Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 88290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
There needs to be an explanation here.
The way I understand it, depending on the crime, no matter what, marshals will be involved and on-site. If there are murders committed that cross state lines, that becomes federal. Once it is, once the FBI is there, the marshals will be as well. If the perpetrator is a serial killer—you have marshals. If the murder is especially gruesome—you have marshals. If there are several victims, if someone who was incarcerated got free—think Harrison Ford in The Fugitive—you have marshals. If bank robbers shoot their way out of a bank…you get the idea. It’s how it’s done. So Sam can’t have his team not show up where they’re needed. And he would never do that anyway. But what he can do is make sure that all the protocols are followed, to the letter, and that everyone is working through proper channels on non-emergency, non-life-and-death situations. Basically, you wrap people up in red tape.
I know what you’re thinking. If someone is stuck at a desk, then they won’t be out there catching the bad guys.
No. That’s not what happens.
Every agency has a normal share of the arrests, collars, whatever one wants to call them. Jurisdictional posturing, maneuvering, glory seeking…is normal. But if you are, say, at your desk, then you’re not at the warehouse busting the bad guys. The marshals are there instead. So the bad guys are all still caught, good still triumphs over evil, but your agency doesn’t get the credit. Everybody really wants the credit. My husband normally does not care. He’s the rare supervisor who doesn’t concern himself with who gets their name in the paper and splashed all over the news and the internet. He just wants the bad guys to go to jail. But now, suddenly, since October to now, he’s changed his mind.
Sam basically told the DEA that the marshals were no longer available for uncredited help. All the warrant checks and suspect apprehension were over. They would, of course, do it themselves, but the DEA would not be looped in. And it was well within the marshals’ mandate not to pick up people who may or may not be criminals, since technically, marshals picked up fugitives. It was all semantics, but it was the whole letter of the law versus the spirit that everyone hung their hat on.
Other agencies wanted the marshals on their side because cops had to wait for warrants, and so did the DEA. Marshals, not so much. Being the enforcement arm of the federal court, there was leeway there. The DEA office in Chicago had enjoyed a good working relationship that benefitted them a great deal until they crossed, purposely and with intent and forethought, the chief deputy. They made a plan not to tell Sam Kage that his daughter was being targeted by contract killers.
It was a mistake.
My dear sweet husband sent Agent Corbin Stafford a memo stating that going forward, all requests for interagency assistance must go through the FBI field office, and then, and only then, would the marshals determine what would be deemed necessary engagement on their part. Of course, in the meantime, once the request went through, the FBI and the USMS would go ahead and make any time-sensitive arrests that could in any way impact public safety—and get all the kudos and glory for those apprehensions while the average citizen wondered why the DEA wasn’t pulling drug dealers off the street. Wasn’t that their job?
“That’s kind of mean,” I told Sam.
“What’s mean?” he asked innocently. “Regular people don’t care who takes custody of criminals, they just want scary people off the streets.”
“Sure. But I’m thinking there are folks who do care about who’s doing what.”
He nodded.
“Like?”
“Like,” he said with a really evil grin, “perhaps, the state's attorney. I’m thinking what the DEA is or isn’t doing will concern her. Also, maybe the mayor.”
“Oh God,” I groaned.
“Also, I suspect that the special agent in charge of the Chicago Division of the DEA, who had no idea what her liaison was up to, might be somewhat concerned.”
“She’s going to murder Stafford,” I groaned.
Sam shrugged. “Not my circus, as the saying goes.”
“You’re being very vindictive.”
He grimaced. “I don’t know. One wonders if someone that Stafford loved was placed in danger, would he have wanted the consideration I expected?”
“But none of them had George,” I pointed out. “When you’re given blessings, you’re supposed to be more magnanimous.”
He squinted at me. “I don’t think that counts when you’re talking about federal agencies.”
Maybe not.
Once Sam’s memo to the DEA was forwarded to Zane Calhoun, the special agent in charge of the FBI field office in Chicago, he charged over to Sam’s office and asked him what the hell? Sam explained what had happened regarding his child, to his personal friend, and Calhoun left Sam’s office, returned to his, and informed Corbin Stafford that until further notice, the DEA would be talking to the marshals service through the FBI. He made sure to put that in his own memo as well.