Karen Vail 01 - Velocity (6 page)

Vail pul ed her gaze from Mayfield and looked at Dixon. “I don’t know, Roxx. I needed to see him, what kind of state he’s in.” She looked down at Mayfield again.

“Do you know what I feel like doing?”

“Shooting his brains out?”

Vail hiked her brow. “That would work, too.” She leaned in close, put her face against Mayfield’s left ear. “Should I do that, Johnny boy? Should I take my Glock and put it in your mouth?”

“Karen—”

Vail was not deterred. “If you manage to survive, I’m going to enjoy watching you get the needle. I’l be there in the death chamber, along with the families of al the people you’ve kil ed.”

Dixon sighed audibly, then put her hands on her hips and turned away.

Vail leaned back and studied his face. “So tel me, Johnny, wil you be seeing your mother in hel when you get there?”
There—what was that—did his face
twitch?
“Roxx, you see that?”

Dixon turned. “See what?”

Vail continued scrutinizing Mayfield’s expression. It was now blank. Had she real y seen something? “Tel me, John. What did you do with Roberto Hernandez?

Did you kil him?”

Nothing, not a shudder or a quiver.

Vail moved in closer. “Do you have him tied up somewhere?”

“Does he have who tied up?”

Dixon and Vail swung their heads toward the door. Standing there, an icy expression on his face, was a man dressed in a white lab coat, stethoscope draped around his neck.

“You are?” Vail asked.

The man stepped into the room. “I think the question is, who are you?”

“I asked you first,” Vail said, not yielding her ground.

The man stared at her. “Do I have to cal security?”

Dixon held out her badge. “Investigator Dixon. This is Special Agent Vail. FBI.”

“I’m Mr. Mayfield’s surgeon. Dr. Koossey.”

“Wel ,” Vail said, “I guess that makes us related. We’re
Mister
Mayfield’s arresting officers.”

Koossey threw his chin back. “So you’re the ones who shot him.”

“I wish,” Vail said. Koossey didn’t like that answer.
Tough shit, doc. You don’t
know who your patient is.

He folded his arms across his chest. “Are you two about done here?”

Vail stepped closer to Koossey. With a smirk, she said, “Doctor, if I was done here, Mayfield would be flatlining.”

“Karen.” This from Dixon, whose face was a deep shade of red. Vail had to admit that was a stupid thing to say. One thing to think it. Another to speak it to the patient’s physician. Certainly not when she wanted answers. Her “pleasantness filter” was failing her. Lack of sleep, stress . . . she was pissed off and, frankly, she just didn’t give a shit.

“Sorry about that, Dr. Koossey. My partner’s sleep deprived, she’s not exactly exercising her best judgment at the moment.”

His eyes flicked down to her holster. “Yet she’s stil carrying a loaded weapon.

Very nice.”

This guy’s got a set of balls. Wonder if he’s from New York.
“I think I’ve heard just enough out of you, doctor. But I’l tel you how you can make yourself useful.

How about tel ing us when
Mister
Mayfield here is going to be able to answer questions?”

Koossey snorted and tossed a look at Dixon, as if to say, “Is she for real?”

Dixon must’ve read the same thing from the man’s face, because she said,

“Look, doctor. Your patient is an extremely dangerous serial kil er. He’s murdered several innocent men and women. Including a couple local cops.” Dixon yanked down on the col ar of her blouse and craned her neck back, exposing her throat.

The remnant of Mayfield’s work was apparent in blood red, with emerging hints of eggplant-shaded hues. If it had been a sunset, it would’ve been memorable. It wasn’t a sunset, of course—but for Dixon, it would forever remain a memory. To Koossey, she said, “Mayfield tried to kil me.”

Vail likewise exposed her neck. “I’m a member of that club, too.”
Whaddya think
of that, doc?
“We’ve got another potential victim of his out there somewhere, a detective. Until we can question Mayfield, we’ve got no way of finding him. And we’re hoping to find him alive.” Vail folded her arms. “So.”

Koossey worked his jaw from side to side. “We’ve induced a coma. Do you know what that means?”

“I know about comas,” Vail said, flashing on her son’s recent experience with the condition. “But only traumatic ones.”

