Velocity (Karen Vail #3)(43)

Dixon shook her head. “You’re getting ahead of yourself. We don’t know Robby knew Guevara. All we know is that Guevara was in possession of a piece of paper containing something Robby had written.”

“That’s true,” Brix said. “So let’s all calm down a minute.” He motioned to the food. “Eat. We need to get something in our stomachs.”

They hesitated until Brix himself grabbed a slice of pizza. Then Gordon, Mann, and Dixon dug in. Vail was the last to toss some food on her plate. She reluctantly stabbed at the halibut and scooped the fish into her mouth. But despite the promise of heavenly flavors, she didn’t taste anything.

“The pressing question,” Dixon said, “is why Robby had Ian Wirth’s home address. There’s just no obvious reason for that. Robby was on vacation. He didn’t know Wirth. He had no reason to know him.” She put down her fork, pulled out her phone, and scrolled through the log. “I need Wirth’s phone number.”

“He’s on the Georges Valley board, right?” Mann asked.

“Yes. And if Robby had any contact with Wirth, I want to know why.”

Brix leaned to the left and pulled a sheaf of papers from his right rear pocket. “You gonna call him now? Kind of late—almost 11:00.”

“It’s about his dead colleagues. I don’t think he’ll care.”

Brix read her the number. Dixon dialed, then rose and stepped outside the room.

“I wish Mayfield was conscious,” Vail said. “I’d like another crack at him. I didn’t do such a good job the first time around.”

“Bullshit,” Brix said. “You did great. That shit with making him talk to his mother, that was fucking brilliant. If your phone hadn’t rung—”

“If Ray hadn’t unloaded on him,” Gordon added, “things would be different.”

Vail lifted a shoulder, played with her food. “But my phone did ring. Ray shot Mayfield. And Robby went missing.” Saying the words, at the late hour with her flight looming, finally hit. She dropped her head to keep from bursting into tears—but it didn’t work.

“Ah, shit,” Brix said. He got up and moved to the other side of the table, beside Vail. Took her in his arms and let her bury her face in his chest. Her shoulders lifted and shuddered, and she grabbed his arms, wanting to escape the embarrassment, the pain, the stress, the strain of the past week.

Dixon walked back in and said, “What happened?”

Vail lifted her head, pushed away from Brix and grabbed her napkin. She stuck her elbows on the table and wiped the thick, rough cotton against her eyes. “I’m sorry. That shouldn’t have happened.”

“Nonsense,” Mann said. “Probably best that it did. You needed that release. We’re not robots, Karen. We go about our jobs seeing all sorts of shit—violence, greed, death, you name it—and we try to bury it. Well, sometimes, especially when it’s personal, it just fucking gets to you.”

She nodded, then reached for her glass and swallowed a mouthful of water.

Brix straightened out his shirt, then left the room.

“Thanks,” Vail said. “I—You’re right.”

Dixon held up her phone. “Wirth didn’t know a Robby or Roberto Hernandez, and said he didn’t remember having any contact with him.”

Gordon frowned. “Worth a shot.”

“But . . . he did receive a call a few days ago, a voice mail from some unidentified caller. Warning him that his life was in danger.”

“Why didn’t he call us?”

“He did,” Dixon said. “But Wirth didn’t get the message right away because they called a line for a small subsidiary of his. He doesn’t check it daily. Once he retrieved his messages, which was yesterday, he called the number on the card I gave him.”

“Which is your office line,” Mann said.

“Right. And I haven’t been to the office, and I haven’t checked my voice mail. I’ve been a little busy. He’s beefed up his security, just in case it wasn’t a prank.”

“He didn’t recognize the voice?” Vail asked.

“Nope.”

“So he’s got a guardian angel.”

“That guardian angel could be the key to all this. Someone who knows what’s going on—which is more than we can say for ourselves.”

“A guardian angel?” Brix was standing in the doorway holding an open bottle of red wine.

Dixon briefed him on the Ian Wirth phone call.

“Let’s get the audio over to the lab,” Brix said. “Have it analyzed.”

“Already asked him to save it.”

“Whaddya got there?” Gordon asked, wagging a stubby finger at the wine.

“Kelleher Cabernet,” Brix said, spinning the bottle to display the label. “From the owner’s own vineyard. Out there,” he said, gesturing out the windows. “Good stuff.” He reached across the table and poured a glass for Vail. “You need it.”

Vail took it and swallowed a mouthful. It was “good stuff,” as Brix said. By the second gulp it was hitting her bloodstream and she could feel the relaxation flowing through her arms, her legs, and her face.

She put down the glass and leaned back in her chair.