51
Vail and Dixon returned to the Hyatt and spent the remainder of the evening in their room gathered around Dixon’s laptop, pouring over the crime scene photos Friedberg had given them. They had a pad full of theories and notes, but nothing that took them in a particular direction worth pursuing.
Vail had been tempted at various points in their brainstorming session to confide in Dixon about the private note the killer had left her last night. But she could not get herself to broach the topic.
Dialing up her stress-as if it wasn’t high enough-Hartman had still not called back. If she didn’t make contact with him in the morning, she would go through the switchboard operator and have her walk the message over to his desk-or she’d have to pay him a visit in person.
She slept fitfully that night, her mind unwilling to shut down and her heart rate breaking speed barriers. She finally rolled out of bed, careful not to wake Dixon, and went down to the lobby. She sat there for an hour, staring at the lights. At one point, she laid down on the cold tile floor beneath the rows of bulbs and let her eyes roam them, counting them, hoping that sleep would come to her.
Fortunately, no one ventured into the lobby-because it would’ve been difficult to explain her behavior to a rational human being. Finally, at three o’clock, she lifted herself off the ground and rode the elevator back to her room. The last time she looked at the clock it was 3:49am. She fell off to sleep shortly thereafter.
Now, as she and Dixon drove back to Bryant Street, Dixon turned to her and said, “I know you, Karen. Something’s bothering you. Wanna talk about it?”
Vail did not look at her. “Tell you the truth-” The vibration of her phone made her jump. She pulled the BlackBerry off her belt. “Robby. What’s up? How are things going?”
“I’m about to head into a stakeout so I only have a minute. But everything’s good. I took Jonathan to dinner a couple times, we played some Xbox. I helped him with a math project, and now he’s off to that Aviation Challenge thing. How’s your case going?”
Vail’s eyes slid over to Dixon. She desperately wanted to tell Robby what was going on-what was really going on-but she couldn’t, not now, and certainly not over the phone. She wasn’t proud of what had happened back in New York-more like how she had handled it-and it was something best discussed in person, not over the phone. Robby would understand. How could he not, given his background?
After a long hesitation, Vail said, “It’s going.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Why the hell is everyone asking me what’s wrong?” Because something is wrong.
“Do I really have to answer that?” Robby asked. “Come on.”
Dixon brought the car to a stop at a red light and turned to face her.
“We’ve got what I think is a fairly accurate profile coming together, but we’re not very far into figuring out who this asshole is. And I feel like I’m missing something. I know I’m missing something. More than something.”
“You’ll eventually figure it out, Karen. You always do.”
You always do. I do, don’t I? But I’m not Wonder Woman. What happens when I hit a case where I don’t?
“And when the time comes that you don’t,” Robby said, “what do you think will happen?”
Did I say that out loud? “I’ll feel like a failure.”
“That may be. But you’ll really just be human. I seem to remember you telling me something about that.”
A smile lifted the corners of Vail’s mouth. “I miss you, Hernandez.”
“Tell Robby I say hey.”
Vail turned to Dixon. “Roxxann’s with me. She says hi.”
“Tell her I still hope to get back out to Napa for a real vacation with you. We’ll kick back, taste some wine, do a mud bath-”
“I told you. I’m not lying in horseshit again. Once I found out what it was…I just can’t get past it. Besides, you’ll have to carry me kicking and screaming back to California.”
“Kicking and screaming, huh? Sounds like just another day in the life of Karen Vail.”
Dixon pulled into the SFPD parking lot and found a spot near Burden’s Ford. At least, it looked like Burden’s-there were about a dozen Tauruses, and they were all blue or gray.
“Gotta go,” Robby said.
“Call me when you get a break.” They said good-bye and she hung up, then got out of the car with Dixon.
“Did you leave the room last night?”
Vail glanced at her partner as they walked toward the building. “You’re a light sleeper. Yeah, I was tossing for a couple hours, so I finally gave up and went down to the lobby.”
“And did what?”
“And…I lay down on the floor and gazed at the lights.”
Dixon looked at her friend with squinted eyes. They went through the magnetometers and nodded at security as they passed through the lobby. “Should I be concerned about you?”
Vail stifled a wide yawn, then waved a hand. “Let’s solve this case. Then everything will be fine.”
As they walked into Homicide, Vail told Dixon she needed to make a call, then ducked back into the hallway. She sent Robby a text telling him to give her a call when he had a chance. Then she phoned Hartman. It again went to voicemail and she left another message, then redialed and worked her way to the operator, who placed Vail on hold before she had a chance to explain what she needed.
After a moment’s wait, the man returned to the line.
“This is Special Agent Vail out of Quantico. I’m trying-”
The Homicide door flew open and Burden emerged. “New vic,” he said. “C’mon.”
Crap. “I’ll have to call you back.” Vail disconnected the call, then fell in behind Dixon.
“Where’s Robert?”
“Following up with Scheer’s cell carrier on the way in. Hoping to get us somewhere on that anonymous informant buddy he had.” Burden shouldered the stairwell door and started galloping down the steps. “I texted him, told him to meet us there.”
“Where is ‘there’?” Vail asked.
Burden grabbed the handrail as he turned and headed down to the next floor. “Inspiration Point.”
“Then maybe we’ll get lucky,” Vail said. “And inspired.”
THEY ARRIVED AT THE PRESIDIO’S picturesque overlook to find Stephen Scheer already onsite. A United States Park Police vehicle was parked at the mouth of the minimalist parking lot, blocking its entrance. News vans were parked on the side of the road. Two cameramen, their tools of the trade balanced on a shoulder with cables snaking along the floor at their feet, stood at the ready. Primped blond and brunet reporters waited outside the crime-scene tape beside Scheer.
“So much for avoiding TV,” Dixon said as they pulled to a stop a few dozen feet from the news vehicles.