Velocity (Karen Vail #3)(15)

“We’ll find him, Karen. Eddie’s gone. But Robby . . . We’ll find him. You have to believe that.”

Vail felt a tear roll down her cheek. She flicked it away. “Let’s get going.” As she climbed into the car, she realized she wished she knew where to go. She wished she knew where to go to find Robby.





10


The clock was ticking; Vail kept track of the seconds as they melted into oblivion.

She knew better than most that the initial twenty-four to forty-eight hours in a missing person’s life were crucial. Even Robby, a homicide detective, was subject to the same rule. Because cop or not, at the end of the day, stripped of gun and badge, he was just a human being, a vulnerable civilian. When bound and gagged, or being held captive—if that’s what was going on here—the victim was usually powerless to help himself.

The image of Robby being powerless was incongruous with his imposing physical presence: a thick but trim six foot seven. She had seen him vulnerable only once before—the result of a stun gun attack. And that had nearly been disastrous.

But if Robby was not injured or under someone else’s control, a remaining option was one Vail could not bring herself to consider. Whenever her thoughts meandered in the direction of Robby’s death, her subconscious yanked away her mind, much like old Vaudeville acts were pulled from the stage if they bombed.

As they entered the task force conference room, Vail took a deep breath and realized that her anxiety was causing her to grind her molars. Her dentist would peer inside her mouth at her next cleaning and, once again, admonish her for wearing down her teeth. She would, once again, give him a sharp retort—something like, “If you think stress has worn down my teeth, you should see my arteries.”

But of course none of that mattered at the moment.

“You hear from my brother?” Brix asked.

Brix sat huddled over a stack of documents, a legal pad off to his right filled with scribbled notes. Stan Owens was on the phone, his own comments scratched out on a page at his elbow. Gordon and Mann were not in the room.

“Not yet,” Vail said.

Brix twisted his wrist and consulted his watch. “He was in a meeting. He should be out soon. Just so you know, I did a search for the place online. Nothing. Searched for Cannon. Nothing again.”

“So Ray was telling the truth,” Dixon said.

“About that, yeah.”

Brix’s dig was not lost on Vail. She opened her mouth to comment, but both her BlackBerry and Brix’s phone vibrated. She pulled hers and read the display.

“My son just emailed me a photo of Robby.”

Dixon pointed to the BlackBerry. “Send it to all of us. I’ll print copies for everyone.”

Owens looked up. “Include me in that. Time being, I’m gonna sit in on the task force, help you people out.” His eyes found Dixon. “If that’s okay with you, Ms. Dixon.”

Dixon’s expression was neutral. “Thanks, sheriff. We can use any help we can get.”

The door swung open and Mann and Gordon walked in.

“That’s my point,” Mann said to Gordon. “Who woulda thought.” They both took a seat at the conference table.

“Who woulda thought, what?” Vail asked.

Using his prosthetic hand, Mann deftly pulled a notepad from his pocket. “I didn’t think it’d be the case, but there’s a fair number of Sebastians in the area. Between first names and surnames, we’ve got over forty in the greater region. I mean, Sebastian? I wouldn’t have expected it to be that popular. We got a list of names and numbers and started dialing, the ones closest to Napa city limits first. So far, no one knows a Robby or Roberto Hernandez. We asked a couple guys from NSIB to work the rest of the list.”

“I just emailed all of you the photo of Robby,” Vail said. “Can you forward it to the NSIB investigators?”

Gordon pulled out his phone. “Done.”

Brix disconnected his call, then sat down in front of the laptop perched in the middle of the conference table. “NSIB got Cannon’s home address from DMV, an apartment on Soscol. But it’s old. They’re there now. Landlord said he hasn’t lived there for two or three years.” He struck some keys and brought up Robby’s picture, then sent it to the color LaserJet in the corner. “They’re gonna see about getting a forwarding address.”

“Who’s Cannon?” Mann asked.

As Dixon made her way to the printer, she said, “We’re looking into the possibility that a guy who was friends with Mayfield may be involved in this. James Cannon. Karen and I met him a couple days ago. Said he was a winemaker with a start-up called Herndon Vineyards. Anyone hear of it?”

Owens, Mann, and Gordon shook their heads.

Brix pushed his chair back from the table. “Herndon’s supposedly not releasing their first cases for another couple years, so they’re not putting out any promo materials. No product, no press. I’m hoping that my brother, with his wine industry contacts, can get us a twenty on Herndon.”

Dixon scooped up the photos from the printer tray. “That’s assuming that Herndon is real. Could’ve been a bunch of crap.”

“We’ll find out,” Brix said, again stealing a look at his watch. “If it’s legit, we may end up locating the winery before we get Cannon’s current home address.”