PREVIOUSLY:

Crap, why'd they send him? Maybe the D.C. promotion didn't pan out. 

Rick caught the look between them. "You know him, Jana?"

"Yes, I know him."

"Well, who is he?" Rick's voice skirted petulance.

"Dresden Stredwick, III. Dred to his friends."

Rick's jaw went slack. "The Fed's number one criminal profiler has been assigned to our case?" was all he could manage. He parked the car and sat in stunned silence.

"He's brilliant, Rick," Jana finally said. "But trust me, he's far from perfect." She reached across and touched her partner's arm. "We go about our business and apologize to no one. Agreed?"

"Yes, of course. I won't like it, though. I'm feeling the extra heat already with this guy showing up."

Jana smiled. "Understandable, Rick. That's exactly the effect he's counting on."

**********

"Who's the bozo in the lobby acting like a rock star?"

Detective Skeets Epstein jabbed an elbow into his partner's side. "Careful, Russ. The guy's an FBI criminal profiler with a pedigree as long as one of those fancy show dogs. Wrote a book on the subject. Required reading for Bureau newbies."

"I figured FBI when I spotted the black sedans with tinted windows," Russ said. "What's the hotshot's name?"

"Dresden Stredwick, III. Latest in a long line of lawmen."

The two detectives sat in their department's conference center. They'd arrived for the initial big meet between the Granite Mountain Sheriff's Office and the FBI. Skeets nibbled an energy bar and bore a sour look on his face.

"Matthew Buell pulled in a favor to get him here," Skeets remarked. "There's an unsubstantiated rumor that Fritz Buell's kid plans to sue our department for not properly warning and protecting the parishioners of St. Matilde's. Claims we knew there was a risk to former employees of the church, and we failed to inform his father."

"This case has become a nightmare," Russ said. "The clues are random and disjointed. It's frustrating... like spinning a Rubik's Cube. I hate those damned things."

Skeets laughed, then tried to cover it by clearing his throat. His boss, Sheriff Derek Oleson, chose that moment to enter the room. His features were relaxed except for his eyes. Their usual green color had turned to steel gray, and Skeets recognized the storm that threatened.

A trail of personnel followed the Sheriff into the room. Derek Oleson moved to stand at the head of the table. Detectives Jana Burke and Rick Morales sat to his right.

Skeets scribbled something on a sheet of paper and passed it to Russ: What's up with Rick? He's fidgeting over there as if he's sitting in a pile of red ants.

"Anything you want to share, Skeets, before we get started?" Derek asked.

The rotund detective reddened at the call out and responded, "No, Sir."

"I've got something to say, Derek." Russ Jolly zeroed in on his boss. "I'd like to know what you think about the feds waltzing in here and taking over. Why are we letting a millionaire motivated by revenge interfere with our case?"

Derek stepped back to the wall, leaned against it and crossed his arms. "Is that what you all think?"

***

The question hung in the air, disrupted by a trio of agents who entered. Their leader was of an indeterminate age. He had the standard federal agent look -- dark suited, clean-shaven and trim. A pair of glasses hung from a cord around his neck. He stopped at Derek's side while his partners seated themselves on the empty side of the table.

Derek cocked his head in order to hear what the agent said into his ear. He replied with a curt nod. The profiler moved to a whiteboard, picked up a marker and faced the room's occupants.

"My name is Agent Dresden Stredwick. I'm accompanied by Agents Michael Callahan and Gregory Steckley." Turning back to the board, he wrote: Together we'll solve this case, and underlined together. He snapped the cap back on the marker and looked in the direction of Skeets and Russ.

"We're on the scene to offer our unique services, Detectives, not to supplant your authority."

Skeets was stunned. "How'd he hear what Russ said from behind a closed door?" he wondered.

"I'll be in charge of my own men. Sheriff Oleson will continue his role as your superior. The difference going forward is that you will have access to the FBI's extensive databases. Particularly, in the area of profiling."

"From what I gather, you're the best in that field," Skeets interjected. "I don't mean to sound crass, but we've got only two corpses and haven't even made the Minneapolis StarTribune. Which has me scratching my head over why the feds would send over one of their star profilers?"

A quiet voice from the room's corner drew everyone's attention. "The question's legitimate, Agent Stredwick. I think it would be a good idea to address this right now and clear the air," Derek said.

Stredwick remained nonplussed. "Good old Midwestern forthrightness. Gotta love it." He walked to the evidence board and turned his back on them, making a show of studying it. He turned and posed a question to the only female present.

"You're intimate with my expertise, Jana. Is there a justifiable reason for my involvement in this case?

"I think Matthew Buell's plea is a cover for your real agenda."

"And that is?"

"The killer moved the second body to the reservation. A smart move because the United States Government has to honor the sovereignty of the Sioux nation. Which leads me to believe the FBI's primary agenda is mediation. As to why you've been assigned as lead? Your sub-specialty is cults. The victim's ties to the Catholic Church, the religious symbolism central to both cases, possible connection to a pedophile priest -- you'd have been my choice."

Skeets shifted his weight and leaned forward on the table.

"That's fine for now," he said. "As long as you don't change the rules once the press learns of this latest killing."

"Damage control is what we do best," Agent Stredwick replied. "My people will handle the press and community relations. It will be our priority to ensure the public your department has access to every possible law enforcement resource."

"I get that," Rick Morales said without lifting his head. "But I don't buy the bit about community relations. We were doing fine until you got here."

"Not so, Detective... ah... Morales, is it? We're aware you may have someone in this office leaking information to the press. Item number one is to find that leak and shut it down."

Rick's face blanched, and his upper lip trembled. "I know the identity of the snitch. So, half your mission is already accomplished." He pointed to the agents sitting. "You can leave your underlings here and head back up to D.C. or wherever you come from." He brushed Jana's hand from his arm and slumped in his chair.

"Rick," Derek said, "wait for me in my office."

The detective gathered his notes and exited the room.

"I assure you we will cooperate completely with your office, Agent Stredwick." Derek nodded in Jana's direction. "Detective Burke will be the liaison between our two departments." He glanced at Skeets and Russ. "Though she has less experience than the rest of my team, she's a good investigator and has the advantage of having FBI experience."

"Very good, Sheriff. Shall I continue with the rundown of how this is all going to work?" Agent Stredwick said.

Derek looked at his watch. "It's early for a lunch break, but I'd like to talk with Detective Morales, clear this up, and have him here for the particulars."

"Hold on," Stredwick said. "You expect to clear him of suspicion in the space of an hour?"

"I don't suspect him of anything other than a tendency to care too much about his victims. He may have an idea of who is responsible for the leak, but so does every detective in the room. The person in question has been suspended from this case."

"Nevertheless, I'd like to be in the room when you talk with Detective Morales."

"Suit yourself."

***

Skeets hurried to his desk, opened the bottom drawer and retrieved an object. He pocketed a cigarette pack and headed to his car. Lowering the window halfway, he removed a cigarette, straightened it and placed it between his lips.

Smoke soon filled his nostrils, sending a rush of pleasure through his body. He started the car and pointed it in the direction of McGuffin's Pub where a Reuben sandwich, slathered with thousand island dressing and oozing cheese, waited -- along with a certain sexy television anchor.

to be continued ...