Play To Kill

    She gifted him with her rarest of expressions - a tiny, one-sided smile. 'You're going to like Agent Smith. He reminds me a lot of you. Now, can I have the disks? We need to get started. Food's still warm in the kitchen if you want to load a plate to bring upstairs.'

    Gino did a drill turn toward the kitchen, but Magozzi stopped him.

    'Maybe later. We'll meet with Smith first.'

    Charlie was waiting for them at the top of the stairs, floppy ears trying to stand erect, stubby tail trying to make a breeze. He went for Gino first, as he always did, standing on his hind legs so his tongue could reach the man's face. 'This dog really loves me.'

    Grace grunted. 'That dog assumes you always have food on your face.'

    Roadrunner covered the fifty feet from his workstation to the doorway in about ten strides. 'You got my films, guys?'

    Magozzi and Gino just stared at him, speechless for a moment.

    'Jesus, Roadrunner,' Gino finally managed to eke out. You're wearing jeans.'

    The tall man's Adam's apple bobbed in embarrassment.

    'Leave him alone,' Harley bellowed across the room. 'I've been trying to get him in real clothes for years and I don't want you messing it up. Damn Lycra's so hot we had to keep the air on arctic for him to survive up here while the rest of us got frostbite.'

    'Oh.' But Gino couldn't stop staring.

    'You know what, Roadrunner?' Magozzi said. 'That's a really good look for you. Kind of Gary Cooper. Long, tall cowboy.'

    'Yeah?'

    Yeah. Here are the films you asked for.'

    'Oh, gee, thanks, this is going to get things rolling' The long, tall cowboy hurried back to his desk, smiling.

    Harley gave Magozzi a thumbs-up from across the room, then tipped his black beard toward the table in the far corner by the window. John Smith was sitting alone, tapping away on a laptop. 'Hey, Smith. Meet Minneapolis's finest. Leo Magozzi and Gino Rolseth.'

    Smith stopped typing and stood up, and the three men took each other's measure in an instant. Grace looked on in obvious bemusement. Men always measured themselves against each other, which wasn't all that different from women, except that men did it so damn fast. There was an instant of locked eyes that apparently revealed everything they needed to know about each other. Women spent a lot longer with preliminary social chatter, while their real attention was focused on what Magozzi had told her was the superficial.

    Women look at clothes and makeup and weight and all sorts of silly shit…

What women do that?

Women who aren't you, Grace. They're loo king for flaws. But men look for weaknesses first. Kind of an enemy assessment.

Grace had smiled at him. They're both kind of an enemy assessment, aren't they?

    'Good morning, Detective Magozzi, Detective Rolseth. I'm Special Agent John Smith. I'm afraid we haven't had much success tracing the posted film of your homicide…'

    'Grace told us.'

    '… and I understand from your Chief that MPD is also hitting a dead end on the local investigation.'

    Gino pulled out a chair and sat down. 'Great. Now we've established that we're all big fat failures.'

    'I certainly didn't mean to imply-'

    Yeah, yeah, sorry. I'm operating on really low voltage this morning. But you gotta remember, our investigation just got started late last night. Up until then, our homicide was ruled an accident, so don't count out the MPD just yet.'

    'On the contrary. We're counting on MPD. Toward that end, the Bureau would like to offer any assistance you might require. If you need help on the ground in evidence collection, canvassing, forensics, or suspect interviews, Special Agent in Charge Paul Shafer has committed to provide the manpower…'

    'Thanks, but we've got it covered,' Magozzi interrupted, still standing, taking the high ground. 'We put twenty more officers on site early this morning, blanketing the area between the club our vie left and where he ended up in the river. Any more would be overkill.'

    'Still, some extra eyes and hands might be helpful.'

    Magozzi finally sat across from Smith and leaned forward, eye to eye. 'Straight up, Smith. I don't feel like dancing this morning. Washington wants the case, right?'

    Smith looked right back at him. 'That was the initial recommendation.'

    'You have absolutely no jurisdiction here.' Magozzi always spoke very slowly, very softly just before he started to bellow. Gino closed his eyes and waited. Wishful thinking is about the only thing you've got connecting our case to your five. There is no way our Chief will voluntarily sign off on passing the ball to the Feds.'

    'I'm sure you're right, but- '

    'This is MPD's case, and we don't need a parade of suits stomping all over our scene or interviewing potential witnesses or suspects. We've been down that road before, and when you start dividing tasks and information between agencies, a lot of it tends to get lost. Is it like that in D.C., or is Paul Shafer the only asshole in the organization?'

    Smith leaned back in his chair. 'Lord, no, he's not the only one.'

    Gino snickered.

    'And remember, I said that was the initial recommendation. I talked them out of it, at least for now. Just keep me in the loop, and I'll do the same from my end. That's all I ask.'

    Damn, Magozzi hated it when people did this to him. You get all prepped for battle and then the jerk you're ready to stab through the heart lays down his sword. 'Fair enough,' he grumbled.

    'I got something here,' Harley hollered from across the room, and everybody gathered around his computer. He pointed to some lines of text on a monitor bigger than Gino's TV. 'Check this out. It's an encrypted post I hacked from one of your hot sites, Smith. It says, "City of Lakes. Bride in the water. Or would that be a groom? Near beer." Whatever that means.'

    'The film showed the old Grain Belt sign across the river,' Magozzi said.

    'Then that's gotta be your case, guys.'

    Magozzi shrugged. 'Sure. But this thing is all over the news, which means it's all over the Web.'

    'I know. But you said your guy drowned two nights ago, right?' 'Right.'

    'Well, this thing was posted the day before the murder.'

    The absence of sound in the room was profound, like a vacuum had sucked the air out of it. 'Are you sure?' Magozzi finally asked.

    'Positive. This sick bastard was pre-advertising and then he posted his trophy film to prove he did it.'

Chapter Twelve

    Magozzi looked at the sign on the door that read CHELSEA THOMAS and his mouth turned down. Who named their kid Chelsea? And if you got saddled with a moniker like that, you ought to grow up to be an exotic dancer instead of an FBI profiler. This was going to suck, big time.

    Ten minutes later he was in a private office that looked like every other FBI office he'd been in. Desk, chair, bookcase, Venetian blinds. Robot land.

    And, oh Lord, was she ever a Fed, through and through. Came in from a side room in a shapeless blue suit and one of those pasted smiles that flashed on and off so fast you could never be sure you'd seen it at all. She had real blond hair pulled back in a bun, apologizing for its brightness, the fair skin and blue eyes that went with it.

    'Detective Magozzi.' She held out her hand for a cursory shake, then sat behind her desk and opened a thin file folder centered on the blotter. 'Thank you very much for agreeing to see me.'

    'Agent Smith asked nicely.'