“Drug-induced coma is used these days to treat refractory cases of status epilepticus and in some cases of neurosurgery.”

Dixon held up a hand. “Status ep—you mean epilepsy?”

Koossey looked annoyed at being interrupted. “Yes. Mind if I continue?”

Dixon and Vail stared at him.
Maybe it’s not just me. The guy’s a little arrogant.

Probably would have something in common with Mayfield. Maybe they’d have
been buddies.

Koossey apparently got the message. “Its use in traumatic brain injury is a bit more controversial. The idea behind it is reduction of intracranial pressure and metabolic activity, to al ow the brain to heal.”

“How about we bring him out of it long enough to answer questions?”
And then
put him under again, this time permanently. Wait, did I say that last part aloud?

Vail’s eyes flicked from Dixon to Koossey. No reaction.
Phew.

Koossey lifted the metal clipboard from Mayfield’s bed. “It’s not like that. I put him in the coma because his brain is too il to function properly. The injuries were quite severe. So even if I were to bring him out of the coma, it’s unlikely he’d awaken.”

“How long are you going to keep him under?” Dixon asked.

Koossey canted his eyes toward the clipboard. He looked over the progress notes, flipped a page, then said, almost off-handedly, “A medical y induced coma is incremental y lightened as the patient demonstrates elements of recovery. And that, Agent Vail, like it or not, depends on Mr. Mayfield. He’s in control of the situation now.”

He was in control of the situation before, too. That was the problem.

“We’l be monitoring his electroencephalographic patterns and intracranial pressure, as metrics to help determine when to lighten the coma. More than that, I can’t help you.” Koossey replaced the clipboard, then turned toward the door. “Miss Dixon, you seem to be the level-headed half of your duo. Can I count on you to keep your partner in check so I can finish the rest of my rounds?”

Dixon ignored his comment, but said, “Wil you cal me as soon as he’s potential y capable of answering questions?” She pul ed a card from her pocket and offered it to him.

Koossey frowned.

“Because of Mayfield’s extremely violent nature,” Dixon said, “if we have adequate notice, it’l enable us to increase security. To prevent him from murdering you and your staff.”

Koossey gave Dixon a long look, then took the card and walked out.

Dixon moved around the bed to Vail, placed a hand around her shoulders, and said, “C’mon.”

They stopped at the nurses’ station. Helen glanced up from her file. Dixon handed her a business card as wel . “I’d appreciate if you’d leave instructions for al the staff to notify me when you’re preparing to bring Mr. Mayfield out of his coma.”

“He’s violent and extremely dangerous,” Vail said. “He’s murdered several people. And mutilated a number of women. Sliced off their breasts.”

Helen glanced over at Mayfield’s room. Vail figured she was about to piss her pants, if she hadn’t already.

“Okay?” Dixon asked.

Helen, stil looking in the direction of Mayfield’s room, said, “Yeah, yeah, of course.”

As they walked away from the nurses’ station, Vail’s BlackBerry buzzed. She reached to her belt and yanked it off. It was Jonathan. “Hey, sweetie, how you doing?”

“You okay, Mom?”

Vail sucked in a deep breath and stood up straight, as if Jonathan could see her, 2,500 miles away. “I’m fine. Why?”

“I—I don’t know, you just sounded different. Unhappy.”

“I’ve just got some stuff going on here I’m trying to deal with. How are things at home? Aunt Faye treating you okay?”

“Fine, she’s fine. I’m actual y having a good time with her.”

“You are? I mean, that’s great—I’m glad you’re getting to know her better.”

“Listen, Mom, I gotta get to class—”

Vail shifted the phone to her other hand. “Right. Okay—but I need you to do something for me.”

“Wow, if you’re making me late for class, must be important.”

“I need a photo of Robby. You remember that one you took of me and him at the academy a couple weeks ago? Can you cut me out and email it to me?”

“You mean crop it?”

“Yeah, that. Crop it.”

“Sure. I can do it after next period.”

“No, I don’t want you going home and missing school.”
Actually, given the
circumstances, maybe that’d be a good idea.

“I upload al my pictures to my SkyDrive account. I can go into the computer lab and grab the photo.”

