A dozen frustrated and angry deputies crowded in and around the door of what used to be Ike Schwartz’s office—well, technically, still was. Frank Sutherlin held up his hand in a feeble attempt to quiet them down. Billy, his younger brother, stood in one corner, his wife, Essie, in the other. Where Billy’s face was beet red, Essie’s showed the ravages of three days of steady weeping.
“We have been shoved aside like they think we don’t know what we’re doing, or something,” Billy said.
“That’s because they don’t think we do. They think all rural cops are some version of Buford T. Justice.” This came from a recent recruit fresh from the Police Academy, shiny bright and togged in a too-new khaki uniform, and filled with the confidence that only the young and inexperienced possess. Frank was startled that he knew who Buford T. Justice was. A late night Jackie Gleason movie marathon?
“One of the guys from the State Police said we were the junior varsity and it was time for the first string to step in.”
“Okay, okay,” Frank said. “We all know how the suits from the big city view us. Nothing new there. So what? We still have a job to do and no matter what they may believe to the contrary, this bombing took place in our jurisdiction. The FBI, the state, and the rest of them from wherever they came from, can swagger around all they want, but in the end, it’s ours. Look, instead of bitching and moaning about them, why don’t you all tell me what you’ve got so far?”
The room fell into silence.
“Nothing?’
“The Feds took all the surveillance tape from the store across from the restaurant where Ike was eating, so we don’t have any idea when Ike came or left. Same with the shots of the explosion. Nothing there. No, wait, I think I heard one of them say there were two cars at the store that left about the same time.”
Frank shook his head. “That’s it? No report from the ME? We’re sure the body was Ike?”
“He says the dental records are a match. That’s one piece. Frank, it don’t look good.”
“I know, I know, it was wishful thinking maybe, but the fact remained that until we had positive ID, the death was still booked as possible. I guess we have it now.”
Essie grabbed her box of Kleenex and bolted from the office.
“There has got to be something we can do.” Charlie Picket said.
“There is,” Frank said. “Colonel Scarlet from the State Police told me that it was his understanding Ike was meeting with a guy named Holloway. Holloway works for the state undercover as a NARC and he was supposed to be bringing Ike up to speed on the traffic through the area.”
“So?”
“So, Holloway is missing, too.”
“If he’s undercover, he would be, wouldn’t he?”
“Yes, except this explosion is all over the news. So, why hasn’t he called in by now?”
“Maybe he thinks the hit was drug-related and then he might be dead, too. That way, he’s laying low until he can get a line on who put out the hit.”
“It’s possible. Since the FBI and their buddies have shut us out of the investigation, I think we need to go looking for Mr. Holloway. He had to have seen something, noticed someone.”
“Great. How, Frank? He’s undercover, remember. He won’t be easy to find. Hell, he won’t want to be found.”
“I don’t give a shit what he wants, Billy. I want him. He has a car. The car has a tag. We put out a BOLO and look for it. Wait. Just to make sure the Feds don’t scotch our attempt to get involved here as well, make the BOLO for…a Deadbeat Dad. They won’t even notice. Damn, I wish we had Sam back. She could scour the Internet or whatever for us…at least keep tabs on what everybody else is doing.”
Billy looked at Frank as if seeing him for the first time. “Damn, you’re right. Frank. You know that the Bureau figured that since Karl was so familiar with the town and all, they made him Agent in Place for this investigation. How about, because Sam is his wife and all, maybe we ask if she could drop in like for a visit or something and we could put her on all that computer stuff she assembled and then left behind when she got herself sent to Washington back then?”
“Karl Hedrick is a friend, but he is still FBI. We can’t expect him to compromise his position that way.”
“Well, why the hell not? We got us a frickin’ tragedy here and they are…sorry, they were…both really close to Ike. Why wouldn’t he jump in? It’s not like he would be working for us, just Sam. Come on, Frank. We’ve been dropped into the equivalent of a ten-foot pothole here. We need to climb out. Screw the Feds.”
Frank cocked one eyebrow and smiled. “Right. Why the hell not? I’ll make the call.”
***
Samantha Hedrick heard the news late in the morning. Now, dressed in yoga pants and a bright red hoodie with USMC emblazoned on it, she was on the road headed southwest. She’d driven not quite an hour when Frank’s call came through. She took it on her cell phone just as she reached junction of I-66 and I-81.
“I’m way ahead of you, Frank. I already called your mother and she is expecting me. Karl has to be officially out of the loop on this one and the party line is that I am taking some personal leave time. There may be some flack headed your way and you can bet some close scrutiny of any Internet activity emanating from your office, but I’m on my way.”
“Will there be trouble when they find out you’re attacking their databases?”
“Well, if I know one thing, I know how to keep them from noticing. Hey, I work for NSA, remember? We do this stuff all the time.”
“That part I really don’t want to know. Just get here ASAP. We’re being stonewalled big-time.”
“Give me a couple of hours and time to get the kid settled with your mom, and I’m on it.”
Sam tapped off and stared through the windshield, aware of the traffic and her place in it, but otherwise a thousand miles away. Her mind raced through protocols she would need to establish, the cloaking she would need to do to keep other agencies in the dark, and the excitement of using the skills honed at NSA to go after some local bottom-feeder without needing an order from a supervisor or a warrant from a judge. Except for the horror of losing the nicest man she knew, her husband excepted, this was going to be the best vacation ever.
***
“She’s on her way,” Frank announced. “Now, the rest of you hit the road. I need the witnesses at the restaurant re-interviewed. I don’t trust the reports from the FBI. I want you, Billy and Charlie, to plot the distance to the explosion and then figure where else it might have happened, like, if Ike had headed straight home. Also, get us fresh pictures of the site where the thing went off and the restaurant parking lot. Tire tracks, anything and everything.”
“On it. Anything else?”
“If I were the Feds, I would have put out a BOLO and alert at exit ports within a couple of hours from here in case the bomber decided to skip the country. Check around and see if they picked anybody up in the last day or so.”
Bill clapped his hat on. “Okay, it’s a start. Let’s see if we can out-maneuver these candy-assed big shots from DC.”