The Fallen (Amos Decker #4)(30)

“Why would they be here? I’m assuming they were performing in some professional capacity. Local cops almost never cross state lines.”

He stopped speaking and stared off once more.

“Wait a minute, Decker, are you thinking what I think you are?”

“They could be Feds, Alex.”

*



Green and Lassiter were waiting for them at the station.

“We’ve run the prints through databases we have access to,” said Green. “But it’s limited. And we got zero hits.”

Decker said, “I can get them run by the FBI. Just get me a set of the digital prints.” He looked at Jamison. “I guess I’m going to have that talk with Bogart after all.”

“Lucky you,” replied Jamison.

Decker called Bogart from the privacy of an empty office at the police station.

To FBI special agent Bogart’s credit, he didn’t scream or even interrupt as Decker laid out what had happened.

“Can you send me the prints now?” asked Bogart.

“Soon as I hang up with you.”

“If they are Feds this is going to turn into a shit storm, Decker.”

“It pretty much already is.”

Decker and Jamison waited at Green and Lassiter’s desks, which were situated next to each other in the open room of the detectives’ section of the station. There was one other plainclothesman working at another desk.

Thirty minutes passed and then Decker’s phone buzzed. He and Jamison stepped into the empty office to answer it.

It was Bogart.

Decker put it on speaker so that Jamison could hear.

“We ran the prints through our own employee database and got nothing. Then we provided the prints through our liaison office to sister agencies.”

“And did they get a hit?”

“No. We heard back from all of them except one.”

“Which one?”

“DEA.”

“Okay, did you contact them when they didn’t get back to you?”

“We did and found out that a DEA special ops team is going to be arriving in Baronville in about two hours.”

“So the dead guys were with them?” asked Jamison.

“That’s the thing—they’ll neither confirm nor deny that.”

“But if they’re sending a team?”

“That could mean a lot of different things. But I’ve got a buddy over in the D.C. office at DEA. I talked to him before I called you. He said this has gone right up to the DEA director’s office. Look, I can jump on an agency plane and be up there in about two hours.”

“No, you have enough on your plate.”

“And you two are supposed to be on vacation.”

“I was wondering when you were going to get to that,” said Decker.

“I tried to talk him out of it,” chimed in Jamison. “But you know Decker can’t resist a good murder.”

“Seriously, there is something going on here that I don’t like,” said Bogart.

“There are a lot of things going on here that I don’t like, principally a bunch of murdered people. And me and Alex almost ending up roasted.”

“I’m going to monitor the situation from here. When the DEA show up they’re going to want to talk to you.”

“I just don’t know how much I have to tell them. It’s pretty early yet.”

“The point is the DEA will play things close to the vest.”

“Just like all our alphabet agency friends,” noted Jamison. “Remember the DIA? Talk about zipped lips.”

Bogart said, “And if the dead men are two of theirs, they’re going to want to take the lead. There might be a turf battle.”

Decker said, “I’m just here to find the truth. Somebody else can play the politics.”

“Which is why I’m asking you, Alex, to play the counterfoil to the DEA. They’re going to come in like a tank brigade. They’re going to run right over the locals for sure. Just don’t let them do that to you. You have the right to be there. You were asked to join the investigation. They can’t force you out.”

“I’ll do my best,” she said.

“And if the dynamics on this shift, I can inject the Bureau into the situation. And we can go toe-to-toe with anybody. Good luck.”

Decker put his phone away and looked at Jamison.

He grumbled, “Turf battles and office politics. I hate that crap.”

She smiled and said, “So, Decker, are you enjoying your vacation yet?”





Chapter 19



THE EIGHT-PERSON DEA team blew in with the intensity of a Cat Four hurricane.

It was led by Special Agent Kate Kemper. She introduced herself to Decker and the others with a handshake like a grip of iron and a face set in granite. She was in her midforties, average height, but wiry, with dirty blonde hair and the determined features of a person who had faced many obstacles in life and had overcome them all.

“I need to see the bodies,” she said firmly.

Green nodded. “They’re in the morgue. Are they yours?”

“Let me see the bodies and then we’ll talk. To the extent I can.”

Green frowned at this, but nodded. “Let’s go for a ride.”