Blood Vines

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Wednesday, March 10

10:20 A.M.

“You say this was with your mother’s things?” he said, turning it over in his fingers.

“In the trunk with her mementos of Dylan and her life here.”

BOV-1984. The year before Dylan disappeared. He frowned. “I hate to tell you this, Alex, but I’m going to have to keep this for a while.”

“Keep it? Why?”

He wasn’t ready to tell her about the tattoo. Not yet anyway. “It’s evidence. You’ll get it back. I promise.”

“Evidence? But-” She bit back what she had been about to say and made a sound, a cross between a whimper and a laugh. “It seems everybody’s interested in this ring.”

“What do you mean?”

“At least a half dozen people have asked me about it, including your mother and Rachel.”

He made a note to question them about the ring. “Who else?”

“Rita Welsh, my mother’s friend, the librarian. A few others, names I don’t even know.”

He closed his notebook. “I’m done for now. Are you going to be okay?”

“No problems.”

“Do you need me to call someone to sit with you?”

“Of course not.” She jammed her hands into her pockets. “I’ll be fine.”

As she turned to go, he caught her arm. She looked at him. The naked vulnerability in her gaze blew her tough girl act to smithereens. In the next moment, it was gone.

“What?” she asked.

“Call me if you need anything. Okay?”

She said she would and climbed into her car. He watched her drive off, then headed back into the scene. Ware was examining the body.

“What do you think, Bobby?”

“I think you nailed it. Suicide. Poor old bastard.”

“What about TOD?”

The man sent him an irritated glance. “Can’t give you a time yet. You know that.”

“Yeah, I know. I still want it.”

The man began to hum the Rolling Stones classic “You Can’t Always Get What You Want.” At the appropriate moment the CSI team sang out, “But sometimes, you get what you need!”

Reed bit back a guffaw, glared at the three, then pointed at the Coroner’s detective. “Call me, Ware. I need that TOD.”

Moments later, he slid behind the wheel of his Tahoe. He dialed Tanner. “Where are you?”

“Barn. What’s up?”

“You have the Schwann autopsy photos?”

“Nope. But the Coroner’s Office uploaded them, along with Kath’s report.”

“Great. I’m on my way in. I need to get a look at the tattoo on the bottom of Schwann’s foot.”

“I’m not even going to ask. See you in a few.”

A short time later, Reed gazed at the computer image of Schwann’s tattoo. The design was a mirror image of the ring’s-grapevines and a snake.

“Want to tell me what you’ve got?” Tanner asked.

“Better than that, I’ll show you.” He handed her the ring.

She studied it, then swore softly. “Where’d you get this?”

“Alex. It was her mother’s. She found it in the same trunk she found Dylan’s pacifier.”

“BOV. What does it stand for?”

“She didn’t know. She thought they might be her father’s initials.” He explained about Max Cragan, how Alex had found him and why.

“What I find interesting is that once again, Alexandra Clarkson’s at the center of trouble.”

“It does seem to be following her.”

“And her reaction this time?”

“Shook up. Very.” He drummed his fingers on the desktop. “The question is, why Tom Schwann and Patsy Sommer would both be in possession of the same, rather unusual image.”

“Coincidence?” she offered. “It’s unusual but not so off the charts it couldn’t happen. This is wine country, and the image reflects that.”

He agreed. “Dylan disappeared in ’85. Schwann would have been seventeen at the time. Alex five.”

“That eliminates the possibility of his being her father.”

“But their families would have traveled in the same circles.” Reed grabbed his jacket and stood. “This just got a bit more interesting. I’m going to pay a visit to Schwann’s wife, see what she knows about the tatt, then maybe a few of his friends.”

After speaking to Jill Schwann, who knew nothing about the tattoo except that it was something he’d done when young and that she’d found it hideous, Reed paid a visit to his brothers.

He made his way into the winery’s offices. “Hey, Eve,” he called to the receptionist. “Either of my brothers in?”

The woman, who had been with the winery since Reed was a toddler, smiled. She used to keep a jar of candy on her desk just for when he, Joe and Ferris came around. Which had been often.

“They’re together. In Joe’s office.”

“Double trouble,” he said. She returned his grin and he headed down the hall, passing his father’s closed office door, stopping at Joe’s.

He heard them arguing. Not a big surprise. This time about the replanting of a vineyard from cabernet grapes to pinot noir.

“You’re so full of shit!” Ferris exclaimed. “The fact is that vineyard produces inferior cab grapes; its northern exposure is perfect for pinots. You know it and I know it.”

“The cost of ripping up and replanting is too great for the return we’ll see. Plus, we’re known for our cabs.”

“Good cabs! Not the blended crap those grapes-”

Reed tapped on the partially open door, then stuck his head in. “Wow, what a touching moment. I ask myself, why didn’t I go into the family business?”

“Kiss my ass, Dan,” Joe said, coming around his desk to greet him. He clapped him on the back. “This is a surprise. How the hell are you?”

Ferris didn’t give him a chance to respond. “Talk some sense into this low-rent, penny-pinching jackass, would ya?”

