Chapter Thirteen
In general, Shawn Spencer did not respond well to authority. When directly ordered to do anything, his first, instinctive response was to do precisely the opposite-which might explain why his career as a waiter didn’t last any longer than its first night.
But there was something in this woman’s voice that made Shawn’s feet move back from the edge of the tank before he had a chance to refuse her command. Looking down, he saw that it had had a similar effect on Gus, who had moved several feet away from the stairs. And the two detectives, who were trained to follow orders, were all but standing at attention.
Shawn took a deep breath and strolled casually down the steps, fighting off his own desire to salute. “United States government, eh?” he said with as much jauntiness as he could muster. “Think I’ve heard of them. Big outfit, works out of a swamp near Virginia?”
The woman stalked toward them, her black eyes never leaving Shawn’s face as she came. As she approached, she seemed to be constructed entirely out of angles and edges. Her body was thin, sharp, and hard; her face a caricaturist’s delight of cheekbones and eyebrows, high and fierce.
“Step away from the stairs, sir,” the woman ordered Shawn, and again he felt his body obeying before his instincts could object.
“This is an official Santa Barbara police investigation,” O’Hara said.
“Not anymore,” the woman snapped. “Now it’s a federal matter.”
Gus noticed an odd look on Lassiter’s face. At first he thought the detective might be about to throw up. But he quickly figured out what it really meant, and the realization made him briefly consider throwing up. Lassiter was attracted to her.
O’Hara clearly didn’t share her partner’s feelings. “Federal government’s a mighty big thing,” she said. “You want to narrow it down a little for us?”
“It’s pretty obvious,” Lassiter whispered to her. “Look at this woman. Everything about her screams Homeland Security.”
“If you mean she’s pushy, arrogant, and probably incompetent, I’m tempted to agree with you,” O’Hara said without lowering her voice. “But I’d still like to know who she is before I walk away from a murder case.”
“Major Holly Voges, U.S. Army, retired,” the woman said.
“You see?” Lassiter said. “She’s military.”
“She’s retired,” O’Hara said.
“Then why is she here?” Lassiter said.
“I know,” Shawn said, jumping lightly down the last few steps. “This place looks just like a Veteran’s Center. She’s looking for a cup of coffee and a game of checkers.”
Major Voges turned the depthless black eyes back in his direction. “I am retired from the military,” she said. “I am here at the explicit direction of the federal department for which I now work.”
“And what division would that be?” O’Hara said. “Or is it so classified it doesn’t even have a name?”
“I bet that’s it,” Lassiter said. “This is one of those off-the-books, black-funding operations, isn’t it?”
“If it were, I certainly could neither confirm nor deny it.”
Lassiter turned excitedly to his partner. “Did you hear that?” he said. “She just neither confirmed nor denied what I said. What does that tell you?”
“That I still haven’t seen any identification,” O’Hara said. “And until I do, she could be one of the stage magicians with a fake name and a clever schtick.”
“It’s not all that clever,” Shawn said.
“I don’t know,” Gus said. “Seems pretty clever to me. Claim you’re from the Federal Bureau of Magic, you’re here to search them, and then you keep pulling rabbits out from everywhere.”
“That’s just a Harry Potter knockoff,” Shawn said. “J. K. Rowling clearly delineated an entire modern government ministry devoted to the dark arts, complete with an investigative division. So what could possibly be new about this gag?”
Two men in dark suits and white earpieces stepped into the room and took positions on either side of the double doors. After a moment, a forklift rumbled in behind them and steered for the stage.
“Well that, for one thing,” Gus said.
“What is that doing in here?” O’Hara said.
“This tank and everything in and around it are being seized under federal statute 99-245-876, section forty-eight, subparagraph nine,” Voges said coolly. “If you attempt to stop my men, you will be subject to prosecution.”
O’Hara positioned herself between the tank and the forklift. “Not until I see some identification.”
Major Voges reached into her purse. Gus half expected her to come out with a bazooka. Instead, she produced a slim black wallet. She flipped it open and handed it over.
O’Hara stared at the ID in disbelief. “Federal Communications Commission?”
“That’s what the badge says,” Voges said calmly. “Specifically the Office of Engineering and Technology, Equipment Authorization Branch.”
“What possible jurisdiction does the FCC have in a murder case?” O’Hara demanded.
“Absolutely none at all.” Voges’ eyes never strayed from O’Hara’s face.
“Let me rephrase that,” O’Hara said with a calm that Gus knew cloaked anger rising toward rage. “What authority does the FCC have to preempt any local law enforcement activity that does not directly relate to issues of communications?”
“Again,” Voges said, “absolutely none at all.”
“Then maybe you could give me one good reason why I shouldn’t impound your forklift and throw all four of you in jail for obstructing justice.”
“No,” Voges said. “I can’t do that.”
O’Hara glanced back at her partner to see if he was going to step in. But Lassiter was staring at the major in unabashed awe. “Detective Lassiter,” she hissed, “we have a situation here.”
“We do,” Lassiter said. “And that’s why we should back off and let the major do what she needs.”
O’Hara pulled her partner off to one side and whispered furiously at him. “This woman has no jurisdiction here. She’s some low-level functionary in a bureaucratic division that has nothing to do with any crime more serious than stealing cable signals. How can you possibly suggest that we back off?”
“For exactly that reason,” Lassiter said.
“For exactly what reason?”
Lassiter held up one finger to suggest she watch and learn, then stepped back to the major. “Explain one thing to my partner, please,” he said. “Why exactly would a bureaucrat from the Federal Communications Commission be involved in a murder investigation?”
“There is absolutely no reason,” Voges snapped.
O’Hara let out a sigh that could be heard in Bakers-field. Lassiter shot her a look, then continued. “So if an operative from the FCC were to appear at a crime scene in California with three agents at her side and order the local police to stand down, would it be a logical assumption that her job title is actually cover for a different government position? Something that could not be discussed in the open without jeopardizing national security?”
“You might suggest that,” Voges said. “I couldn’t possibly comment.”
Lassiter cast a quick look back to make sure O’Hara was following him. She seemed to be, but she clearly wasn’t happy about it.
“We won’t ask you to,” Lassiter said. “But I hope you understand that without some clarification of the issues involved here, we can’t simply walk away from our own investigation. You need to meet us halfway.”
Voges looked him over with all the enthusiasm of someone who’d just discovered that the stray cat she was petting had a wide white stripe down its back. Then she snapped her finger and waved at the agent driving the forklift. It lurched into gear and headed straight for the tank.
Before the prongs could touch steel, O’Hara leapt across the room and positioned herself directly in front of the tank. There was no way to pick it up without crushing her.
“I advise you to move, Detective,” Major Voges hissed.