Crush - Alan Jacobson [8]
A man wielding a powerful flashlight swallowed the mouth of the room. Robby spun, ducking from the beam’s painful brilliance, Vail’s Glock out in front of him.
“This is a crime scene,” Robby shouted. “Get back.”
The man, silhouetted by the handheld and the glare of the forklift’s headlamp, said, “Yeah, I got that. But I’m supposed to be here. You’re not. Now lower that fucking gun or we’re gonna have a big goddamn problem.”
“You are?” Vail asked, holding up a hand to shield her eyes.
“Detective Lieutenant Redmond Brix, Napa County Sheriff’s Department.”
Vail moved her head to the side, still fighting the glare. “Karen Vail, FBI. And that man with the Glock in your face is Detective Robby Hernandez, Vienna PD.”
“Vienna?” Brix asked. “Where the hell is Vienna?”
“Virginia,” Robby said, as he lowered his weapon.
Brix dropped his flashlight out of Vail’s line of sight. “Glad to meet you . . . Not really. Now, you mind getting outta my crime scene?”
Vail raised her hands in resignation, then backed away to Robby’s side.
Brix, his attention still on Robby, said, “Mind telling me, Detective, what you’re doing with a handgun in California?”
Robby handed the Glock to Vail.
“It’s my backup piece,” she said as she bent over to reholster it on her ankle.
Brix frowned. There was nothing more he could say.
“Crime scene’s yours, Lieutenant.” Vail rested her hands on her hips and watched as Brix stepped forward, following Vail’s path to the body. He lowered his Maglite and ran the beam over the victim. When the brightness hit the area of severed breasts, Brix rocked back involuntarily. He caught his balance and looked away a moment, then seemed to force his eyes back to the body.
“God damn,” Brix said. “Shit.” He turned away, then marched out, into the large storage room. Vail and Robby followed. “You okay?” Vail asked.
Brix seemed to collect himself, then lifted his head and faced her.
“I’m fine.” He extended a hand. “Thanks for securing the scene. Where are you staying? I’ll need to get a more complete statement.”
“Mountain Crest B&B.”
“I know the place.” He dug out his cell phone, flipped it open, and shone his flashlight in Vail’s face. He pressed a button, it made a camera shutter click, then he did the same to Robby. As he snapped his phone closed, he said, “I’ll be in touch. We’ll take it from here now. You know your way out?”
Vail felt her blood pressure rising. This was usually the point where she said or did something she later regretted. Robby either sensed the tension or he’d gotten to know her pretty well, because his large hand clamped down on her elbow. He pulled her close against his body, then gently turned her around.
“We’re fine, thanks,” Robby said.
It was all happening slowly, Robby’s voice somewhere in the background, as he led Vail through the tunnels. The next thing she knew, she was standing at the wine cave’s entrance, the cold fresh air of a Napa evening blowing in her face.
FOUR
After returning the flashlight to Miguel Ortiz, they got into their rental and rode in silence, at a considerably slower speed, along Highway 29. Although they were supposed to have been treated to an exceptional meal paired with exceptional wine, the winery offered them a refund or a rain check voucher and sent its guests home because of a “water main break deep in the cave.” Vail almost laughed aloud when they were told of the reason for the sudden cancellation, but stopped herself. It didn’t matter. After the discovery of the body, the excitement of the evening seemed to leave them like air escaping a leaky balloon.
Finally, with the sunset now only a distant memory from what seemed like a long-ago afternoon, Vail sighed deeply and said, “Where are we headed?”
“A restaurant my friend recommended. I don’t know if we can get in, but he said it’s worth the wait.”
ROBBY PULLED THEIR NISSAN MURANO into the parking lot of Bistro Don Giovanni. Vail was busy thumbing the keyboard of her BlackBerry, texting a message to her fourteen-year-old