The Cat Dancers

17

Cam got clear of Hanging Dog at eight o’clock the next morning and was back in the office by 11:00 A.M. He briefed the sheriff on what he’d found up in Surry County. Bobby Lee listened and then said he had some news.

“The Bureau’s backing out,” he announced, a glint of triumph in his eye.

“They are?” Cam asked, truly surprised. “Two people executed in an electric chair on the Internet and they’re backing out?”

“ Apparently executed,” Bobby Lee said. “All we actually have are two video clips purporting to show two people being executed, said clips arriving on the Internet from an unknown and unverifiable source. Senior Bureau management in Washington is skeptical. No physical evidence-no crispy critters. They, on the other hand, are facing an unlimited supply of crazed Muslims. Basically, they will not deploy assets on this case until we ‘show them the meat,’ to quote Mr. McLain.”

Show them the meat? Cam wondered who’d come up with that beauty. “The bodies could be anywhere,” he said. “This isn’t the Bureau I know-they get into something, they don’t just withdraw, especially if it has a publicity tail like this one.”

“Things have changed, Lieutenant,” Bobby Lee said. “Ever since nine/eleven, the Bureau’s been backing out of what they consider routine crimes and redeploying assets into the counterterrorism task forces. The bosses at the Hoover Building think our videos are some kind of hacker stunt.”

“So where are Simmonds and Butts?” Cam asked. “And James Marlor?”

“I’m waiting for you to tell me,” the sheriff said. “But basically the Bureau seems to be saying: Who cares?”

“Excuse me?” Cam said.

The sheriff told Cam to sit down. “Look at it from Washington’s perspective: Two local hoods have disappeared, after having been let off by some Communist judge. Not believing their good fortune, they promptly get their ugly asses out of Dodge. And Marlor? He’s now lost two wives, plus his stepdaughter. Perfectly logical for him to hang it up at Duke Energy and go somewhere-anywhere-as long as it’s away from these unhappy parts.”

“But how about the abduction? A white guy pulling into a black neighborhood at one o’clock in the morning and cutting loose with a submachine gun?”

“We don’t know it was a white guy,” the sheriff pointed out. “And there isn’t a single bullet hole anywhere. Our only witness to Butts being abducted showed twice the legal limit for alcohol in his blood when he made his statement. And now he’s not to be found anywhere.”

“Why would a bunch of guys on a crack corner make all that up?” Cam asked.

“Because they’re a bunch of crack-smoking, drug-dealing, bitch-slapping, booze-slopping no-loads with nothing else to do? Just like brother Flash?”

Cam didn’t know what to say. “So what now-we just quit right here?”

The sheriff smiled his “Gotcha” smile. “Not at all. We work it from the physical-reality point of view, as opposed to the virtual-reality one. First, find Marlor, or find out what happened to him. Consider that your main bang. Second, keep someone looking for the two mutts, because if either of them surfaces, obviously we’re home free.”

“Well, hell, maybe the Bureau’s right,” Cam said. “Why do anything?”

The sheriff got up and started pacing around. “Because I can’t afford to be wrong about this,” he said. “And because of what the executioner said when he did the black guy: ‘That’s two.’ Assuming this is real, I think he’s going to do one more.”

“And that would be Bellamy?”

He nodded. “I think so. Either way, Next Door feels, of course, that this whole mess has given Triboro a big black eye. They want it to go away, but they’re terrified of what the voters will think if they do nothing and the judge shows up in lights, so to speak.”

“Will there be budget money for a twenty-four/seven protective detail, and if so, for how long?”

“How long?” Bobby Lee said. “How ’bout until MCAT finds Marlor, or one of those two purported victims surfaces. I’m planning to use SWAT-qualified assets for the detail, and to rotate the requirement through the district offices. Starting with Sergeant McMichael, seeing as how he started this cluster fuck.”

Well, there is some justice, Cam thought. But the sheriff had ducked his question. “That could be a very long time, Sheriff,” Cam said, thinking of those vast, remote mountains he’d just visited. “It took the entire FBI four years to find Eric Rudolph, and actually, they never did-it was a local who dropped a dime on him.”

“Way I see it,” the sheriff said, returning to his desk, “if all this is real, he’ll come for the judge. If it’s not, you only have to find one of three people to prove the whole thing a hoax. Granted, finding Marlor might be hard, but K-Dog and Flash?”

Cam didn’t say what he thought should be obvious: that they might never find any of them.