Carved in Bone

investigation is corrupt officials, not small-scale pot farmers. And we do have some discretion in how we deal with small fry who help us land bigger fish. Beyond that, we can’t promise anything.”
    I nodded. “Fair enough. I appreciate that. And I’ll certainly encourage anyone who can to cooperate as fully as possible. Mind you, I haven’t seen anything that suggests that Tom Kitchings is involved in extortion. However, sick and scared as I was out in the pot patch, I saw enough to testify that Tom’s brother—who is also his chief deputy—is crooked as a dog’s hind leg.”
    “Is he taking bribes, or is he extorting money?” The question came from a man who had slipped into the room right after I’d started talking. Price introduced him as David Welton, the in-house lawyer for the FBI’s East Tennessee field office.
    “Well, he put a gun to the man’s head and promised to kill him if he didn’t come up with a thousand dollars in two weeks. I’d sure call that extortion.”
    Welton was taking notes now. “And he was in uniform when he did this?”
    “Hell, even his helicopter was wearing a uniform.”
    The lawyer looked at Price. “Sounds like we’ve got him on both Hobbs and colorful law,” he said. She nodded.
    I looked from one to the other, bewildered. Welton explained, “The Hobbs Act outlaws robbery or extortion that interferes with commerce. It was passed back in 1946 to keep the Teamsters Union from taking over the trucking industry.” I appreciated the history lesson, but I wasn’t sure whether I was getting less bewildered or more. “Marijuana cultivation isn’t legal commerce,” he went on, “but I think we can make the case that in Cooke County, it’s established commerce. A pillar of the underground economy, in fact.” I was beginning to see his reasoning, but could it really be possible that Orbin’s crime was obstructing drug trafficking? “By the way,” he added, “speaking of pot patches, if your friend Vern has booby-trapped his, the way a lot of these backwoods guys do”—I felt a rush of panic on Waylon’s behalf but tried not to show it—“he could be looking at ten years in federal prison for that alone.” I made a mental note to warn Waylon at the first opportunity.
    “So tell me about colorful law,” I said. “What’s that?”
    “Excuse me? Oh, color of law. The ‘color of law’ statute is something we’ve found useful in prosecuting corrupt law enforcement officers. Basically, it says that if a public official deprives a person of their rights under what’s called ‘the color of law’—that is, using their position and power to commit the crime—it’s a federal offense. By swooping down in that helicopter and committing assault, extortion—hell, even shooting the dog, which probably falls within the technical definition of ‘taking’—this chief deputy has stepped way over the color-of-law line.”
    Price nodded. “So maybe we haul in Sky King, hold a ten-year sentence over his head, and get him to turn witness against big brother?”
    “Maybe,” cautioned the lawyer, “but be sure you do it right. As a law enforcement officer, the deputy’s considered a highly sensitive source. You’ll need to bring headquarters into the loop before you do it. Probably means you need to create a formal task force.” Price frowned, and I recalled her earlier description of the mountain of paperwork involved.
    “Excuse me,” I interjected. “Do you mind if I ask a couple more things?” Price frowned but assented. I turned to Morgan. “Steve, did your TBI techs find anything at my office? Any prints? Any other evidence that might point to the sheriff—or rule him out?”
    Morgan shook his head. “As we expected, mostly your prints. Some we haven’t ID’d yet—probably students—but definitely not the sheriff’s or either deputy’s. Your prints on the doorknob were smeared, which means that whoever broke in was wearing gloves.”
    “Can’t you get a search warrant and go look for the skeletal material?”
    “Look where? ” he said. “The sheriff’s office? His house? His brother’s house? The other deputy’s house? The sheds at the cockfight pit?” He shook his head, the former student now reprimanding his professor. “We can’t just go fishing all over Cooke County for it, even if we wanted to. Any judge in the state would hand me my head if I asked for a multiple-choice search warrant.”
    I hesitated; this was not