Known Dead_ A Novel - Donald Harstad [30]
‘‘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