“The chief will be with you in a few minutes,” Sergeant Sheppard said, closing the heavy oak door, leaving Nicoletti alone.
The office was on the second floor of an old stone building. Large trees waved their leaves at the double-hung windows and obscured the view of the street. Nicoletti looked around the office.
On the desk was a photo of a buxom blonde who Nicoletti recognized as Jenny Garland. She looked heavier in the photo than she had on Saturday night. In fact, Nicoletti thought, the passing years had been very kind to her.
A second photograph showed Jenny and Peter Garland with their arms around three young boys. They were posed holding a string of cutthroat trout at the rocky edge of a river. Nice family. Jenny and Pete looked younger, happier.
He looked around the room. His attention was drawn to the plaques on the wall behind Garland’s desk. In the center was a diploma from Montana State University. Garland had earned a bachelor of science, and Nicoletti noted it was conferred on the graduate just last year. To the right and left of the diploma were various awards and framed certificates of training. Just right of center was the FBI’s National Academy logo. Nicoletti had seen dozens of them prominently displayed behind the desks of high-ranking police managers and chiefs. Garland has a future, Nicoletti thought. The door behind him opened.
“Mr. Nicoletti. Thank you for coming on such short notice,” Chief Garland said. “Please, sit down. Sorry to keep you waiting, but we’ve been busy around here today.”
“No problem.” Nicoletti eased into a wooden office chair in front of the desk.
“I’m sorry to have brought you here so abruptly, but I wanted to see you before you left the area.” Garland sat behind the desk.
“No problem,” Nicoletti said again, thinking to himself, Two times “sorry” means you’re not, and two times “no problem” means there is.
“There are a few things I’d like to discuss with you.” Garland shuffled the files on his desk as if he couldn’t remember the things to discuss without referencing them. “Can I offer you something to drink? Coffee?”
Nicoletti declined.
“It’s not often an investigator of your international reputation finds his way to our part of the world.” Garland leaned back in his chair. “I’ve spoken to some of my men who attended your lecture. They were very impressed with your presentation. They said you expressed several strong opinions regarding police managers, none of them very flattering.” He looked at his notes. ‘“Incompetent buffoons’ and ‘wasteful political puppets’ were two of the least provocative statements you made.”
Nicoletti started to offer a mild defense of his comments, but Garland cut him off.
“I’ve got to tell you, Mr. Nicoletti, I don’t have much use for your kind. You fly around the country—or should I say, around the world?—sticking your nose in other people’s business, solving crimes you believe the local police are too incompetent to resolve on their own, when the truth is, they could have done very well without your help. Then you give an interview to the local press and ride off into the sunset like the Lone Ranger, leaving the local police looking like fools and dealing with the job of repairing their public image.”
Nicoletti did not like the tone of Garland’s accusations and responded with a hint of hostility. “I never involve myself in any investigation without an invitation from the local authorities. Their public information officers orchestrate the press coverage. Sometimes they mention my contributions, sometimes they don’t. I have no interest in public relations.”
“You know, it’s not easy for us locals to compete with your image, Mr. Nicoletti. You drink fancy European wine, and use your charm and wit to sweep our women off their feet, maybe make them a little less content with the men in their community, the real men who work hard every day to do their job and live what I suppose you would consider a dull, simple life.
“These are the men you mock with your arrogance. I am the man you joke about in your lectures, and when you leave—flying off to Washington or London or wherever—I am the man left behind to continue the daily work of this city. Only thing is, after you’re done, I am diminished in the eyes of my men and all the others who have been exposed to your bullshit international perspective.” Garland paused to compose himself.
Nicoletti didn’t offer any apologies.
“I’ve done some checking on you, Nicoletti. I just spoke to a trusted friend at the FBI Academy in Quantico. He told me a great deal about you.” Garland shuffled the papers again. “One thing I found very interesting is a story concerning the murder several years ago of Robert McDermott, a DEA agent. I believe you were once partners. Wasn’t he your best friend?” Garland dropped his aggression and adopted the air of a tenured university professor. “You were a suspect in that case, weren’t you?”