Hidden Heritage by Charlotte Hinger

would botch his investigation.
    Only this last one from a blue-eyed stranger had the feel of the real deal to me. It was “for my own good.”
    Or was it a stranger? If the warning had been delivered to me instead of Josie, would I have known who it was?

Chapter Nine
    Wednesday evening I walked into the crowded gathering in the commissioner’s room. Keith and Sam were already there and the room was filled with law enforcement personnel from around the region.
    Agent Dimon had driven out especially to conduct the meeting. There were four men from Topeka present besides himself and my favorite agent, Nancy Brooks, and Jim Gilderhaus, our regional agent.
    I glanced at Keith, who was sitting with arms crossed, eyebrows raised. Sam stood to one side at the front of the room. Since the meeting was in Carlton County, he felt like he should be an unofficial host and “introduce the bastard” he’d said earlier.
    When everyone quieted, he walked over to a podium. “Guess you wonder why we’re all here tonight. Matter of fact, I’m kinda wondering that myself. But we’re about to find out. This here is Frank Dimon who wants to have a few words with us. He’s from the KBI and so are all the other strangers sitting around tonight. Frank, I’ll turn this over to you.”
    â€œGentlemen,” Dimon began, “I don’t need to tell you that the death rate in this area is beginning to attract attention.”
    I wished he hadn’t worn a suit.
    â€œThe number of murders per capita is extraordinary.”
    I had to keep myself from leaping to my feet to contradict him. Crime statistics for sparse populations could distort reality.
    â€œThe state KBI has concluded that we have to work out law enforcement arrangements for Western Kansas that will consolidate resources and employ the strategic use of manpower.” A fly buzzed around Dimon’s head. The window air-conditioning unit kicked on and his papers scattered. He bent to retrieve them. By himself. Not a soul offered to help. Keith and I included.
    â€œNow then,” he said awkwardly, after aligning his material again, “of course we have to square this legally. There are processes we need to follow to put this in place, but for now, our temporary arrangement will allow a great deal of latitude to determine what will actually work.”
    We waited. Something was coming down, and I suspected we wouldn’t like it.
    Dimon switched on a projector and walked to the screen centered on the north wall. “Here’s what we have devised. I might add that a presentation this sophisticated was not whipped up as a result of the incidents occurring this past week.”
    The first screen of his slide show came into view. “As you can see, we’ve been working on these ideas for several months.”
    I gaped at the words, with a perky voiceover reading them to us in case none of us had the ability. “Northwest Kansas Regional Law Enforcement: A Triumph in Effectiveness and Responsibility.”
    A fully equipped sheriff appeared on the screen and earnestly informed us that small counties were poorly equipped to cope with challenges in changing populations. By the time the fifth slide appeared, showing men around a conference table discussing problems, I was aghast.
    It concluded with an architect showing a finished sketch of a regional jail and a criminalist lab to process information.
    By that time, I was seething. Dimon finished to thunderous silence. “We are quite proud of this. Our system is being considered as a prototype for instituting a regional law-enforcement center in sparsely populated regions all over the country. Are there any questions?”
    I glanced at Nancy who sat with a lowered head pinching the bridge of her nose. She didn’t look up.
    â€œYes, I have a question.” I reached for a glass of water and took a sip before I continued. “Who was that first man? The