Page 74 of Lock ’N’ Load

“After the reporter, another one of your CIA colleagues—Hentz—was here demanding the original file and ordering me not to make any copies before I handed it over. Pompous little prick.”

At the sheriff’s reference to Mitchell Hentz, Trista and Matt exchanged glances.

Sheriff Underwood coughed. “’Scuse my language, ma’am, but he wasn’t nearly as respectful as you two are.”

Matt leaned forward. “I don’t understand something. If this is still an unsolved murder case, how could you hand over your original file? As you said, the case may be old, but it’s still an open case that could be opened at any time. Theoretically, anyway.”

“Well, the agent had a forthwith subpoena with an addendum attached that strictly forbade making copies prior to surrendering the originals. Something about national security being at risk. How a forty-year-old murder could ever compromise national security, I can’t fathom.”

Now Matt was scowling outright, and she knew precisely why. Shortly after the end of World War II, the National Security Act of 1947 established the CIA to coordinate the nation’s intelligence activities. But the act strictly stated that the CIA would have no law enforcement powers or internal security functions, so as not to conflict with the FBI’s domestic enforcement authority. While Trista had never been an operative, even she knew what that meant.

The CIA had no subpoena powers. Whatever document Hentz had given Sheriff Underwood was total bullshit. Then again, Underwood didn’t seem that gullible.

“This pompous little prick,” Matt said. “Did he have company when he slapped that subpoena on you?”

“He sure did.” Underwood nodded. “An FBI agent was with him. Special Agent Max Fenway.”

“So the subpoena was issued by the Department of Justice and served by the FBI agent?” Matt asked.

“Precisely.” Underwood nodded. “They seemed to be in cahoots.”

Catching the sheriff’s eye, Trista smiled. “Presumably, since your secretary is retrieving the file as we speak, you accidentally failed to comply with the addendum order not to make copies.”

Underwood leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms behind his head and smiling smugly. “You are correct, ma’am. Dunno how that happened, but it did.”

“Can’t say I blame you,” Matt agreed, a corner of his mouth lifting.

The sheriff frowned. “After those two federal guys, I had another guy asking about this case. A Russian.”

Trista sat up straighter. “Who?”

“He never said.”

“Did you give him any part of the file?” Matt asked.

“Hell no.” Underwood grimaced. “Kicked him out on his Ruskie ass.”

A plump woman wearing far too much pink lipstick entered the office and handed a manila folder to the sheriff. “Here ya go, sheriff.”

“Thank you, Millie.” Underwood winked at his secretary, then handed the folder to Matt. “There are two copies in there for you. Nothing redacted. This homicide occurred long before my time in office, but everyone around here remembers it, including me. A murder in these parts is big news.”

“You’re giving these to us?” Matt gave the sheriff a look of disbelief. “Without a subpoena?”

“Not exactly.” Underwood grinned slyly. “Officially, I’d need that subpoena. But if I happened to leave these reports on my desk, it might take me days before I noticed one of them was gone.”

Trista raised a brow. “And why would you be willing to do that?”

He paused, pursing his lips for a moment. “Something’s going on here with this case, that much is obvious. If you or your colleagues can help me solve a murder—even a forty-year-old one—I’d be grateful. You see, I’m up for re-election in a few months.”

Matt snorted. “And working closely with the feds to solve a cold case would boost your ratings.”

“That it would.” Underwood leaned back in his chair, smiling.

Matt handed Trista one of the copies. “Care to give us a briefing? Again, with your local expertise, that would be helpful.”

She continued to admire the smooth way Matt worked the sheriff. Seemed like all Underwood wanted was mutual respect from his fellow law enforcement officers, and both Hentz and the FBI agent clearly hadn’t picked up on that. And, of course, he wanted to be re-elected.

“Will Sands was a mean son of a bitch. Bad temper. Constantly in and out of jail for stupid stuff. I don’t know why that nice girl, Erica, married him in the first place. We all figured it was because she got pregnant. Little Billy Jr. was born seven months after the wedding.”