He and Joe had been friends for more years than either could remember, which had made Tim's the first name Joe considered when Sam revealed the possible source of the Taser cartridge.
The PD's home was a thirty-thousand-square-foot converted factory building dating back to the twenties, half of which had once subsequently housed an auto dealership. It was also the largest, most up-to-date station house in the state, located a few hundred feet from Lake Champlain and bordering a city park-a testament to the hustle and political savvy of those who had preceded Tim Giordi as chief.
Giordi came out personally to collect Joe in the reception area, shaking his hand and patting his back as if he were a long-lost uncle returning from the wilderness.
"Damn, Joe-the field force commander of the Vermont Bureau of Investigation," he glowed. "That is truly the big time."
Joe laughed, looking around him as they proceeded toward the back of the building. It was a white-walled maze of hallways, many of them without ceilings, since most of the partitions ended shy of the industrially trussed roof, allowing for a crisscrossing of exposed piping and electrical conduits high overhead. Joe felt slightly like a rat in a box, wondering when a huge pair of fingers might appear from just out of sight to pluck him from its midst.
"I don't know about that," he told his guide. "I bet you have three times my budget and manpower, not to mention the autonomy to play all alone in your own backyard."
Giordi aimed him through an outer office staffed with intense-looking people studying computer screens, and into a large room with curiously small windows overlooking the water below.
"Oh-oh," Tim said. "Do I sense a little chafing with political realities?"
Joe shrugged. "Not really. We have to play nice and give credit to the locals, including the state police, but that's only what we wish the feds would do when they come poaching, so I really can't complain. And it's a hell of a lot better than when we were brand-new, out of the box. Talk about cold shoulder."
Tim waved him to a chair near his large desk and sat in one like it nearby. "More than half your people came from the state police, didn't they?"
Joe nodded. "That helps a lot." He added with a smile, "Come to think of it, we got a couple of your guys, didn't we?"
"Yeah, you bastard. I meant to mail you a grenade for that. You want some coffee, by the way?"
Joe shook his head. "Not after that, I don't."
"What can I do for you, then?" Tim asked, getting down to business.
Joe pulled a scrap of paper from his pocket and handed it over. Tim recognized its contents immediately.
"I take it there's a punchline?"
"Stamped on a Taser tag. It-and only it-was under the motel room bed of a guy we found dead elsewhere, stripped of all identification."
Tim looked up at him. "The floater on that BOL you sent out a while back? No shit. I circulated his picture at every one of our shift briefings. Got nothing, of course. And you only found the one tag? You know there are supposed to be up to forty of these things in each cartridge."
"Meaning, whoever used it tried their best to clean up," Joe agreed. "It got one of my guys wondering if maybe a cop was involved."
Frowning, Tim considered the scrap of paper a moment longer before placing it on his knee and stating, "I bet you're going to say you traced this serial number to us, right?"
"You have a cartridge go missing?" Joe asked.
But Giordi shook his head. "Not that I heard. Of course, I might not've been told, either." He got up, reached for the phone on his desk, pushed the intercom button, and asked the voice on the other end to join them. His demeanor had lost its earlier joviality.
An older woman appeared at the door thirty seconds later. "Chief?"
"Kathy, did we have a Taser cartridge disappear anytime recently?"
The woman glanced quickly at Joe, whom she didn't know, and immediately fell into professional mode. "I don't know, Chief. I'll get hold of Matt and have him report to you directly."
Giordi nodded. "Thanks. Right away."
She disappeared as Tim turned to Joe. "The shit just hit the fan there. We run pretty close herd on that kind of equipment, for obvious reasons, and Matt Aho, being the supply officer, is the go-to guy. If I were Kathy, I'd be telling him to put on a flak jacket right now."
But he was smiling as he said it, lessening Joe's apprehension about what might happen next.
A minute later, a concerned-looking young man showed up, a three-ring binder in hand.
"Something missing, Chief?" he asked.
Joe and Giordi got up as the latter made the introductions. "Matt Aho, this is Special Agent Joe Gunther of the VBI." Tim handed over Joe's note before continuing, "This belongs to a Taser tag. His people found it at a crime scene down south-a homicide. Apparently, it belongs to us."
Aho crossed over to a side table and laid his binder open. He began flipping through pages of equipment log entries. Finally, he stopped and ran his finger down the length of one particular sheet.
"Got it," he announced at last, his voice tense.
Both men leaned forward to see the line just above his index.
Aho explained. "Last month, three cartridges were issued to Brian Palmiter. He was on airport security then." Aho glanced at Joe. "Yours was one of them."
"Did he ever report it missing?" Tim asked.
"Not that I heard," Aho answered cautiously. "He sure hasn't asked for any more, which implies he didn't use them up."
"You said he was on airport detail then," said Joe. "Is he still?"
"I think he rotated off," Aho answered.
Tim crossed back to his phone and dialed a number. "Locate Brian Palmiter and have him report to my office right away."
He listened for a moment before responding, "Great. That's perfect."
He hung up and looked over at Joe. "Got lucky. He's in the building."
Giordi walked back to Aho. "That's it for the moment, Matt. Leave the log behind. I'll make sure it gets back to you ASAP."
Aho nodded to Joe and took his leave without further comment. In the next few minutes, Joe could imagine the air thickening with the murmurings spreading from just outside Tim Giordi's office door. He was all too familiar with how police departments were hotbeds of gossip, rumor, and randomly circulating tidbits. Long after this little mystery was resolved, people would be discussing what "really" happened, notwithstanding the chief's official explanation-and that would be only if the conclusion was wholly innocent. God forbid if something untoward had actually occurred.
There was a knock on the open door, and a tall, angular man stood awkwardly on the threshold.
"You called for me, Chief?" he asked warily.
He was young, obviously not long on the force, and still looking slightly out of place in his uniform. Giordi brought him over to the table with the open binder. He gestured toward Joe as he did so, and repeated the introduction he'd made earlier to Matt Aho.
Not surprisingly, this only increased the concern plainly stamped on the officer's face.
"What Agent Gunther is trying to find out," Giordi explained, seeking the exact line on the opened page, "is the whereabouts of a Taser cartridge our records say was issued to you."
Giordi tapped on the entry with his fingertip. Palmiter bent at the waist hesitantly, as if expecting the entire binder to come leaping for his throat.
"Yes, sir," he said without meaning or understanding.
Giordi looked at him quizzically. "So, have you used or lost a Taser cartridge?"
Palmiter straightened, stung by the suggestion. "No, sir. I've never even fired one except in training."
His boss studied Palmiter's duty belt. "How many cartridges do you carry?"
"Two. I'm supposed to have three-one in place and two backups-but they only issued me two."