Page 51 of To Die For

Well, when in doubt, surprise the enemy. Turn retreat into a full-on frontal assault.

He hoped it turned out more like Teddy Roosevelt and San Juan Hill than George Pickett’s charge against high ground at Gettysburg.

He walked across the street to the police cruiser. The officer in the passenger seat rolled down his window.

Devine showed them his official ID.

“I’m looking into the deaths of Dwayne and Alice Odom. Any chance I can get eyes on their car?”

“Why are the feds interested in that case?” said the officer, who was in his thirties, with blond hair, a long face, and suspicious eyes. Devine glanced at his partner, who looked like a carbon copy of his fellow officer.

The officer added, “Just a drug overdose. Happens all the time ’round here.”

“Has to do with an ongoing investigation,” said Devine, and then he stopped and stared at the man.

“We need to check in on that request,” said the officer.

“Okay,” said Devine. He remained standing where he was.

The flustered officer used his radio to call in.

After some back-and-forth, the officer said, “You can follow us to HQ, sir.”

As Devine tailed them in the Toyota, he very quickly found out thatHQwas within walking distance of where he had been. Yet the building was not what Devine had been expecting for a small, rural town.

It was at least twenty thousand square feet, looked new, and was constructed of red brick and glass and rose two stories into the sky. There were twin Humvee tactical vehicles parked in a fenced-in area off to the side, along with what looked to be three armored personnel carriers, a Sat-Nav communications vehicle, and four beefed-up, tricked-out police cruisers with front-end rams. The American and state flags flapped from a long pole out front, and rippled in the gathering wind coming off the higher elevations surrounding them.

Devine got out and joined the two officers, who had exited their vehicle. They were both about his height and had seen the inside of a gym on a regular basis.

“How many officers do you have on the force here?” he asked.

The one he had spoken with before took off his reflective blue-tinted shades and said, “That’s classified.”

Devine thought he was joking, only, it turned out, he wasn’t.

Inside the front entrance, Devine saw a marquee with the names of prominent town officials and their office numbers.

“Mercedes King is the mayor? Any relation to Chief King?” asked Devine.

“His wife,” said the other officer. “No nepotism here,” he added sarcastically.

“They’ve been great for Ricketts,” said his partner defensively.

Devine glanced at the other cop, who was now looking at his shoes, his expression tight.

Devine was led down a broad hallway with paintings and framed photos and notice boards with local information pinned to them.

They reached a double door withCHIEFmarked on it in four-inch metal letters, and one of the men knocked.

“Come,” said a male voice from inside.

Devine was escorted into a large corner office. There were two broad windows with high-dollar custom cabinetry set below them. On another wall was a massive TV that had a news station on with the sound muted. Behind a sleek, wide zebrawood desk sat a man in uniform with four gold stars fastened to each shoulder epaulet.

Devine felt like he’d just walked into the Pentagon to meet the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs.

“Agent Devine,” said the man in a nasally voice. “I’m Chief King. Have a seat.” He waved the two officers off. They immediately retreated and closed the door behind them.

Devine sat and looked across the width of the desk at the police chief of Ricketts. He was in his mid-sixties, with gray, thinning hair and a slender, even withered frame. His features were rigid, his skin unhealthy with dark patches on his face. From his reputation and online bios, Devine had imagined a larger-than-life figure with a ship horn bellow for a voice and narcissism just oozing off him.

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