“It goes back to the parents, Harold and Anna. That’s when the whole
thing started. It all had to do with typical wine industry stuff. Frederick was just taking over the business from his father, Gerard, and he was aggressive coming out of the gate. He wanted to really inject some energy into the brand, which he felt was stale, not growing, and maybe losing market share.” Kevin stopped, shuddered as he took an uneven breath.
“Silver Ridge had won a lot of wine competitions, and they were kind of full of themselves. Frederick wanted to make a splash, so he set his sights on Silver Ridge’s up and coming star winemaker. He spent a year trying to lure him away but the guy was loyal to Harold and Anna. Fifteen years later, Silver Ridge hit a tough spot. Harold had a stroke and Anna had some health problems, too. The sons, who didn’t get along too well to begin with, took over day-to-day operation of the winery. So with all that uncertainty, and with Montalvo doing better but still not reaching its potential, Frederick swooped in and snagged the winemaker.”
Vail added all this up to motive. But there were still disconnects. “The family feud is obvious. But how malignant did it get—how bad were the feelings between the families?”
Kevin shrugged. “I’m relaying all this as it was told to me. I wasn’t around, so I can’t really judge. But from what Victoria said, and from what Frederick told me once, it was pretty poisonous stuff. They had some arguments over the years that the AVA board had to step in to resolve.”
“AVA?” Vail asked.
“American Viticultural Area. It’s a designation determined by the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms to specify where a wine is grown and made. Think of it like a branding. When it says Napa Valley on the label, you know that at least 75 percent of the grapes used in that wine are from the Napa Valley.”
“Why wouldn’t all the grapes come from the valley?”
Dixon chuckled. “Sticky question. Grape prices are lower, as you’d imagine, in other regions of California that don’t have the cachet of Napa. Some would say the quality of Napa. So it’s okay to mix some grapes from, say, the Central Valley, provided 75 percent of the grapes used are from Napa. It protects their brand.”
“How many AVAs are there?”
Dixon deferred to Kevin, who shrugged. “Well over a hundred,” he said. “Probably closer to a hundred twenty-five, hundred thirty. The better known ones are Stags Leap District, Russian River Valley, Anderson Valley, and so on.”
Vail looked at Dixon, who indicated she had all she needed. Vail placed a hand on Kevin’s shoulder. “Thanks for all your help. I know this wasn’t easy. If you think of anything that might help us find . . . the person we’re looking for, would you give Investigator Dixon or Sergeant Lugo a call?”
Dixon handed him her card. Lugo made no such move. He and Kevin were friends, and Kevin undoubtedly had Lugo’s number. In fact, without question, Kevin’s call—should he make one—would go to his buddy.
Lugo led them to the front door. Out of earshot of Kevin, he said, “I don’t think this feud is related to the murder.”
“Too soon to say for sure,” Vail said. “But the odds are strongly against it.”
Dixon held out a hand. “I wouldn’t discount it just yet. The body was found at their winery. But we don’t have enough info yet. We need to dig more before we make any decisions.”
BACK AT THEIR CAR, Dixon stood at the driver’s door and looked across the vehicle at Vail. “The things that were done to the body could be taken as being a personal attack. Severing the breasts, for one.”
Vail shook her head. “Severing the breasts is probably not personal.”
“Overkill, right? Excessive violence shows a relationship between the offender and the victim.”
“Up until very recently, that was our operating theory. We automatically considered overkill to be rooted in anger, and
thing started. It all had to do with typical wine industry stuff. Frederick was just taking over the business from his father, Gerard, and he was aggressive coming out of the gate. He wanted to really inject some energy into the brand, which he felt was stale, not growing, and maybe losing market share.” Kevin stopped, shuddered as he took an uneven breath.
“Silver Ridge had won a lot of wine competitions, and they were kind of full of themselves. Frederick wanted to make a splash, so he set his sights on Silver Ridge’s up and coming star winemaker. He spent a year trying to lure him away but the guy was loyal to Harold and Anna. Fifteen years later, Silver Ridge hit a tough spot. Harold had a stroke and Anna had some health problems, too. The sons, who didn’t get along too well to begin with, took over day-to-day operation of the winery. So with all that uncertainty, and with Montalvo doing better but still not reaching its potential, Frederick swooped in and snagged the winemaker.”
Vail added all this up to motive. But there were still disconnects. “The family feud is obvious. But how malignant did it get—how bad were the feelings between the families?”
Kevin shrugged. “I’m relaying all this as it was told to me. I wasn’t around, so I can’t really judge. But from what Victoria said, and from what Frederick told me once, it was pretty poisonous stuff. They had some arguments over the years that the AVA board had to step in to resolve.”
“AVA?” Vail asked.
“American Viticultural Area. It’s a designation determined by the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms to specify where a wine is grown and made. Think of it like a branding. When it says Napa Valley on the label, you know that at least 75 percent of the grapes used in that wine are from the Napa Valley.”
“Why wouldn’t all the grapes come from the valley?”
Dixon chuckled. “Sticky question. Grape prices are lower, as you’d imagine, in other regions of California that don’t have the cachet of Napa. Some would say the quality of Napa. So it’s okay to mix some grapes from, say, the Central Valley, provided 75 percent of the grapes used are from Napa. It protects their brand.”
“How many AVAs are there?”
Dixon deferred to Kevin, who shrugged. “Well over a hundred,” he said. “Probably closer to a hundred twenty-five, hundred thirty. The better known ones are Stags Leap District, Russian River Valley, Anderson Valley, and so on.”
Vail looked at Dixon, who indicated she had all she needed. Vail placed a hand on Kevin’s shoulder. “Thanks for all your help. I know this wasn’t easy. If you think of anything that might help us find . . . the person we’re looking for, would you give Investigator Dixon or Sergeant Lugo a call?”
Dixon handed him her card. Lugo made no such move. He and Kevin were friends, and Kevin undoubtedly had Lugo’s number. In fact, without question, Kevin’s call—should he make one—would go to his buddy.
Lugo led them to the front door. Out of earshot of Kevin, he said, “I don’t think this feud is related to the murder.”
“Too soon to say for sure,” Vail said. “But the odds are strongly against it.”
Dixon held out a hand. “I wouldn’t discount it just yet. The body was found at their winery. But we don’t have enough info yet. We need to dig more before we make any decisions.”
BACK AT THEIR CAR, Dixon stood at the driver’s door and looked across the vehicle at Vail. “The things that were done to the body could be taken as being a personal attack. Severing the breasts, for one.”
Vail shook her head. “Severing the breasts is probably not personal.”
“Overkill, right? Excessive violence shows a relationship between the offender and the victim.”
“Up until very recently, that was our operating theory. We automatically considered overkill to be rooted in anger, and
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