‘‘We are forming this task force,’’ he continued, ‘‘for the purpose of bringing the considerable resources of our agencies to bear on the problem. We feel that these officers were killed because they got too close to the operations of a cartel in South America.’’
It was too bad that nobody had told him that ‘‘two officers’’ weren’t killed, but that one of the dead just happened to be a miserable little doper instead. Not that it probably mattered. I should have seen this coming from the sinsemilla marijuana, though. That was sure to have been read as a sign of possible organized involvement. But foreign? The problem was, any foreign concern would be crazy to raise it here in Iowa. Risk the growth stage? Hell, even a bunch of dummies like us could find it here. We just had, after all. It would be a hell of a lot easier to ship it in. Sinsemilla was what I’d raise to compete with foreign imports.
‘‘Special Agent in Charge Volont will be the officer in charge of the task force.’’
Volont stood up and walked to the center of the room. He was fit, well-groomed, and had a very intelligent look in his eye. You could see a lot of energy burning behind those eyes. He somehow struck me as being more than just a cut above the rest of the officers in the room. A bureaucratic aristocrat, so to speak. They’d handed this one to a top agent. It would take somebody like that to get to the bottom of a complex, foreign-involved, murderous, narcotics-oriented case. I knew it sure as hell would be beyond me.
‘‘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 this Volont fellow in front of his peers. That could prove fatal.
The meeting continued for about thirty minutes, with DEA telling us how hard they were going to work. I’d expected that, as they just hate it when a cop gets killed, just like we all do. But they double hate it when he’s killed working narcotics. That’s their bailiwick, and they don’t let anybody screw with that.
When the meeting broke up, I realized I’d had no rolls. I was working my way toward the food table when I saw Al and Hester going up the stairs. I’d call her later. I imagined she was a little leery about this business too, but that she’d had no real choice in the matter either. I knew that we both realized we would need the Feds.
Much to my surprise, Volont flagged me down just as I got to the doughnuts.
‘‘Carl, isn’t it?’’ he asked, extending his hand. We shook.
‘‘Carl it is.’’
‘‘I’m Steve.’’
‘‘Okay, Steve.’’
‘‘You’re probably not too comfortable about this.’’
‘‘Well, you’re right about that.’’
‘‘I’ll tell you the truth… if we find an international suspect who’s behind all this, you’ll probably never hear about it. You know that, don’t you?’’
‘‘Yes.’’ I grabbed a doughnut.
‘‘But the good news is, if we do, I’m just about certain that whoever did the shooting was not foreign. They wouldn’t do that. They use local talent. They pass so much more easily than, oh, South American nationals, for example. Less attention. So you’ll probably get your perp, even if they’re foreign-paid.’’
‘‘That’s good.’’
‘‘Just didn’t want you to worry.’’
‘‘I worry a lot.’’ I smiled. ‘‘We don’t have a hell of a lot of a case here. Not a lot at all. You read our reports yet?’’
‘‘Not yet. The people from the AG’s office have. They think you don’t have much either. That’s the problem.’’
‘‘Yeah. We should, given what happened.’’
‘‘Yes, we should. That’s what makes us think there’s something else involved here.’’
‘‘Well,’’ I said, ‘‘you sure could be right. Anyway, I appreciate your honesty.’’
‘‘Look, you’re doing as much as you can with this. It just may be something you can’t find because you don’t have the jurisdiction to look in the right place.’’
>
He was right about that. Generally, the Feds aren’t that much brighter than any other investigative unit. Their advantage was resources; in the case of the FBI, massive resources. But they had a tendency to simply throw resources at the problem, trying to make up for what they lacked. Mostly, what they lacked was knowledge of the local area, and I don’t just mean the geography. And sometimes, what they lacked was expertise in some areas. By the very nature of their jurisdiction there wasn’t a ‘‘beat cop’’ among ’em. Most Feds had virtually no homicide experience. They only had jurisdiction over murders that occurred on federal property. Most agents had never been there, never done that. Only, sometimes, it really would have helped if they had.
