"Okay," I said.

"I think," said Lamar, conclusively, "that somebody called Cletus and said, 'I just killed two guys at your house,' and it was somebody that Inez knew was there, too." He hurried on. "And I think that whoever it was said that he'd shot a couple of cops. Like you say, Carl. But that's why Inez is so sorry. She's apologizing to the whole department for the cops being killed. Only she don't know she's doin' it."

He was right. Absolutely. No doubt in my mind. Again.

"Totality of the circumstance," said George. "Now, all we need is evidence…"

"I been thinking about that, too," said Lamar. "I think there's a chance that whoever called Cletus in Florida was calling from the murder scene. Cletus's house." He shifted in his chair, and winced. He'd put weight on that ankle. "So I was thinking that if somebody was to go to a judge, and just lay the whole thing out, and make a couple of really good points, maybe we could get a court order for Cletus's telephone records. Like, maybe a longdistance call made to him, from his place in Iowa to his place in Florida." He shifted back, more carefully. "So what do you two think?"

"Explain to the judge that this is a critical case…" murmured George, to himself as much as us.

What it boiled down to was this: A judge would take into consideration the bare evidence, but would listen to more persuasive arguments. First, we would get a bit of leeway, because it was such a serious crime. Then, it would be apparent that this evidence would go a long way to either get us on the track, or to eliminate Cletus completely. Most persuasively, though, I thought, was the fact that the order to permit examination of the phone bill was not particularly intrusive. We wouldn't have to go on the Borglan property to get it, and we wouldn't disrupt the Borglan household in any way. As a plus, we could be pretty restrictive with dates, as well. We weren't going fishing, here. We could stipulate a three-day span, from Friday through Sunday. No more.

I thought we had a good chance. So did George. Lamar just sat there looking very pleased with himself.

As we were typing out the application, I thought about Cletus. He'd really had a busy day. He'd gone from innocent irritant, to suspected murderer, back to innocent, to accessory after the fact. By rights, he should have been breathing hard.

"So, what did you have to tell me?" asked Lamar

"Uh… nothing," I said.

The Febbies were still a no-show, so after we broke for lunch – a couple of fat-free hotdogs for me – we moved on with the Cletus lead. Judge Oberfeld was polite, and you could tell he was obviously pleased about George of the Bureau being with us, but suggested we simply approach the county attorney and have a subpoena issued. We explained about the conflict of interest, and that there had yet to be a special prosecutor appointed, and that Davies was in court in Pottawattamie County and not available.

Mike, who was just coming on duty, took the resulting order, and headed to the phone company records office in Manchester.

George and I went back to my office. I got busy filling out my account of John's and my flying trip into the snowbank, in hot pursuit of a snowmobile. It ran to four pages, in which I took responsibility for authorizing the chase sans headlights. Not nearly as noble as it sounds, really, because department policy requires that the driver, regardless of authorization, operate the vehicle in a safe manner. Best I could do was share responsibility.

I had just finished the report, and signed it, when George said, "They're here."

I went to the window, and looked out over the parking lot. A dark blue Ford sedan was parked beside George's dark blue Ford sedan. Twins. I opened my mouth to make some sarcastic remark to him, when I recognized who was getting out of the second car.

"Oh, shit" was all I said. "Goddamn it, George. You could have told us in advance…"

Special Agent in Charge Volont, Federal Bureau of Investigation, stuck out his hand. "Deputy Houseman, how've you been?"

"Fine." We shook hands. "Yourself?"

"Except for the fact that some of the people assigned to me are idiots," he said, deadpan, "fine, thanks." He glanced around. "Sorry I'm late. Sheriff Ridgeway close?"

"Right here," said Lamar, emerging from his office. "You're lookin' healthy."

They shook hands, and Volont took notice of Lamar's limp. "Any improvement?" he asked, with a hint of warmth in his voice.

"Still bothers me some," said Lamar. "You want to talk in my office?"

As I followed Volont and Lamar into the doorway marked SHERIFF, I glanced at George. He looked a little apologetic. He should. Volont was the FBI equivalent of Machiavelli. We'd worked together before. Not exactly my kind of guy. If those two agents, Brandenburg and Hernandez, had been working for him, we were in deeper that I had thought. Much deeper. Volont was in charge of counterterrorist operations in a large chunk of the United States, and he'd worked with us once before. He was honest, fair, and very unlikely to share any useful intelligence with anybody in a rural Sheriff's Department.

I managed to keep any expression of joy off my face as we all sat down. The twinge in my back had nothing to do with it.

It's not often you get to watch a real expert at work. Volont was, among all the other things I thought he was, an expert in handling people.

He began by apologizing for any inconvenience his subordinate agents may have caused. He expressed concern about the snowmobile accident, and said that the Feds would gladly pay for any damage to our car. He further expressed concern for the behavior of Agent Brandenburg for kicking me, and for Agent Hernandez being so inept as to creep about the outside of the jail.

At that point, the con was in.

He then asked how we had come upon Brandenburg in the first place. Between Lamar and myself, we managed to tell the basic details of the encounter with the agents. We also gave a basic description of the two homicides, as background.

"I feel an apology is in order, for not touching base with your department, Sheriff, before we started the spot surveillance. I hope you understand, we have some problems with obtaining permission to divulge certain… aspects… of our work."

Smooth.

Lamar accepted that. No real choice. "But," he added, "I want to know why they were out there."

It was very interesting. Volont had just told us that he was sorry, but wasn't able to tell us the truth. Since nothing had been said to indicate that the "problems… divulging" had changed in any way, he had already warned us. Obliquely, but nonetheless, warned. So, now, he proceeded to tell us… well, not exactly the truth.

"We've had information," he said, "concerning a possible meeting in this area. Not specifically at the farm where the two killings took place. We were watching, to see who attended." He gave one of his familiar little tight-lipped smiles. "This is all concerning another matter, of course. One that has nothing to do with the area being observed." He shrugged, regretfully. "I'm sorry, but my agents tell me that you really can't see much of the Borglan place from their position." He paused. "So, we don't have any surveillance data we can share with you. I wish we did."

"Me too," said Lamar.

At this point, he'd really said he was sorry it had happened, he wasn't able to tell us the truth, he'd proceeded to tell us something other than the truth, and had just reassured us that it was all better. Very smooth. If I hadn't known him from before, he would have been a comfort. I was beginning to understand my feeling of being watched at Borglan's, though.