“Impossible. I’ve tried before.” He hugged his younger brother. “Sorry to interrupt, but I need to ask you a couple of questions about Tom.”

“Fire away,” Joe said, returning to his chair.

“What do you know about the tattoo on Tom’s foot?”

“Tom had a tattoo?” Ferris made a face. “Mr. Conservative?”

“From the old days,” Joe said. “He and Carter got a wild hair one summer. Got matching tatts.”

Reed turned toward Joe. “You know where they had ’em done?”

“Local place, I think. Ask Carter.”

“I will. You know anything else about it?”

“Sorry, Bro.” He folded his hands on the desk. “Why the interest?”

“Following up every lead, that’s all.”

“How’s Alex doing?” Ferris asked. “I heard she found old Max Cragan dead.”

“News travels fast.”

“Small town.”

Ferris shrugged; Joe stepped in. “She’s a little nuts. Like her mother.”

It shouldn’t have, but the comment got Reed’s back up. “How do you figure?”

“You saw her the other night. Hearing voices, screaming. Nuts.”

“Cut her some slack,” Ferris said. “She’d been drinking and got turned around. It happens.”

Joe rolled his eyes. “Not to me.”

“Of course not,” Ferris shot back. “Because you’re perfect.”

“That’s right, little brother. And don’t forget it.”

Reed decided it was time to exit. Middleman in one of his brothers’ arguments was a thankless place to be. Been there, done that. Besides, if he was lucky he could catch Carter before lunch.

He said his goodbyes and left Red Crest, thoughts already on the interview ahead. Carter Townsend had also left the wine industry, though he hadn’t strayed far. He’d earned a law degree, specializing in corporate law, then settled right back here in Sonoma County. Carter represented a number of wineries, including the Reed and Sommer outfits.

Walton, Townsend Johnson & Associates law firm was located in Santa Rosa, not far from the county courthouse. As Reed stepped off the elevator and crossed to the firm’s double glass doors, he decided that Carter must be doing well. Beyond the doors he could see gleaming dark wood and shiny brass fixtures.

He crossed to the reception area and the perky blonde sitting there. In Reed’s experience, every law office was a cookie-cutter version of every other law office. Not in size or furnishings. In atmosphere. Hushed, like a library, with a certain “tiptoe” quality.

Law offices, even when luxuriously outfitted, were not warm, fuzzy places.

“Good morning,” the woman said, smiling. “How can I help you?”

“Is Carter Townsend in?”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“Detective Reed.” He held up his shield. “Is he in?”

She looked startled. “He may have left for… lunch. Let me see.”

He hadn’t. Several moments later, the man crossed the reception area to greet him. “Dan, what the hell? Scared my girl here to death with all that official badge crap.” He shook his hand. “Next time, just tell her Danny Reed needs a moment.”

“I’ll do that.” Reed smiled. “Could we speak in private?”

“Absolutely. Come on.”

He led Reed to his office. Richly decorated. Mahogany desk, leather chairs. Pictures of the wife and kids.

“Nice family, Carter,” Reed said, picking up one of the photos-a family shot complete with his four kids.

“Shelley, that’s my oldest, she’s starting high school this year.”

Reed set down the photo. “That’s crazy. I remember us being that age not that long ago.”

“Seems like a lifetime ago to me. Give yourself another ten years, a wife and four kids. It’ll make you old fast.”

“I had a question about when you and Tom were kids. About those matching tattoos you got.”

“Where’d you hear that?”

“Joe mentioned it.”

He leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head. “That was random. What’s up?”

Instead of answering, Reed asked another question. “Why the vines and snake?”

He blinked. “Pardon?”

“What did the image symbolize? Most people get tattoos that have some special meaning to them.”

Carter shook his head, expression rueful. “I’m sure it meant something at the time. Hell if I remember what.”

He was lying. “How’d you come up with the image?”

Carter frowned. “Tom did. I was just along for the ride.”

“And that’s it?”

“Pretty much. We were young and stupid. Completely loaded that night.”

“How old were you?”

He rubbed his jaw. “Eighteen. Maybe. We had to show our IDs.”

“Anybody else with you?”

He hesitated, then shook his head. “I don’t remember.”

“You don’t remember? You’ll understand why I find that unbelievable?”

Carter stiffened. “I was drunk. It was twenty-some years ago. A lot’s happened since then.”

“Sure,” Reed said easily. “You’re right. I was out of line.”

Carter glanced pointedly at his watch and stood. “I hate to rush you, but I have an appointment.”

“No problem.” Reed followed him to his feet. “Where’s yours?”

Carter looked surprised. “My lunch appointment?”

“Tattoo.”

“I had it removed. Ten or fifteen years ago.”

“Really? Why’s that?”

He looked suddenly irritated. He motioned to the family photo. “I wasn’t like Tom. I had kids; what they and my wife think is important to me.”

Reed held out his hand. “Thanks, Carter. I appreciate your time.”

Carter shook it, then walked with him to his office door. “Can I ask, why the interest in Tom’s tattoo?”

Reed decided to throw him a nugget of information and see how he reacted. “It may be linked to another crime.”

