Carved in Bone

fifteen-year sentence in federal prison.
    Price finished her history lecture. “That was twenty years ago—a long time between housecleanings. Not surprisingly, the dirt seems to be building up again.”
    “I’m shocked, shocked,” I said with mock indignation.
    She ignored the joke. “We’ve been monitoring some things up in Cooke County that seem to point to an increase in a whole host of illegal activities,” she said. “As you may know, the Marijuana Eradication Task Force and the Tennessee Highway Patrol work together on surveillance flights to detect pot cultivation. There seems to be a substantial increase in cultivation in Cooke County over the past two years, an increase that’s not been matched in any other counties in the state. We have additional information suggesting a rise in harder drug trafficking, gambling, and prostitution.”
    “Sounds like one-stop shopping for all your vice needs,” I said. The familiar-looking TBI agent grinned slightly, and suddenly I realized why he looked familiar. I’d never met him before, but I’d seen him before: twenty-four hours earlier, at the cockfight in Cooke County. What had Waylon called him? Rooster, that was it. I recalled my conversation with Art about the perils of being unable to tell the good guys from the bad guys. My palms began to sweat and my mouth went dry as cotton.
    Price was still talking; I willed myself to concentrate on her words, though I was still staring at Rankin. “When Agent Morgan said you’d called him to express concerns about the conduct of the sheriff’s department in the homicide case you’re working, it occurred to us that you might be able to shed some indirect light on whether there’s official protection or involvement in any of these various criminal enterprises.”
    Rankin’s eyes were locked on me like laser beams. I opened my mouth to speak, but seemed unable to get any words out. My brain was reeling with possibilities. What if the official corruption wasn’t limited to the sheriff’s department? What if it extended into the TBI—indeed, even into this very task force? Clearly I was in way over my head. “I…I…” I licked my parched lips with a thick, pasty-feeling tongue.
    Rankin cocked his head. “Doc, you look a little dry in the mouth there. Can I get you some water?” I nodded my head nervously. “Or maybe you’d prefer a little dab of this?” He slid something that looked like a hockey puck across the oak table toward me. I caught it, picked it up, and turned it over in my hand. It was a can of Copenhagen. My stomach began to churn. “Go on, buddy, give ’er a try,” Rankin intoned, in the thick, good-old-boy accent he’d used at the cockfight. “It’ll perk you right up. You look like you could use some perkin’ up.” As he finished quoting himself, he grinned broadly and winked at me.
    Bewildered, I scanned the other faces in the room. The other agents seemed to be studying their notepads intently, but I thought I detected some twitching mouths and twinkling eyes. Suddenly Cole Billings choked back a snort, and it hit me: these guys—these straightlaced, straight-arrow, suit-and-tie agents—were teasing me. At first I felt a wave of indignation, but it was quickly replaced by a profound sense of relief. Rankin must have been working the cockfight undercover; hell, he’d probably even been wearing a wire, making it conceivable—likely, even—that all these agents had heard the audio of my retching into the barrel. As I pictured that, I couldn’t help but yield to the absurdity of it myself. Sliding the can of tobacco back to Rankin, I drawled, “Hell-far, Rooster, I done give up on dip, but if you’uns got any shine, I wouldn’t care to take me a swig or two.”
    The League of Justice erupted in laughter. As soon as I could make myself heard, I added, “Okay, you’ve got me dead to rights—I broke the law. I’ll talk. Just promise you’ll go easy on me.” Several of the agents were wiping their eyes. I decided maybe it was time to switch gears. “Seriously, tell me how I can help you,” I said to Price. “Then maybe we can figure out if you all can help me, too.”
    “With the recent rise in cultivation, Cooke County now leads the state in marijuana production,” she began, as briskly as if she were launching a PowerPoint talk. “In addition, there’s an alarming rise in methamphetamine labs in basements and trailers up there. We have it from a well-placed