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