“So this is an attempt to shock?” Burden asked. “Get a rise out of the people who discover the body?”
“We can’t rule it out. Let’s see if we can find some surveillance cameras in the area.”
Burden called to the first-on-scene officer, who was standing near his vehicle, and asked him to look for businesses or homes that had closed circuit systems.
A car came down Bay far too fast. It stopped in the middle of the street and the passenger window rolled down.
“Hey!” It was Clay Allman, leaning across from the driver’s seat. “You didn’t call me?”
“We’re a little busy,” Vail said. And our first call isn’t to the press, dickhead.
Allman parked a few cars down and jogged back toward them. He stood there a moment, outside the crime scene tape, sizing up the victim. “Okay, that’s a little weird.”
“A little,” Vail said.
Allman made a face, then turned to Burden. “You sure this isn’t personal?”
“Nah, she’s like this with everyone.”
Vail frowned. “Sorry. Murders tend to put me in a bad mood. I’m funny that way.”
“I accept your apology,” Allman said.
“She was being sarcastic,” Burden said.
“Whatever.” Allman pointed at the body. “Who’s the vic?”
“Haven’t gotten to that yet.” Friedberg reached into the man’s suit and felt around. He found the wallet in his trousers, and then flipped it open. “Harlan Rucker.” He pulled out his driver’s license. “Says here he’s seventy-eight.”
“Home address?”
“Hmm. Interesting.” Friedberg turned to Vail and Burden. With Allman only a few feet away, he was not going to read it aloud.
Vail’s phone started vibrating. She reached down and checked the Caller ID: Roxxann Dixon. “Hey, how’s it going?” Vail asked as she huddled with Friedberg and Burden around the license.
“I figured I’d touch base with you about doing dinner,” Dixon said. “But that’s not why I’m calling.”
“You’re calling because you’ve got an elderly female who’s been brutally raped and tortured, then kicked in the head. And there’s a brass key nearby.”
There was silence.
“Roxx?”
“What are you, a witch?”
“Nothing so exciting. You’ve got one of our vics. Text me your address. We’ll meet you.”
“Where?” Allman asked. “Another vic?”
Vail looked at him, then stepped in closer to Burden and Friedberg. “Got a call from a friend. She’s just caught a case in American Canyon, just over the Napa County line. One of our female vics.” Vail’s BlackBerry vibrated. “And I’ve got the address.” She consulted the screen. “Matches the one on Rucker’s CDL.”
“Hey,” Allman called out behind them. “I keyed you guys in on the ’82 case, gave you my files. How about cutting me in on the scoop?”
Vail looked at Burden. “You’re not considering it.”
“He’s just trying to do his job. He’s always been fair with us. What’s the harm?”
Vail shrugged in resignation. “It’s your case.”
Burden turned around to face Allman. “Fine. We’ll text you the address in half an hour, so we have some lead time. I want to check things out before you get there.”
They spent another ten minutes with Harlan Rucker, then released the scene to the officer and trudged back to their car. This case had just taken a turn-which was not good.
They hadn’t even figured out what was going on when it was moving in a straight line.
23
They pulled up behind an unmarked Ford Crown Victoria. It was the same one in which Vail had spent about ten days driving around Napa while working the Crush Killer case with Dixon.
The American Canyon neighborhood was at the southernmost tip of Napa County, a thirty-five-minute drive from the last crime scene. A bedroom community of both San Francisco and the heralded wine country, American Canyon was a solid middle- to upper-middle-class neighborhood incorporated in the early nineties.
The house was a production home in a residential area. It looked like it had been treated to a fresh coat of paint recently and the front garden appeared to be similarly maintained. Vail greeted the officer at the front door and led Burden and Friedberg into the house. Lights were on in the hallway, and Vail could hear voices in a room off to her right.
As she approached, Roxxann Dixon stepped into the corridor. “Karen,” she said with a wide grin.
The two women embraced, and then Vail introduced her to Burden.
“Inspector Friedberg,” Dixon said. “How’s the city treating you?”
“Not so good these days. These murders are pretty brutal. But I don’t have to tell you that.”
A man emerged from the bedroom.
“Brix,” Vail said. “Good to see you.”
“Who woulda thought? I figured when you left Napa three months ago, we were finally rid of you.”
“Guess I’m like that piece of chewing gum on the bottom of your shoe.”
They all enjoyed a knowing chuckle.
“Detective Lieutenant Redmond Brix,” Vail said, “Inspectors Lance Burden and Robert Friedberg-who helped us out with the Crush Killer case, over by Battery Spencer.”
“Right, right,” Brix said as he and the crew exchanged handshakes.
“So what’re you doing here, Roxx?” Vail asked. “Did your transfer go through?”
“I gave it a little push,” Brix said. “Guess it was more like a shove. It took the sheriff a little while to free up the cash for another detective, but I told him he couldn’t afford to miss out on Roxxann.”
“Came through last week,” Dixon said.
“Hell of a first case,” Vail said.
Dixon brushed back her blonde hair. “No shit. What you described on the phone…it was dead-on. No pun intended.”
“Let’s take a look,” Burden said.
They walked into the sizable master bedroom, where a CSI was bent over a body that lay supine. He snapped a photo, straightened up, and then shot Vail a less than friendly look.
Matthew Aaron. Not a pleasant memory from her time in the wine country.
“Where’s that key?” Vail asked.
Aaron reached into his kit and removed a clear evidence bag. It was properly identified and tagged.
Burden took it and held it up so he and Friedberg could get a closer look.
“We’ve got two others like this,” Friedberg said. “Well, one in our possession and one on the way.”
“On the way from where?” Dixon asked.
Vail explained the 1982 Edgar Newhall murder. “We don’t know enough yet to say if the cases are related, but it sure looks that way.”