P Deutermann - The Cat Dancers

The sheriff’s secretary called and asked that he come down to the secure communications room for a video teleconference. Steven Klein was already there when Cam arrived, and Bobby Lee came in a moment after Cam did. They took their places in front of the camera bank, and then Bobby Lee explained to Steven what he was going to talk to the FBI about. Steven was appropriately horrified, as this was the first he was hearing about it.

“Well, it’s more of a possibility that we’re exploring,” Bobby Lee said. “Lieutenant Richter here gives it better legs than I do right now, but since he’s had indications the Bureau people in Charlotte think we have a problem, I’m on with special agent McLain in”-he glanced at his watch-“three minutes. He’ll be speaking from Washington, apparently. Lieutenant, fill Mr. Klein in, please.”

Cam went through it with Steven, who just sat there and listened. He was an inveterate note-taker, and the fact that he wasn’t writing any of this down showed that he knew how explosive it was.

“That’s all so circumstantial,” he said when Cam was finished.

“This whole mess is circumstantial,” Cam said. “The Bureau’s public position remains that there’s no physical evidence that the Internet executions are real. But that big-game rifle at Judge Bellamy’s house, that was real.”

Steven shook his head. “We have plenty of nut jobs right here in the Triad who might want to do that. How do you tie this shooting to the chair thing?”

Cam started to explain, but then the video circuit came up and they saw Special Agent McLain materialize on the forty-eight-inch main display screen. The red lights on all three face cameras came on, and the technician who established the link announced over the speakers that the connection was secure and that he was isolating the room.

“Gentlemen,” McLain said, looking a little stiff in his suit and tie. The camera shooting him focused on the top third of his body, so if there was anyone else in the room, they weren’t able to tell. It being the Bureau, they were probably taping everything.

The sheriff introduced Steven and Cam in case McLain had forgotten their names, then got right to it. “Mr. McLain, we’re hearing that the Charlotte field office thinks there might be a vigilante problem here in the Manceford County Sheriffs Office,” he said almost pleasantly. “Naturally, that disturbs me, so I thought I’d clear the air, one way or another.”

“May I ask where you got that, Sheriff?” McLain asked. Bobby Lee looked over at Cam expectantly.

“I had dinner the other night with your computer consultant, Jaspreet Kaur Bawa,” Cam said. “She voiced the opinion that, contrary to published Bureau opinion, you all felt the execution videos were real, and that because of the way the threat was sent to Judge Bellamy, someone inside our system either sent it or provided the access. This was before the shooting incident at Judge Bellamy’s house.”

“Whoa,” McLain said. “What shooting incident?”

Bobby Lee got an annoyed look on his face. “I assumed that had been reported to your field office,” he said.

“I’m on temporary duty in Washington, Sheriff,” McLain said. “It may have been reported. What happened?”

The sheriff gave him the essential elements. McLain nodded when the sheriff was finished. “I think Ms. Bawa overheard a conversation,” he said, “rather than an official statement of Bureau policy. People are of two opinions on the execution videos, as I suspect they are in your shop, Sheriff. The policy, on the other hand, is that without physical evidence, the Bureau will not proceed.”

“Okay,” Bobby Lee said calmly. “What’s behind all the conversation, then?”

“Our computer-lab types talked to your Computer Crimes people,” he said. “To get a system description on your security hierarchy. Ms. Bawa was part of that discussion. The consensus was that your system is reasonably effective, so logic would dictate that the E-mail came from inside the system. Actually, based on the password setup, probably from another judge. In our opinion.”

“In your opinion,” Bobby Lee prompted.

McLain shrugged. “One could argue it wasn’t much of a threat,” he said. “And if judges want to snipe at judges, that’s their prerogative. No crime, for one thing, and judge-to-judge communications are privileged. That’s why we didn’t share our opinions. Any signs of the two purported execution victims, by the way?”

“Nope,” Bobby Lee said. “Nor any sign of our prime suspect, James Marlor, either.”

What about the check? Cam thought, but then decided to keep his yap shut for a change.

“Well, that’s a pisser,” McLain said. “I happen to be in the ‘Maybe it’s real’ camp, but I must reiterate-we won’t get into it until there’s physical evidence of a crime. Bodies, I’m talking about. And even then, we might not take it on. Washington headquarters has a point: We spin up on this one and we’ll create a cottage industry of Webheads generating drama for our investigatory pleasure. Did you say you have that judge under police protection?”

“That’s right.”

“Well, I’d suggest that’s where you need to start, Sheriff. Make the assumption that it was cops doing that, or not-that’s your call, of course. You said you flooded the area with patrol units right after the shooting. Canvass the neighborhood-see if there were cop cars out there before the shooting. Like that.”

“Believe it or not, we’re already doing that,” Bobby Lee said somewhat heatedly.

“No offense intended, Sheriff,” McLain said, but Cam noticed he wasn’t smiling. “Your office has the highest reputation. But the hard part is that initial assumption. As I remember from my visit there, your rank-and-file people were really pissed when that judge let those subjects go. If you’re nervous about lighting that fuse, maybe get the SBI into it?”

“I’ve got that in motion, too,” the sheriff said. That was quick, Cam thought.

“Look, I’ve got a meeting,” McLain said. “Anything else to talk about?”

“Nope,” the sheriff said. “Thanks for your time. Good-bye.” He hit a button on the table before McLain could say anything and the connection was broken abruptly. The screens went dark.

“Arrogant sumbitch,” Bobby Lee grumbled.

Steven disagreed. “No, they’re just staying at arm’s length,” he said. “Bureaucratically, that’s the smart thing to do right now, and in that outfit, Washington sets the policy, not the field offices.”

“But that doesn’t mean Charlotte’s not working it,” Cam interjected.

“Explain that,” the sheriff said, a suspicious look on his face. His jaw was set, which meant he was still angry at McLain.

Cam leaned forward. “He didn’t react when I said his consultant had been talking out of school. I’m thinking he sent her to put us on notice. He knew I’d bring that back to you. As in ‘Officially, this electric chair thing is your problem, but we’re watching your local yahoo asses.’”

“What about that ‘judge-to-judge’ business?” Steven asked. “That bothers me more than their speculations on the chair thing.”

“Based on what Computer Crimes told me, it could just as easily be someone with access to another judge’s computer,” Cam said. “Not necessarily one of the celestial beings themselves. Once it goes over the Internet, they can trace back to an address, but not to whose fingers were on the keyboard.”

“But isn’t that just their point?” Klein asked. “That message to the judge wasn’t on the Internet in the sky. It was on the in tra net. The judicial intranet.”

“Whatever,” Cam said. “But I think he had one good point: Let’s focus on who’s behind the shooting, where we do have some tangible evidence of a crime. That might be more productive than this endless search for Marlor, Simmonds, and Butts.”