Manhunt. Carla Cassidy
The chief nodded. “Perhaps you have suggestions as to who you want on the team.”
“Definitely Clay James,” Cleburg said without hesitation. “He’s head of our crime scene unit and is as bright as they come. He even runs a small lab in the back of the building.”
“You have a crime scene unit here in Cherokee Corners?” Bud asked in surprise. It was rare for a town so small to have trained crime scene investigators and particularly ones trained in forensic science.
“Yes, my predecessor, Thomas James, foresaw Cherokee Corners growing into a town that would eventually need well-trained police officers in all areas of law enforcement. I encourage my men to get all the education they can.”
“That’s commendable, sir,” Nick replied.
“As far as the other two members of the team, I’ll leave that up to Clay’s discretion. He can decide who he wants working with you.” Glen rose from his desk and motioned for them to follow him out of the office.
“I’ve set up a room for you to use. Unfortunately, space is not a commodity around here, so the room is rather small, but it’s the only place I could free up indefinitely.”
They all followed Cleburg down the hall to a room that had apparently been used as a classroom of sorts. It was, indeed, small, but one wall held a blackboard, and the other held a corkboard. It would be perfect for how Nick liked to work his task forces.
“I’ve had a separate phone and fax line put in and I’m having some of the other officers bring in a couple of computers for your use.” Glen frowned. “Unfortunately, you’ll find our computer system rudimentary. We’ve just gone from paper files to computers in the last couple of months and the automation is an ongoing process.”
“We’ll manage,” Nick assured him. Each of the agents had his own personal computer tied into every main computer for sharing information among law officials across the country. “What I’d like to do now is meet Clay James and get started.”
“Of course,” Glen said quickly. Again he gestured them down the hallway. “I must warn you, Clay is long on smarts, but sometimes he’s short on patience and social skills.”
“We’re used to that sort with Tony here,” Bud said. “He’s our resident Neanderthal man.” He clapped Tony on the back.
Nick smiled at the interplay between the two men who had been partners for the last five years. The three of them worked well together, often played hard together and despite their teasing, held one another in great esteem. Nick only hoped the three men that would join them from the Cherokee Corners personnel would work well with them also.
They found Clay James seated at a desk in the lab area. He looked up as they entered, a frown of irritation crossing his darkly handsome face. It was there only a moment then gone as he eyed the three men that accompanied his chief. He stood.
“Clay, these men are the FBI agents that are going to work the task force.” Again introductions were made and hands were shaken.
As Nick gripped Clay in a firm handshake, he saw in the man’s dark eyes a keen intelligence that assured him he would be a good addition to their team. He also noticed the black, shiny hair, the equally black eyes and the burnished skin tones that instantly made him think of Alyssa Whitefeather.
He’d hoped to win a smile from her this morning. He wasn’t sure why it had become important to him, but he wanted to see her smile. He wanted to see those lush lips of hers curve upward and a spark light the depths of her velvet-blue eyes.
She’d looked so pretty that morning when he’d first seen her from the doorway. Wearing a pale yellow sundress, as she was, and with her hair tied at the nape of her neck with a matching yellow ribbon, he’d wanted to sneak up behind her and place his lips on the vulnerable bared skin just beside her gathered hair.
He yanked his thoughts back to the moment. “Nice to meet you,” he said to Clay James. “What we’re wanting to put together here is a six-man task force consisting of the three of us and you and two other Cherokee Corners officers.”
“I told them you can decide who you want working with you, Clay,” Glen said. “Maybe Collins and Sheller or Cavannaugh or Winter.”
“Not Sheller,” Clay said with a definite tone of voice. “Collins and Winter will be fine.”
“I’ll leave you two to get to work,” Glen said. “But I want to make it clear that I expect to be updated daily and want to be aware of everything concerning these murders.” He turned on his heel and disappeared down the hallway.
“The chief showed me the room where we’ll be working. Do you want to gather up your other men and meet us in there?” Nick asked. “We’d like to get set up and at work immediately.”
Clay nodded. “I’ll find the other two officers and we’ll meet you in there in about ten minutes.”
The men parted, Bud and Tony following behind Nick as they headed back out the front door of the police station. “We’ll get our equipment inside and set up, then spend the afternoon going over the files,” Nick said.
The other two men nodded and headed for their car while Nick went to his own. From the back seat he grabbed the case that held his computer and his briefcase, then went inside to the room where Glen had said they could set up the team.
In the room, the first thing he did was place a long table in the center. This would be the pulse of the room, where he knew in the coming days the men would spend far too much time going over facts, speculating on possibilities and brainstorming together.
Another long table he placed against the back wall, where computers would be up and running, logged into systems that would tell them about similar crimes and the background of potential suspects, among other things.
He’d just started tacking up photos of the victims, when Clay and his two men entered the room. Clay introduced Nick to Simon Collins and John Winter. Collins was tall, pale, with sandy hair and a ready grin. John Winter looked Native American, his dark features expressing less openness than Collins, but still a reserved friendliness.
When Bud and Tony entered the room, introductions were made all the way around, then everyone got to work. By noon they had the room set up as a sort of war room. The corkboard held the victim and crime scene photos. Computers were plugged in and at the ready and a phone number had been established for the phone line, another for the fax line.
Nick looked around in satisfaction. They were ready to begin the process of finding a killer. The men were all seated at the table in the center of the room looking at Nick expectantly. “It’s vitally important that the six of us work as a team. I don’t believe in egos getting in the way of the investigation. We work this as a team and we solve it as a team.”
He sensed the others’ satisfaction with his words. He’d worked too many task forces, and in his experience had learned that there was no room for hot-shots. He had no patience for men who worked for personal gain instead of for the common good of the team to achieve their objective.
“We all sit at this table with strengths and weaknesses,” Nick continued. “Clay, you and John and Simon bring to the table the fact that this is your town. You know it and the people and that’s vital if the killer is a local.”
For the next several hours the men reviewed the facts of each murder, discussing the victims, the circumstances surrounding the deaths and any forensic evidence that had been found.
It was after five when they wound up. “We’ll make it an early day today,” Nick said. “But, I’ll warn you in advance, you might want to tell your wife, your girlfriend or your significant other that from here on out you’re on duty twenty-four hours a day. We’ll be working long hours and I’ll want each one of us to carry cell phones so we’re only a call away from one another at any time of the day or night.”
As the men gathered up their paperwork and got ready to leave, Nick turned to Clay.