of families who’ve been here decades. Bragging rights, competitive posturing—even among family members. There are rifts, feuds, politics . . . so this disagreement Montalvo talked about, it’s nothing to write home about.” She raked her hair back off her face. “But it could be motive.”
Vail wasn’t sure about that, but said, “We should at least check it out.”
Dixon pulled out her phone, and dialed Lugo. It rang through her car’s hands-free speaker. He answered on the second ring. “Ray, we’re on our way over to Kevin Cameron’s place. You still there?”
“Yeah, why?”
“We’ve got some questions for him.” Dixon turned over the engine and drew back the gearshift. “Give me the address. We’ll be there in ten.”
Dixon turned onto 29 and took the nearest cross street that went through to Silverado Trail, a gently winding picturesque road that was largely untouched by tourist spoils, restaurants, and city buildings: only vineyards, smaller production wineries, scenic foothills, and the occasional well-financed home set back on a hillside perch.
They turned left and headed down a private road that snaked uphill into the drive of a generously sized Tudor home. It wasn’t as pretentious as Montalvo Villa Estates, but it was, nevertheless, a multimillion-dollar structure.
Vail followed Dixon to the front door, where Dixon pressed the chime. It sounded large and cavernous inside, and when the wooden entry door swung open, it didn’t disappoint. A spacious great room stood before them, with a wall-sized stained glass window, similar in style to the one at Peju—only larger—directly ahead.
Ray Lugo stood grasping the highly polished brass knob. His face was long and he looked like he had been crying.
“You okay?” Dixon asked.
“Kevin took it hard.”
You don’t look so good yourself. Vail stepped in and Lugo closed the
door behind them. In a low voice, Vail said, “Frederick Montalvo mentioned some kind of disagreement they’ve had with the family that owns Silver Ridge Estates. Supposedly goes back four decades.”
Lugo straightened, moving from family friend back to detective. “You’re thinking motive?”
“Doesn’t really fit what we saw at the crime scene,” Vail said. “Still, worth checking out.”
Dixon matched Vail’s low volume. “We need to ask Kevin if he knows anything about this feud.”
Lugo looked over his shoulder nervously, then turned back to Dixon. “He’s kind of in a bad way. Later may be better.”
“If this is a straight murder, then any delay could compromise our ability to close the case,” Vail said. “If it’s a serial, like I think it is, and this feud is unrelated, then it’s better we get out in front of it ASAP.” Sensing Lugo’s persisting hesitation, she said, “Don’t worry, we’ll go easy on him.”
Lugo turned and led them left, down a hall that fed into an expansive, tiled family room. “Kevin,” Lugo said to the man sitting stone-faced on a desk chair. Kevin didn’t appear to be aware of their presence. He was staring ahead, shoulders slumped and jaw hanging slack.
Depression, shock, disbelief.
Vail had seen the look many times before. She moved in front of Kevin Cameron and sat down. “Mr. Cameron, I’m Special Agent Karen Vail with the FBI and this is Investigator Dixon. You spoke to her on the phone a little while ago.” She leaned forward slightly. “I’m sorry about Victoria’s death. But we need your help if we’re going to catch the guy who . . . took her life. Will you help us?”
Kevin’s eyes, glazed and red, canted upward to Vail. He examined her face, then his gaze moved to Dixon, and he did the same with her. “Yes,” he finally said in a near whisper.
“We know about the feud your wife’s family’s had with the family that owns Silver Ridge Estates. Can you tell us who your disagreement is with, and what it was all about?”
He stared ahead for a long moment, then refocused his eyes.
Vail wasn’t sure about that, but said, “We should at least check it out.”
Dixon pulled out her phone, and dialed Lugo. It rang through her car’s hands-free speaker. He answered on the second ring. “Ray, we’re on our way over to Kevin Cameron’s place. You still there?”
“Yeah, why?”
“We’ve got some questions for him.” Dixon turned over the engine and drew back the gearshift. “Give me the address. We’ll be there in ten.”
Dixon turned onto 29 and took the nearest cross street that went through to Silverado Trail, a gently winding picturesque road that was largely untouched by tourist spoils, restaurants, and city buildings: only vineyards, smaller production wineries, scenic foothills, and the occasional well-financed home set back on a hillside perch.
They turned left and headed down a private road that snaked uphill into the drive of a generously sized Tudor home. It wasn’t as pretentious as Montalvo Villa Estates, but it was, nevertheless, a multimillion-dollar structure.
Vail followed Dixon to the front door, where Dixon pressed the chime. It sounded large and cavernous inside, and when the wooden entry door swung open, it didn’t disappoint. A spacious great room stood before them, with a wall-sized stained glass window, similar in style to the one at Peju—only larger—directly ahead.
Ray Lugo stood grasping the highly polished brass knob. His face was long and he looked like he had been crying.
“You okay?” Dixon asked.
“Kevin took it hard.”
You don’t look so good yourself. Vail stepped in and Lugo closed the
door behind them. In a low voice, Vail said, “Frederick Montalvo mentioned some kind of disagreement they’ve had with the family that owns Silver Ridge Estates. Supposedly goes back four decades.”
Lugo straightened, moving from family friend back to detective. “You’re thinking motive?”
“Doesn’t really fit what we saw at the crime scene,” Vail said. “Still, worth checking out.”
Dixon matched Vail’s low volume. “We need to ask Kevin if he knows anything about this feud.”
Lugo looked over his shoulder nervously, then turned back to Dixon. “He’s kind of in a bad way. Later may be better.”
“If this is a straight murder, then any delay could compromise our ability to close the case,” Vail said. “If it’s a serial, like I think it is, and this feud is unrelated, then it’s better we get out in front of it ASAP.” Sensing Lugo’s persisting hesitation, she said, “Don’t worry, we’ll go easy on him.”
Lugo turned and led them left, down a hall that fed into an expansive, tiled family room. “Kevin,” Lugo said to the man sitting stone-faced on a desk chair. Kevin didn’t appear to be aware of their presence. He was staring ahead, shoulders slumped and jaw hanging slack.
Depression, shock, disbelief.
Vail had seen the look many times before. She moved in front of Kevin Cameron and sat down. “Mr. Cameron, I’m Special Agent Karen Vail with the FBI and this is Investigator Dixon. You spoke to her on the phone a little while ago.” She leaned forward slightly. “I’m sorry about Victoria’s death. But we need your help if we’re going to catch the guy who . . . took her life. Will you help us?”
Kevin’s eyes, glazed and red, canted upward to Vail. He examined her face, then his gaze moved to Dixon, and he did the same with her. “Yes,” he finally said in a near whisper.
“We know about the feud your wife’s family’s had with the family that owns Silver Ridge Estates. Can you tell us who your disagreement is with, and what it was all about?”
He stared ahead for a long moment, then refocused his eyes.
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