Then let us do our jobs. We’ll figure out what’s going on. No one in this room is out to pin things on Detective Fuller or tarnish his reputation in any way.”
His eyes flicked over to Vail. “I’m not so sure about that.”
Vail heard Nance’s comment, but it wasn’t registering. She needed to go lie down. But first, she had to bring a matter to their attention. “There’s something else we should look into,” she said, keeping her eyes on the table in front of her. “Because of the way our victims are killed, we need to question those men in the area who have amputated upper limbs, who wear prostheses.”
All heads rotated toward Austin Mann, who did not react. His gaze remained firmly on Vail.
“I know what you’re thinking, and I’ve already had this discussion with Agent Mann. He’s alibied.” She glanced up and saw a mix of surprise and anger on the faces of her team members. Fuck it. I had to come clean. It had to be said. She brought a hand to the back of her neck and squeezed. “It’s a bit of a long shot, but if we’re being thorough, it shouldn’t be overlooked. We need someone to follow up on this. Compile a list. Limit it to those men living within a seventy-five mile radius. That’s a bit broad, but it’ll eliminate error. If the list is too long, shorten it to fifty miles. Eliminate anyone younger than twenty-five and older than forty.”
Brix cleared his throat. “I’ll see if I can get someone from the Special Investigations Bureau on this.”
Vail rose unsteadily from her chair. “I’m not feeling so great. I’m going to lie down for a few minutes, try to shake off this fog.”
“Shift Change Room’s right down the hall,” Brix said. “Flip the sign to ‘occupied’ and no one’ll bother you.”
“I’ll be back,” Vail said. “Hopefully soon.”
JOHN WAYNE MAYFIELD fingered the pay-as-you-go phone—one of three he owned, none to be used more than once—and thought about what he would type.
It had gone exceedingly well with Vail and Fuller. He had been behind the car that was following Vail, before he realized the driver of the other vehicle was Scott Fuller. That was when an alternative plan began to take shape. He had the drug and syringe in his toolkit. Though he had never used it, he lived by the Boy Scout principle: Be prepared.
And so he was. He backed off his pursuit but remained close. Having Vail and Fuller tangle and force one another’s collision facilitated his plan. In