salute and went back to the watch commander’s office. Cam drove himself down to the scene, talked to the street unit people, and then returned to the Washington Street complex. He went to his own office and cranked up the coffeemaker. Then he sat down and tried to figure out what the hell he was going to do next. The phone rang; it was Bobby Lee.
“What are you doing about this mess down in the projects?” he asked without preamble. “I understand you went down there yourself?”
“There really wasn’t a scene when I got there,” Cam told him. “Lots of yellow tape and two city patrol units, but by then the word was out that the gunfire was all bogus, and all the regulars had done their usual fade. I didn’t bother with CSI.”
“Was that wise?” Bobby Lee asked. “You did have an abduction. There could have been evidence on the street, something from the truck or the abductor.”
“The scene was hopeless. The city cops bagged what they think is Flash’s ball cap and what is presumably one of his shoes, plus some shell casings they want our lab to work.”
“How do they know it’s his shoe?”
“The shoe was full of urine, and it smelled a lot like the ball cap. The few people they did interview at the scene still had their shoes.”
The sheriff hesitated for a moment. “If this is what I think it is,” he said, “he won’t be needing shoes.”
Cam nodded to himself. He could still visualize Simmonds’s bony feet being welded to the frame of the footrest. He wondered idly if the executioner would clean the chair up before doing Flash.
“Why screw around any more?” Cam asked. “Let’s call in the Bureau, or the ATF, or both. This was a public abduction, a kidnapping, with a machine gun, even if it was shooting blanks. They’ll get a twofer.”
“You want to be sidelined on this one?”
“To be honest, Sheriff,” Cam said. “I don’t share the popular notion that MCAT caused this mess, so I feel no personal affiliation with this chair thing.”
“Lieutenant, it was your—”
“It was Judge Bellamy who released them and dismissed the charges,” Cam said, surprising himself by interrupting Bobby Lee, something deputies rarely did.
The sheriff went silent, and then surprised him. “Reasons to turn it over to the Bureau?” he asked.
Relieved that they weren’t going to spend the morning squaring off like two male dogs, Cam laid it out. “We don’t have the assets to track the Internet video. Kenny Cox is the best Webhead we have in MCAT, and he says this would take some heavy-duty computer expertise. The feds are all over that. They have that program that watches everyone on-line, so they can probably find the source. Plus, we now have a terrorist-style street abduction of a subject related to the guy who supposedly got fried. The Bureau does kidnapping
cases. And finally, the Internet is, by definition, interstate. Crimes across lines also means the Bureau.”
“They come in, they’ll push you and your guys aside like so many annoying insects.”
“I’m ready to be pushed aside,” Cam said. “We’re not getting anywhere.”
Another silence. “Okay,” Bobby Lee said. “I’ll call ’em. Let’s just hope we don’t get act two in the meantime.”
“For what it’s worth, Sheriff, you might be all alone in that sentiment.”
15
JUST BEFORE NOON, THE sheriff’s secretary called to report that the FBI had arrived and that Bobby Lee wanted Cam down there. The unreasonably young-looking agent introduced himself as Supervisory Special Agent Thomas McLain. He shook Cam’s hand with a hard, if restrained, grip. He looked to be in his late thirties, tall and rangy, with short black hair and piercing gray-green eyes. If he’s a supervisory special agent, he has to be older than he looks, Cam thought. Or I am getting old. To his surprise, Jaspreet Kaur Bawa accompanied McLain. She nodded at him.
“Ms. Bawa,” Cam said, turning to shake her hand. “We meet
“What are you doing about this mess down in the projects?” he asked without preamble. “I understand you went down there yourself?”
“There really wasn’t a scene when I got there,” Cam told him. “Lots of yellow tape and two city patrol units, but by then the word was out that the gunfire was all bogus, and all the regulars had done their usual fade. I didn’t bother with CSI.”
“Was that wise?” Bobby Lee asked. “You did have an abduction. There could have been evidence on the street, something from the truck or the abductor.”
“The scene was hopeless. The city cops bagged what they think is Flash’s ball cap and what is presumably one of his shoes, plus some shell casings they want our lab to work.”
“How do they know it’s his shoe?”
“The shoe was full of urine, and it smelled a lot like the ball cap. The few people they did interview at the scene still had their shoes.”
The sheriff hesitated for a moment. “If this is what I think it is,” he said, “he won’t be needing shoes.”
Cam nodded to himself. He could still visualize Simmonds’s bony feet being welded to the frame of the footrest. He wondered idly if the executioner would clean the chair up before doing Flash.
“Why screw around any more?” Cam asked. “Let’s call in the Bureau, or the ATF, or both. This was a public abduction, a kidnapping, with a machine gun, even if it was shooting blanks. They’ll get a twofer.”
“You want to be sidelined on this one?”
“To be honest, Sheriff,” Cam said. “I don’t share the popular notion that MCAT caused this mess, so I feel no personal affiliation with this chair thing.”
“Lieutenant, it was your—”
“It was Judge Bellamy who released them and dismissed the charges,” Cam said, surprising himself by interrupting Bobby Lee, something deputies rarely did.
The sheriff went silent, and then surprised him. “Reasons to turn it over to the Bureau?” he asked.
Relieved that they weren’t going to spend the morning squaring off like two male dogs, Cam laid it out. “We don’t have the assets to track the Internet video. Kenny Cox is the best Webhead we have in MCAT, and he says this would take some heavy-duty computer expertise. The feds are all over that. They have that program that watches everyone on-line, so they can probably find the source. Plus, we now have a terrorist-style street abduction of a subject related to the guy who supposedly got fried. The Bureau does kidnapping
cases. And finally, the Internet is, by definition, interstate. Crimes across lines also means the Bureau.”
“They come in, they’ll push you and your guys aside like so many annoying insects.”
“I’m ready to be pushed aside,” Cam said. “We’re not getting anywhere.”
Another silence. “Okay,” Bobby Lee said. “I’ll call ’em. Let’s just hope we don’t get act two in the meantime.”
“For what it’s worth, Sheriff, you might be all alone in that sentiment.”
15
JUST BEFORE NOON, THE sheriff’s secretary called to report that the FBI had arrived and that Bobby Lee wanted Cam down there. The unreasonably young-looking agent introduced himself as Supervisory Special Agent Thomas McLain. He shook Cam’s hand with a hard, if restrained, grip. He looked to be in his late thirties, tall and rangy, with short black hair and piercing gray-green eyes. If he’s a supervisory special agent, he has to be older than he looks, Cam thought. Or I am getting old. To his surprise, Jaspreet Kaur Bawa accompanied McLain. She nodded at him.
“Ms. Bawa,” Cam said, turning to shake her hand. “We meet
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