Joe still didn't speak up. He could have ridden Tom's coat tails, saying much the same thing, but he was curious that McCall had used the VBI's presence to avoid explaining his own agency's role here-or why he was the one running this meeting. Technically, the task force's charter was much like VBI's. They ran their own investigations, but a certain diplomacy was expected when on someone else's turf. Like now. Joe sensed that privately, Rick McCall felt he was standing on thin ice.
In the awkward pause following Tom's comments and Joe's silence, that issue obviously remained to be addressed.
"That's great," McCall began, caught off guard. "Always good to hear. I guess that brings up a chain-of-command question we should probably kick around a little. In the past,without this kind of political pressure, we've always worked the Rutland drug cases through the PD, either by acting as backup or by letting them know we were operating in their backyard."
Gunther glanced at Peter Bullis, expecting and getting the slight grimace he saw. It was no secret that while the task force probably intended to be as clear-cut in its arrangements as McCall had just described, the truth was often a bit more tangled. More than once, Joe knew, Bullis had felt muscled out of the way either by the task force's greater brawn or through the overly aggressive personalities of some of its members. It had never developed into any large bone of contention, but it allowed Gunther the comfort of not being seen as the only outsider, which was exactly what he'd been hoping for.
"In this situation, though," McCall was saying, "since our marching orders come straight from Montpelier, I had to meet with your chief earlier"-he focused on the Rutland City cops-"to figure out how best to proceed. It was his feeling-on paper only, of course-that the Southern Vermont Drug Task Force take the lead on the drug investigation, leaving the homicides to the detective squad and relying on you and your partner, Pete, to help us out with any local contacts and information that might come in handy."
McCall didn't give Bullis time to react before adding, "But I did say 'on paper,' meaning that, in fact, I'm hoping we'll just basically work as an integrated unit."
"I don't mind you taking the hot seat, Rick," Bullis said with a small smile, riding the current Joe's silence had put into motion. "My unit was designed to get rid of drugs in Rutland City only. We don't have the time or money to run a big operation. You've got half the state to cover, so you're used to this. I'm a happy camper the way things are."
Faced with Joe's stubborn unwillingness to explain VBI's role, McCall was forced to reveal his own view instead.
"So, last but not least," he therefore dutifully resumed, "we also have the help of the VBI, who will be bringing in more money, people, and resources than we usually have, which'll be a big help once the heat builds up." McCall finally laughed and shook his head at this point, caving in and candidly admitting, "I got to be honest, though. I know it's part of my job to make sure everybody's happy and nobody's toes are being flattened, but, Joe, when I heard you guys were being thrown into the mix, I had a hard time figuring out why." He held a finger up for emphasis. "Until I got a call from Dick Allen. He was pretty clear we'd only benefit from your involvement, which was really good to hear."
Joe gave him a big smile, happy they'd finally stopped dancing around the issue. "I appreciate that, Rick, and like Tom"-he nodded toward the sheriff's investigator-"I want to stress that we're here entirely as a support group. I don't know what the grapevine might have told you, but Governor Reynolds first had it in his head that VBI was going to do this all on its own, since he sees us as his private caped crusaders. But we put the kibosh on that. It's not who we are or how we function.
"However," he added, shifting slightly in his seat, "we did think we might be able to do more than just supply cash and troops, so one of my people went down to Holyoke to sniff around a little, having heard there might've been changes in how the strings were being pulled up here. Is that true, Pete?"
"Yeah," Bullis admitted. "Could be this double homicide ties into it, too, but we're not sure yet. We've only been able to grill the locals, and they've only told us that something's going on in Holyoke. But it's still really vague." Bullis indicated the room with a sweep of his hand. "One of the problems we all have, being stretched so thin, is that we can only look after our own backyards. Plus, there's not much intel that crosses the border. Some, but not a lot, and it can be pretty dated."
McCall nodded silently in agreement.
"The name Johnny Rivera ever come up?" Gunther asked.
"The name Johnny has. One of the runners we pinched last week talked about somebody named Johnny as if he might be a player, but we weren't sure what to make of it."
"I've heard the name," McCall said. "He's a street dealer down there, I think. One of Torres's crew, maybe?"
"Was," Gunther corrected him, having spent two hours that morning debriefing Sam. "Johnny Rivera decided to move up, but instead of starting a turf war, he just grabbed Torres's piece of the Holyoke, Brattleboro, Rutland corridor, or at least is in the process. Nobody's happy with his screwing up the status quo-in fact, he lives in an apartment with armored windows-but for the moment at least, Vermont's his shot at the big time."
"That's some sniffing around," McCall commented. "How'd you get that?"
Gunther smiled ruefully, careful of how he played this. "New informant we dug up."
McCall gave him a sharp look and then made a show of checking his watch. "Well, we can always stand for a new one of those. I'm really sorry, but I've got to make a phone call in a couple of minutes. I couldn't get out of it, but it won't take long. Be all right if we took a ten-minute break?"
They all stood and either stretched or made for the bathroom or the coffee machine outside. McCall made a discreet gesture to Joe to follow him into an office down the hall, unnoticed by the others.
"Nice piece of swordplay in there. You are a crafty old bastard."
Gunther patted him on the shoulder. "Just keeping you honest."
McCall laughed. "That'll be the day. So what the hell're you pulling now-outsider to outsider? No way I'm swallowing the 'new informant' bit. You got something cooking."
Joe nodded his concession. "One of my people went a little over-the-top when it looked like we'd be brought into this case. I didn't sanction it-said we should take more time to set it up-but as things've turned out, I think we now have someone on the inside."
"We're not talking just an informant, are we?" McCall stated, his surprise evident.
Gunther shook his head. "A cop-undercover, working for Rivera."
McCall's shock was understandable. Popular fiction notwithstanding, running an undercover was a rare, risky, stressful undertaking, and not one that most Vermont law enforcement agencies had tried in decades. It was common to use an officer to make a buy, and not unheard-of to have one act as a bad guy over a period of days from time to time, as in pretending to be a fence for stolen goods. But as Sam and Joe had constructed it early this morning, largely on Sam's insistence that she be allowed to run it on her terms, this was a deep-undercover assignment-she was to commit herself to the role of Greta Novak for however long it took to nail Rivera and his operation.
"Full-time?" McCall persisted.
Gunther nodded. "It's Sammie Martens, which I'd like to restrict to you, me, Peter Bullis, and the Rutland chief and deputy chief, if that's all right."
"You bet," McCall said without hesitation. "Loose lips we can live without." He shook his head. "Christ. I can't believe you set this up so fast. It's amazing. How far along is Rivera to replacing Torres?"