Then, again, I’d never refused their help. I might be a little offended, but I’m not stupid. Those of us who have virtually no resources have virtually no scruples about using theirs. It works, and all of us know it. The Feds count on our greed. Resource envy.
‘‘I understand you know George Pollard from our Cedar Rapids office?’’
I certainly did. One of the resident FBI agents. We not only knew him; we liked him enough to refer to him as ‘‘George of the Bureau.’’
‘‘Oh, I know George. Good man.’’
‘‘He’s on vacation now, but he’ll be assigned as soon as he returns. Just wanted you to know that.’’
Well, that was good news. I was sure he’d arranged to have George assigned so we would be more comfortable with the situation.
‘‘Hey, I’m sorry about the raincoat. I just forgot about it in all the fuss.’’
I shouldn’t have brought it up again. I knew that as soon as I said it.
‘‘I’ll arrange to have the state get it back to you.’’
‘‘Thanks.’’ He couldn’t do that. They’d give it back on their own, or not, regardless of what he said. But he had to save a bit of face.
When I got back, Lamar collared me. After I told him about the task force, he told me to take my scheduled days off on Monday and Tuesday.
‘‘That’s not necessary, Lamar.’’
‘‘Yeah, it is. I think this is gonna be a long one, and I want you in shape for the long run. Let the state and the Feds earn their keep for a couple of days.’’
I really didn’t want to go home for two days. Which, come to think about it, is as good an indication that you should as any you could find.
I drove myself nuts on Monday. I’d been building a model of HMS Victory for nearly a year. She had been Nelson’s flagship at Trafalgar in 1805. I was researching the rigging, wanting it to be truly accurate. I had purchased copies of The Anatomy of Nelson’s Ships and The Masting and Rigging of English Ships of War. They usually relaxed me past all reason. After I had read the description of the winding around the forestay and the fore preventer stay, and the method of bringing both stays into their collars, I read it again. And again. And again. Well, that obviously wasn’t going to work out. I covered the ship and came up out of the basement, books under my arm.
‘‘Done already?’’ asked Sue.
‘‘Nope.’’
‘‘Okay.’’
‘‘Sorry, I just can’t concentrate, that’s all.’’
‘‘Oh, you can concentrate all right,’’ she said. ‘‘Just not on that.’’
I grinned. ‘‘Yeah.’’
‘‘Why don’t you go out in the yard and poison some more ants.’’
Not a bad idea, really. We’d had ants in the house that spring, and I’d sort of made a crusade out of getting rid of them in the yard. Just walk around looking for hills in the grass, and ‘‘bombing’’ them with Diazinon crystals. ‘‘Death from Above,’’ as they say. I was losing the battle, but it was relaxing just the same.
‘‘Good idea.’’
‘‘I’ll call you for lunch.’’
I must have walked around our little yard for thirty minutes, absently bombing an anthill now and then, and thinking about the case.
Nothing. We had nothing. What was really bothering me, though, was that I didn’t know if my lack of progress was due to a simple absence of evidence, or if the narcotics people were withholding on me. It sure wouldn’t be atypical. Since I was working a homicide, I theoretically had access to everything that impinged on that case. The only problem was, how in the hell could I know what I didn’t know? Especially if the ones holding back were federal narcotics people. Or the FBI. Or the IRS, for that matter. I didn’t know anybody who could find out that information, and the only people I could try to ask were the ones who would be holding back. If, indeed, they were holding back at all.
I gained a little on the ants. It was a good cause.
Tuesday, and more of the same. I finally called the office. Nothing new. I called Hester. She was on an enforced day off too. But there was one item of interest. The Feds were having a meeting at our office on Wednesday, the 26th. Tomorrow.
Speculating will drive you crazy. But I was hoping that I was going to have an opportunity to get some information. They had to have something to give on this one.
We had some neighbors in Tuesday night, for a light supper and conversation. Everybody was thinking about the case, naturally. Nobody could talk about it, except to say the routine things like ‘‘It was horrible,’’ and ‘‘I really feel sorry for his family,’’ and stuff like that. Nothing of substance. Other than that, I had a pretty good time, as the conversation turned to gardens, which eventually took us to ants… If not one kind of case, then another, I guess.