For the space of a heartbeat, the man’s expression went curiously blank. The moment passed, and he morphed once more into the affable family man. “Holy shit, Dan. That’s unbelievable.”

Reed waited a moment, then agreed. “You’re not going to ask?”

“Ask what?”

“What crime Tom’s tattoo might be linked to.”

He laughed, the sound forced. “Of course not. I knew you wouldn’t tell me.”

“Right you are.” Reed smiled. “Thanks again, Carter. I’ll be in touch.”

He started down the hall. Carter stopped him. “Have you talked to Clark? He and Tom were friends back then. Big buddies.”

Interesting, Reed thought moments later, as he climbed into his SUV. For a lawyer, Carter hadn’t been very smooth. He’d done a poor job of hiding his unease. And of lying. Getting a tattoo, a permanent mark on your body, was a significant event. And Carter had forgotten why he’d done it, what the vines and snake had meant and if any other friends had been in on it? Right. Even fall-down drunk that memory stuck.

Reed backed out of his parking spot, then eased out of the lot. Interesting, also, how in an attempt to divert attention from his relationship with Schwann, he’d thrown Clark under the bus.

What did he know that he didn’t want to tell?

No time like the present to find out, he decided, and reached for his cell phone.

Several inquiries later he located Clark at the El Dorado Kitchen. He and Treven were having lunch.

The older man looked up and smiled. “Dan. Good news, I hope.”

“Actually, I don’t have anything on the facial reconstruction yet. I need to have a word with Clark.”

“Have a seat. Wine?”

Reed chose the chair across from Clark. “On duty. Thanks.”

“So, what’s up, buddy?” Clark asked.

“You and Tom were good friends. Am I right?”

“Absolutely. Since we were kids.”

“Then you were aware he had a tattoo?”

“Sure. Adolescent prank. He and Carter. Idiots.”

Leaning back in his chair, Treven laughed. “Carter and Tom got tattoos?”

“Yeah.” Clark shook his head. “I went with them, all fired up to get a tatt. I wasn’t eighteen, so the guy wouldn’t do it. I was so pissed.”

Treven shook his head. “This is the first I’m hearing of all this.”

He glanced at his father, lips lifting in amusement. “Didn’t think you needed to know all my drunken exploits, Dad.”

Treven chuckled. “I suppose I should be grateful. The exploits I did know about are responsible for this hairline.”

“What hairline?” Reed offered.

Clark guffawed. Treven shot his son an irritated glance. “Exactly. Have yourself a couple kids, Reed. Get back to me when they’re teenagers.”

“No, thanks. Why do you think I’m not a parent?”

Clark lifted his glass. “Because you can’t find a woman willing to have your kids.”

“Finding willing women isn’t my problem, Clark.”

This time it was the father who burst out laughing. Unruffled, Clark took another sip of his wine. “So, Reed, why the interest in the follies of my misspent youth?”

“Following a lead, my friend,” Reed murmured, watching Clark intently. He noticed that his hand shook slightly as he set his glass back down.

“An adolescent tattoo is a lead?”

He glanced at Treven and found him frowning slightly as he gazed at his son.

“You never know.” Reed spread his fingers. “Speaking of, what was with the snake and vines?”

“We thought it was hot.”

“We?”

“All of us guys.”

“Who besides you, Tom and Carter?”

“Joe. Terry Bianche.”

Terry Bianche had died a number of years back, an ugly motorcycle wreck. Most folks around the county figured he’d died the way he’d lived: ugly, under the influence and going way too fast.

“My brother Joe?”

“The very one. Also saved by a law-abiding tattoo artist.”

“So, you thought the vines and snake were hot. Who came up with it?”

Clark looked at him blankly.

“It’s an unusual design. Ornate and quite beautiful. I imagine it would translate well into jewelry.”

Something flickered behind Clark’s eyes, Reed saw. Was it fear?

“The beauty was lost on me, man. I was seventeen and thought it was cool.”

“So, you don’t know where it came from?”

“As far as I know, it was one of the tattoo artist’s designs.”

“You never went back for yours? Why?”

“The moment had passed.” Clark smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “We were over it.”

“Thank God. Horrid things.” Treven leaned forward. “Any closer to finding the animal who killed Tom?”

“We’ve got some leads, Treven. That’s all I can say right now.”

“I heard he was robbed,” Clark offered. “I’ll bet it was a field hand. Probably didn’t even speak English.”

Reed stiffened at the slur. “Thanks for your time, guys. Sorry I interrupted your lunch.”

They all stood, shook hands. “Anything we can do to help,” Treven said. “Everybody’s on edge over this thing.”

“Wondering who’s next,” Clark said.

Reed frowned. “Why would anyone assume there’ll be a next?”

Clark looked surprised. “Not assuming, just-”

“Afraid,” Treven offered. “Francine hasn’t slept well since it happened.”

“I understand. And I promise you, we’re doing all we can.”

“We know that. Thank you, Danny.”

After another round of goodbyes, Reed walked away. When he reached the doorway, he glanced back. It looked like the two men were arguing.