something?’
Shafer looked stern. ‘We get the name, you get the file. That’s the deal.’
‘Well, that’s the problem. We don’t exactly have a name.’
‘Excuse me?’
Magozzi looked embarrassed. ‘Yeah, I know how it sounds, but you’ve got to understand, we were running prints like crazy the night of the riverboat killing. There were hundreds of people there, you know? And the uniforms were tearing their hair trying to get prints before people left, and . . . Well, the guys were rushed and frazzled and some of them were green, and the thing is, when we went back to check the ones we ran, we found a couple of cards that didn’t have names on them. Like the one you’re interested in.’
Gino nodded grimly. ‘You think you’re pissed? We don’t even know which cop took the prints, which means we can’t nail his ass. Man, I hope this wasn’t a ten most wanted or something.’
Shafer’s hard blue eyes were shooting fire. He looked from Magozzi to Gino, little creaky wheels slipping on the gears inside his head as he tried to decide if he was being had. ‘This is bullshit, Magozzi.’ He wasn’t buying it retail, but Magozzi figured he liked the idea of MPD screwing up so much that maybe a part of him wanted to believe it.
‘I could make up a name,’ Magozzi offered. ‘Would you give me the file then?’
Shafer’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. ‘If you don’t know who the prints belong to, the file wouldn’t interest you at all.’
Magozzi nodded. ‘Yeah. You’re right. I got caught up in the contest.’
Shafer glared at him for a moment, then shifted his suspicion to Halloran and his crew, who were all standing to one side with identical poker faces. ‘Something going on with Wisconsin I should know about?’
Magozzi and Gino exchanged a quick, nervous glance. If Shafer found out they were looking at an interstate connection on the Monkeewrench case, the FBI would take over in a heartbeat, and all the subterfuge about the prints would be for nothing. Damnit, Halloran didn’t know any better, they should have thought to warn him to keep his mouth shut about what he was doing there, but who expected an ambush?
Shit, shit, shit, Magozzi thought, holding his breath, waiting for Halloran to start yammering about the Kleinfeldts, the slug in the lab, the St Peter’s connection. He nearly jumped out of his skin when the sheriff took a quick step toward Shafer and held out his hand.
‘Sheriff Halloran, sir, and Deputies Carlson and Mueller, Kingsford County, Wisconsin.’ He grabbed Shafer’s hand and nearly shook it off, wearing the best shit-kicker grin Magozzi had ever seen outside of a movie theater. ‘Real pleasure to meet you, sir. We don’t see many Federal officers in our neck of the woods. Just on TV. This is a real treat.’
‘Uh . . .’
‘The detectives here were going to give us a hand with a prickly little case we’ve got going back home, but I can see now we couldn’t have picked a worse time. Bonar, Sharon, shake hands with the man.’
Goddamnit, Magozzi thought, suppressing a smile. I’m going to kiss this guy later. He looked sideways at Gino, and had to look away quickly before they both burst out laughing.
Sharon shook Shafer’s hand with her eyes cast down demurely, then Bonar stepped up to the plate with a look of awe seldom seen outside Graceland.
‘Deputy Bonar Carlson, sir. A genuine pleasure, sir.’
Shafer tried for a smile, but it came off weak. FBI agents were not trained to deal with groupies. ‘Well, thank you, I’m sure the pleasure is all . . . Wait a minute.’ His head swiveled to Sharon. ‘Did you say Sharon Mueller?
Everyone did a little mental double take and looked at Sharon, who was cringing a little, wearing a pained smile. ‘That’s right.’
‘Well, by God.’ Paul Shafer beamed at her. ‘Then the pleasure really is all mine. They’re using your paper at Quantico, you know. Attended a seminar on it myself last summer. You turned some old ideas right on their heads.’
‘Yes, well . . .’
‘Magozzi.’ Shafer turned to him. ‘Take some advice. After you give these people the help they need on their case, let this woman take a look at the Monkeewrench files before she leaves. She’s one of the best we’ve got in profiling outside the Bureau, and God knows you could use all the input you can get.’
‘I’ll do that.’ Magozzi smiled pleasantly. ‘We’ve got no problems at all sharing files with other agencies.’
Shafer’s eyes tightened slightly at the barb, then he and the attack dog turned and went out the door.
‘Pricks,’ Gino muttered the minute the door closed behind them. ‘Did you see that little pissant folder they were going to pass off as the file?’
Magozzi was looking at Sharon, confused. ‘You’re FBI?’
‘No . . . Well, I consult sometimes.’ Her eyes darted sideways to Halloran, whose mouth was open.
‘So whose name is really on those prints that got those boys so excited?’ Bonar asked.
Magozzi and Gino looked at each other. ‘One of the Monkeewrench people,’ Magozzi finally said.
Bonar tipped his head, waited for a minute, then said, ‘Okay.’
41
They sat at a big circular booth in the back of the diner, drinking coffee while Magozzi and Gino tag-teamed, laying out the whole investigation right from the beginning, more for Sharon’s sake than Halloran’s or Bonar’s, who had already gotten an earful from Gloria.
It was peculiar, Magozzi thought, that he felt like he’d been living this case forever, but it took only five minutes to lay out just about everything they knew.
Everyone went silent when a fiftyish waitress in a red wig and a green uniform came over and laid enough cholesterol on the table to kill a platoon. Sausage, bacon, eggs, pancakes drooling butter – and that was just on Bonar’s plate. Magozzi looked down at his dry English muffin and black coffee and contemplated suicide.
‘ “Gee, Mr FBI Man, we don’t get many Federal officers up in our neck of the woods,” ’ Gino was singsonging around a mouthful of waffle. ‘Christ, Halloran, I thought I’d die.’
‘Well, we don’t, as a rule.’ Halloran shrugged amiably, then his face darkened and he looked at Sharon, sitting on his left. ‘Of course, that was before I knew I had one of them working for me.’
‘Oh, for God’s sake, Halloran.’ Sharon chased a ball of scrambled egg around her plate, finally stabbed it viciously. ‘I told you, I don’t work for them. They asked, I turned them down. Every now and then they want a consult, and the pay is good, and God knows what I get from the county isn’t, so I run a profile. No big deal.’
Gino sat back in the booth. ‘The FBI recruited you?’
‘They recruit everybody.’ She shrugged, then she looked straight at Halloran, chewed on her toast for a minute, and said, ‘Three times what I make at Kingsford, one month paid vacation the first year, six weeks the next, and a house.’
‘A
She sighed and laid down her fork, then leaned across the table toward Gino and said confidentially, ‘Because I like my job, and I’m in love with my boss.’
Bonar nearly choked on his coffee. Magozzi grinned and looked at Halloran. He was looking straight ahead, his face beet-red.
‘Unrequited?’ Gino asked conversationally, ignoring the rest of them.
‘I don’t know. He hasn’t decided yet.’
‘Bummer.’
Halloran closed his eyes. ‘Jesus, Sharon . . .’
Magozzi took pity on him. The man was obviously out of his league with women, and Magozzi knew how that felt. ‘Okay, back to the bad guys. Did you pick up anything on the kid from the Kleinfeldts’ house? Photos, baby books, anything?’
Bonar snorted. ‘Not a scrap. They erased that kid like he’d died.’
‘But he’s smart,’ Halloran said, digging into a pile of strawberry pancakes. ‘IQ of 163, last time he was
