Free Karen Vail 01 - Velocity by Alan Jacobson

turned to Dixon, her face hard. “Before I leave, god help me, I’m gonna have some answers. We’l find Cannon. We’l find out what Merilynn Lugo knows. And we’l know if César Guevara is involved in Robby’s disappearance.” She pressed a hand against her pocket, which contained the photo of Robby. “You with me on this?”
    Dixon did not hesitate. “Yes.”
    “Good. Then start the fucking car. Let’s get the hel out of here.”

    12
    V ail and Dixon’s first stop was Superior Mobile Bottling, located in a light industrial area of nearby American Canyon.
    The company was a local concern that brought equipment-laden semis to wineries throughout the region to perform bottling and labeling functions. It was a cost-effective approach for many wineries, as they didn’t have to expend resources and take up prime space for production machinery used only once a year.
    The facility was overseen by César Guevara, a man who supposedly served as its CFO but appeared to be much more. Vail, Dixon, and Ray Lugo had questioned him a couple of days ago. Vail had picked up on strange body language—silent communication between Lugo and Guevara. It was an observation that led the task force to aggressively investigate Guevara as the Crush Kil er. The likelihood of him being their UNSUB, or unknown subject, shriveled like a desiccated grape when John Mayfield emerged as the offender.
    But Lugo’s involvement with Guevara remained in Vail’s craw, though with the harried pursuit of Mayfield, it became a lost seedling among a forest of concerns.
    On the drive to Superior Mobile Bottling, Vail explained their rationale for pursuing Guevara: if Lugo knew Guevara, and Lugo was involved somehow with Mayfield, there was an outside chance that Mayfield and Guevara knew one another . . . Lugo being the common link. At the very least, Guevara might know something—or might even have had something to do with Robby’s disappearance.
    Dixon had remarked that there were a lot of suppositions factored into that reasoning. Vail could not dispute her point, but felt they needed to pursue the lead.
    “Ray claimed he only knew Guevara when they were teenagers, working in the vineyards,” Dixon said.
    “That is what he said. But sometimes I’ve got to rely on my intuition. And I sensed there was more to it than that.”
    Dixon navigated out of Napa proper toward American Canyon, and the landscape changed from wineries to a more urbanized backdrop. “What Ray said.
    It’s not an unlikely story.”
    “ If it’s true, I’d bet it’s only the first chapter. Working the vineyards is probably how they met. But what happened after that? How did their relationship develop?
    That’s what we need to find out. That could be a key.”
    Having arrived at Superior Mobile Bottling, Vail and Dixon slammed their car doors and headed toward the back of the warehouse-type structure. Bypassing the front entrance—and the interference-running administrator—they entered through the side rol -up steel door. Highly polished chrome and burgundy rigs sat stoical y in their stal s in the spacious facility, like fine racehorses waiting for their turn to perform.
    Mounted on the wal , at least a dozen feet off the ground, was the largest LCD
    high-definition television Vail had seen outside a professional sports stadium. The volume was turned down, but it was tuned to what looked like the replay of a vintage basebal game.
    A medium-build Hispanic man appeared from behind the far end of one of the rigs. He wore a blue dress shirt with rol ed-up sleeves and held a long screwdriver.
    César Guevara. He made eye contact with Vail, then looked away in disgust. “Not you again.”
    Vail glanced sideways at Dixon. “Wonder why we always have that effect on people.”
    “More questions?” Guevara asked.
    Vail nudged Dixon with an elbow. “I told you he was smarter than he looked.” She reached into her pocket and pul ed out the photograph of Robby, keeping it