Crush - Alan Jacobson [96]
“Then how did he get my number?”
Brix put his forearms on the round cement table. “I love this view. You can see for miles. And it’s all gorgeous. This is a plot of land I wish we had for Silver Ridge.”
“Redd,” Dixon said. “The phone number.”
He shook his head and refocused his gaze on Dixon. “Yeah. So Ray and I were thinking where else he could’ve gotten it. How about the Bureau?”
Vail leaned back in surprise. “Whoa, I didn’t think of that. All he has to do is dial up the FBI Academy and ask for my cell phone number and they hand it right over.”
“That’s cute. But what I meant was, do you list it on your Academy emails?”
“Yeah, it’s part of my signature, at the bottom of all my messages.”
Brix raised his hands, palm up. “Then who the hell knows how he got it. Sending email is like putting an open envelope in the mail.”
Vail nodded. She couldn’t argue that.
Brix yawned, threw up a hand to cup his mouth. “I also have an ID on the female we found this morning. Or was that yesterday? I’m so fucking tired I can’t remember anymore.” He forced his eyes open wider, then said, “Name’s Dawn Zackery. Thirty-two, single. And before you ask, no connection to the Georges Valley board.”
Dixon looked at Vail. “I’m beginning to think that board is a dead end.”
Vail stared out at the countryside. “Maybe, maybe not. If we haven’t got anything else to pursue, then we’ll turn over some rocks, see what we can find.”
Brix began bouncing his knee. “I was thinking there was an angle we should look into first, something we kind of overlooked.”
Dixon cocked her head. “And that is . . .”
“There’s a guy,” Brix said. “Someone we questioned early on. Scott actually wanted to bring him back in and talk to him. I resisted.”
Vail brushed a lock of red hair behind her ear. “Why?”
“Well. . . .” He hesitated, then said, “Because he’s an employee of Silver Ridge.” He held up a hand. “I know what you’re gonna say, and before you say it, you’re right. I’ve got a conflict, and I think it colored my judgment on this. I’m sorry.”
Vail waved it off. It wasn’t something to be glossed over, but Brix came clean and there was nothing to be gained making him feel guilty about his error. “So this employee. Who is he?”
“The guy who found the body. Miguel Ortiz.”
Vail leaned back. “I remember him. He gave me his flashlight. He seemed genuinely freaked by what he found. Then again, I didn’t exactly have my guard up. I was on vacation. Could’ve just been an act, to deflect attention off himself.”
Brix held out a hand. “There you go. Does he fit the profile?”
Vail bobbed her head about. “He’s about the right age. Although the vast majority of serial killers are Caucasian, there have been a fair number of Hispanics. I can think of five just off the top of my head. That said, Ortiz is a low-level employee without the kind of access to information and people that our UNSUB’s exhibited. From what I’ve seen, our offender is a much more complex killer.”
“You thought of him, why?” Dixon asked.
Brix’s eyes narrowed. “Not sure. Just a feeling. When I questioned him at the scene, he wouldn’t look at me. He seemed very nervous.”
“Maybe he knew you were one of the owners,” Dixon said, “and he felt intimidated.”
Brix twisted his lips. “Maybe. But he was the one who found Victoria’s body. And Scott did a little checking before he—well, he did a little checking and he found that Ortiz didn’t have an alibi for the other murders up to that point. But Ray thought we were wasting our breath. He just didn’t think this was our guy.”
“Because?”
“He said if there was a murderous Mexican looney on the loose, he would’ve heard about it in his community. He seemed pretty adamant that going after Ortiz was a waste of time.”
“Serial killers are not ‘looney,’” Vail said. “They’re not insane or ‘off their rockers.’ They know what they’re doing. Their actions are very purposeful. And they know murder is against the law. They just don’t care.”
“I checked with the HR person at Silver Ridge. She sees him from