They got right to the point.
The man from the U.S. Attorney’s office stood up and looked around. ‘‘I understand that this case has been handled by Deputy Houseman and Agent Gorse. Would you please stand up?’’ We did, and although Hester was clear across the room with her boss, I got the impression she was as uncomfortable as I was about this. We sat immediately.
‘‘We believe this case may possibly have international implications,’’ said the Deputy U.S. Attorney. ‘‘For that reason, much of it comes under the jurisdiction of the DEA and the FBI.’’
Now, that was bad news. Both agencies having jurisdiction, I mean. DEA and FBI had been competing for the spotlight and the money from the Federal Drug Czar’s office for years. Competition in an investigation wasn’t a good idea, and I began to get a bit more leery of the whole task force business. Somebody up the line was going to bump the locals right out of business. At least, they would as soon as a good suspect turned up. The good suspect was, by the way, identified by locals in well over 50 percent of the cases.
‘‘We are forming this task force,’’ he continued, ‘‘for the purpose of bringing the considerable resources of our agencies to bear on the problem. We feel that these officers were killed because they got too close to the operations of a cartel in South America.’’
It was too bad that nobody had told him that ‘‘two officers’’ weren’t killed, but that one of the dead just happened to be a miserable little doper instead. Not that it probably mattered. I should have seen this coming from the sinsemilla marijuana, though. That was sure to have been read as a sign of possible organized involvement. But foreign? The problem was, any foreign concern would be crazy to raise it here in Iowa. Risk the growth stage? Hell, even a bunch of dummies like us could find it here. We just had, after all. It would be a hell of a lot easier to ship it in. Sinsemilla was what I’d raise to compete with foreign imports.
‘‘Special Agent in Charge Volont will be the officer in charge of the task force.’’
Volont stood up and walked to the center of the room. He was fit, well-groomed, and had a very intelligent look in his eye. You could see a lot of energy burning behind those eyes. He somehow struck me as being more than just a cut above the rest of the officers in the room. A bureaucratic aristocrat, so to speak. They’d handed this one to a top agent. It would take somebody like that to get to the bottom of a complex, foreign-involved, murderous, narcotics-oriented case. I knew it sure as hell would be beyond me.
‘‘Those of you who’ve been working this case until now have done an excellent job.’’ That helped. ‘‘I’d appreciate it, Agent Gorse and Deputy Houseman, if you would continue your work just the way you have been going about it.’’ That helped a lot more. ‘‘All I ask is that, if you get into an area where you think there might be foreign involvement, you report it immediately.’’
This was good. No problems yet.
‘‘I want to meet every few days, to share information.’’ He paused. ‘‘To share what information I can. There will be things we at my end cannot share with you. I’m sure you understand that, but I want to repeat it, and apologize for that at the same time. I certainly mean no professional disrespect to you or your organizations.’’
Now, I knew that that was mostly for the benefit of the DCI, as a state agency, and all that. But what he was doing was laying the groundwork for his cutting us off from important information as soon as he had some. He only said the other stuff to get his point across and keep the task force functioning from the beginning. Well, he had to, didn’t he? As it turned out, I was almost right on that one.
He looked right at me. ‘‘Questions?’’
‘‘Yeah,’’ I said. ‘‘I’d like to discuss the rules of engagement, as it were, with you, maybe after the meeting. We may have something already, and I want to know where I have to relinquish my investigation.’’
‘‘You don’t have to relinquish it.’’ That was good, but he was talking down to me just a bit. ‘‘But I’d be glad to find out what the involvement might be. Go ahead with your information.’’
‘‘Okay. All the 7.62 mm casings were of Warsaw Pact manufacture.’’
‘‘What percentage of the casings were 7.62 mm?’’
‘‘About sixty percent.’’
‘‘Excellent. We’ll get you more information about that very quickly.’’
He turned to the group. ‘‘That’s what I want.’’
I glanced at Hester. Deadpan. She knew I’d said that just to see if he’d had access to our reports yet. She also knew that he’d fielded it in such a way that I didn’t know. He was good.
I raised my hand, again.
‘‘Yes?’’
‘‘One more… Why would homegrown marijuana lead you into foreign involvement?… Just curious.’’
He grinned. ‘‘Better to grow it here than to risk the seizure as it comes across the border.’’
Well, that sure wasn’t what I’d heard, but what the hell. ‘‘Thanks.’’
‘‘And,’’ he said, in a condescending sort of way, ‘‘there was also some physical evidence at the scene that indicated that.’’
Whoa, Nelly. Two things flashed into my head: (A) He’d just divulged that he had access to our evidence. (B) I wasn’t aware of anything like that sort of evidence, so if it was there, it had been withheld or covered up. The explanation was, unfortunately, forthcoming.
He reached down behind his little table and pulled up a wad of green rubberized cloth, with a State of Iowa evidence tag stuck on it.
‘‘This is very similar to the gear worn by members of a certain cartel we’ve been working in this country.’’ He paused for effect. ‘‘It was recovered at the crime scene. No label. No means of identification.’’
With a lead feeling in my stomach, I raised my hand again.
‘‘Yes?’’ Just a hint of irritation this time.
‘‘Could you spread that out for a second?’’
‘‘Pardon?’’
‘‘Like you were going to hang it on a hanger…’’
He did. It was.
‘‘Uh,’’ I said, ‘‘uh, that’s mine. My rain jacket.’’ He just stared at me. ‘‘It has a tear in the right elbow… and I tore the label off because it irritated my neck…’’
He looked. It did. Total silence.
‘‘I, uh, tossed it aside that day, when I got to the scene, because it was too hot. I guess I forgot about it.’’ It was a very bad moment. I’d embarrassed myself, of course. I’d done that often enough to handle it fairly well. No problem. But I’d just embarrassed this Volont fellow in front of his peers. That could prove fatal.
The meeting continued for about thirty minutes, with DEA telling us how hard they were going to work. I’d expected that, as they just hate it when a cop gets killed, just like we all do. But they double hate it when he’s killed working narcotics. That’s their bailiwick, and they don’t let anybody screw with that.
When the meeting broke up, I realized I’d had no rolls. I was working my way toward the food table when I saw Al and Hester going up the stairs. I’d call her later. I imagined she was a little leery about this business too, but that she’d had no real choice in the matter either. I knew that we both realized we would need the Feds.
Much to my surprise, Volont flagged me down just as I got to the doughnuts.
‘‘Carl, isn’t it?’’ he asked, extending his hand. We shook.
‘‘Carl it is.’’
‘‘I’m Steve.’’
‘‘Okay, Steve.’’
‘‘You’re probably not too comfortable about this.’’
‘‘Well, you’re right about that.’’
‘‘I’ll tell you the truth… if we find an international suspect who’s behind all this, you’ll probably never hear about it. You know that, don’t you?’’
‘‘Yes.’’ I grabbed a doughnut.
‘‘But the good news is, if we do, I’m just about certain that whoever did the shooting was not foreign. They wouldn’t do that. They use local talent. They pass so much more easily than, oh, South American nationals, for example. Less attention. So you’ll probably get your perp, even if they’re foreign-paid.’’