“SkyDrive?”

“Free online storage. Don’t worry about it, Ma, I can do it. I’l crop it and email it to you. You’l have it in like an hour.”

“You’re a lifesaver.”

“Yeah, whatever.” He hesitated a second, then said, “Is everything okay? With Robby? Why do you need the photo?”

Shit
. It hadn’t occurred to her that he would ask, but now that she thought of it, of course he would. Despite the short tenure, Robby had been the most positive male figure in her son’s life—in years.
So how do I answer that one? I can’t lie to him.

He’d never forgive me. But I don’t want him worrying.

“I just need it for a case.”
Okay, that’s only partially true—but it’ll have to do for
now.
“Email it to me as soon as you can, okay sweetie?”

Jonathan seemed to accept the explanation—and the diversion—but he was no dummy. He would know something was wrong, but he probably also knew his mother wouldn’t tel him much about a sensitive issue.

Vail hung up, reholstered her phone, and joined Dixon at the elevator.

It slid open and a uniformed officer stepped out.

“You assigned to John Mayfield?” Vail asked.

“Who—”

“Your prisoner.” Vail held up her creds.

“Yeah. Why?”

“Because you weren’t at your station.”

“I had to use the head. I was only gone a few minutes. Guy’s in a coma.”

Dixon shook her head. “No good. Coma or not, he’s extremely dangerous. Don’t underestimate him. And don’t leave your post again unless you’ve got coverage.”

The cop gave them both an exaggerated frown, then pushed past them.

Dixon turned and watched him amble away. “Let’s do something productive.

Yes?”

Vail rubbed her face with two hands, then nodded.

9

T
hey took the stairs, avoiding the elevator. Vail pushed through the metal fire door and moved onto the textured gray steel steps. “Merilynn said that Mayfield warned Ray that if he told another detective, Mayfield would know.”

Dixon’s shoes clanked beside Vail. “That would seem to fit with the fact that Mayfield had an inside source.”

“Or,” Vail said, “it merely means he had a way of getting into the Sheriff’s Department and finding out that information. Since he had the cover of a pest control technician, he could move about with impunity.”

Dixon pushed through the door that led into the first floor lobby. “I think we should tel Brix, have him sniff around to make sure there wasn’t someone communicating with Mayfield behind our backs.”

“Couldn’t hurt.”

Dixon pul ed her phone and typed out a text with her request. The Crush Kil er case was in an unusual gray area—it had been solved but remained active because, like a CSI puzzling over a broken pane of glass, pieces were scattered about but had yet to be gathered up and reassembled into a whole. As a result, Dixon was stil the lead investigator.

“We should also dig into who John Mayfield is,” Vail said. “Maybe something from his house wil lead us to his lair. We might find a trove of information and forensics there.”

Dixon closed her phone, then stopped short.

“What is it?” Vail asked.

Dixon turned to Vail, her mouth partial y open. “Cannon.”

Dixon was referring to James Cannon, a bodybuilder friend of Mayfield’s whom Dixon and Vail had met at the gym. He had hit on Vail, then took offense to something Dixon had said. Shortly before they had identified John Mayfield as the Crush Kil er, Vail thought Cannon might be the offender.

Vail shook her head. “Ray tried to locate him. He searched for that start-up winery where Cannon was supposedly the winemaker. Herndon Vineyards. Nothing came up.”

Dixon narrowed her eyes in thought. “I’m not sure we can trust anything Ray told us. We don’t know how he’s wrapped up in al this. We need to look into Cannon and Herndon Vineyards ourselves.”

“Best we start with someone who knows the operations of a winery up close and personal. Brix.”

“Silent partner. But I’m sure he can hook us up with his brother or sister, since they’re the ones who run the place. And I’l see if he can have NSIB get us Cannon’s home address from DMV.”

While Dixon made the cal and told Brix what they needed, Vail wandered over to their car and rested her forearm on the passenger window, then dropped her head against her arm. Thoughts of Robby flittered through her mind . . . and came to rest on yesterday morning when she was leaving for the Sheriff’s Department. She had kissed him good-bye and he stirred.

“See you tonight,” he had told her.