As Sue and I were cleaning up afterward, it occurred to me that I had needed this. I felt pretty relaxed, and kind of pleasantly tired.
‘‘Wed., June 26, 96,’’ I wrote at the top of my yellow pad. ‘‘1028 hours. Meeting at S.O. w/Fed Narc Grp.’’ Lamar, Hester, Al, myself, and several assorted Feds including George of the Bureau, were assembled in the jail kitchen. Volont was noticeable by his absence. In his place was a man named Nichols, of the DEA, who was the principal speaker.
‘‘We have,’’ said Nichols, ‘‘an operative theory, and it goes like this…’’ He spoke in a clipped, forceful voice that kept your attention. He didn’t really need vocal technique to do that, but it was nice.
‘‘The majority of the sinsemilla marijuana in this country is grown in California. The northern part, to be more precise. It is very highly prized because of its high THC content. It is also very time-consuming to produce.’’
He looked us over carefully, mainly to reassure himself that a bunch of nonnarcotic cops would be able to comprehend this, I guess. So far, no trouble.
‘‘Sinsemilla means no seeds. And no seeds means that you have to be very, very careful not to let the plants pollinate. Marijuana plants are of both the female and male varieties. The pollen pops out of the male plants, is carried on the wind, and fertilizes the female plants. The most valuable plant is an unfertilized female. If she is fertilized, boom, you have seeds. Seeds reduce the THC content. So you have a much less valuable plant.’’ He looked around. ‘‘Okay so far?’’
We all nodded.
‘‘Good. Because of the investment in time and effort, and the considerable reduction in value if anything goes wrong, growers are sensitive about these plants, and will actually live in the patch for a week or so, around fertilization time. When that is depends on when they were planted, when they were moved outside, and the weather conditions since the move. Guesswork, in other words.’’
He looked at the group again, and must have been satisfied that we were with him.
‘‘Right. Now, because it’s worth two to three thousand dollars a plant, it is frequently used to trade for methamphetamine. Almost like a currency. Meth is pretty much controlled by outlaw motorcycle gangs, and they can get violent if they have to. You all know that.’’
Yup.
‘‘If they’ve advanced some meth on speculation, and that speculation involved sinsemilla plants that were either devalued by accident or otherwise nonavailable at the proper time,
somebody could get killed.’’
I didn’t have any problem with that, and I don’t think anybody else did either.
‘‘We think that this Johnny Marks had promised sinsemilla to one of the controlling cycle gangs in either Milwaukee, Madison, or Minneapolis. We think Johnny Marks has enough enemies that they were trying to screw with his plants, to get a cycle group to kill him. Thereby doing their dirty work for them.’’
Oops. They’d lost me on that one. I mean, it was neat, I’ll say that. Cool, almost. But they’d left some stuff out, creating a large gap.
‘‘We know, then,’’ I asked, ‘‘that Marks was for sure dealing with one of the cycle gangs?’’
‘‘It’s safe to assume,’’ he said.
‘‘Which one?’’ asked Hester.
‘‘I’m not at liberty to tell you that at this point,’’ said Nichols. He sounded like he really wanted to.
‘‘Well, then, do we know who was mad at him?’’ asked Hester.
‘‘Not yet,’’ Nichols acknowledged. ‘‘But we feel we’re close.’’
‘‘Mmmmm.’’ That came from Lamar.
‘‘It’d be slick if that’s what happened,’’ I said. ‘‘How much can you give us when you know? I mean, if we know, and can’t take the right connections into court…’’
‘‘We’ll be able to give the killers,’’ he said.
‘‘Well,’’ asked George, ‘‘are you assuming that the killers were members of the cycle gang, or that they were the ones who were trying to screw with the plants, or…?’’
Good question.
‘‘We aren’t certain yet,’’ said Nichols. ‘‘I hate to assume, but I don’t think that it was members of the cycle gang who did it.’’
‘‘Why’s that?’’ asked Lamar.
‘‘Not really their style,’’ said Nichols. ‘‘They don’t generally hang out in the woods.’’
Known Dead ch-2 Page 8
