Shoot to Thrill by P.J. Tracy

superficial.
    Women look at clothes and makeup and weight and all sorts of silly shit …
    What women do that?
    Women who aren’t you, Grace. They’re looking for flaws. But men look for weaknesses first. Kind of an enemy assessment.
    Grace had smiled at him.
They’re both kind of an enemy assessment, aren’t they?
    ‘Good morning, Detective Magozzi, Detective Rolseth. I’m Special Agent John Smith. I’m afraid we haven’t had much success tracing the posted film of your homicide …’
    ‘Grace told us.’
    ‘… and I understand from your Chief that MPD is also hitting a dead end on the local investigation.’
    Gino pulled out a chair and sat down. ‘Great. Now we’ve established that we’re all big fat failures.’
    ‘I certainly didn’t mean to imply—’
    ‘Yeah, yeah, sorry. I’m operating on really low voltage this morning. But you gotta remember, our investigation
    ‘On the contrary. We’re counting on MPD. Toward that end, the Bureau would like to offer any assistance you might require. If you need help on the ground in evidence collection, canvassing, forensics, or suspect interviews, Special Agent in Charge Paul Shafer has committed to provide the manpower …’
    ‘Thanks, but we’ve got it covered,’ Magozzi interrupted, still standing, taking the high ground. ‘We put twenty more officers on site early this morning, blanketing the area between the club our vic left and where he ended up in the river. Any more would be overkill.’
    ‘Still, some extra eyes and hands might be helpful.’
    Magozzi finally sat across from Smith and leaned forward, eye to eye. ‘Straight up, Smith. I don’t feel like dancing this morning. Washington wants the case, right?’
    Smith looked right back at him. ‘That was the initial recommendation.’
    ‘You have absolutely no jurisdiction here.’ Magozzi always spoke very slowly, very softly just before he started to bellow. Gino closed his eyes and waited. ‘Wishful thinking is about the only thing you’ve got connecting our case to your five. There is no way our Chief will voluntarily sign off on passing the ball to the Feds.’
    ‘I’m sure you’re right, but—’
    ‘This is MPD’s case, and we don’t need a parade of suits stomping all over our scene or interviewing potential witnesses or suspects. We’ve been down that road before,
    Smith leaned back in his chair. ‘Lord, no, he’s not the only one.’
    Gino snickered.
    ‘And remember, I said that was the initial recommendation. I talked them out of it, at least for now. Just keep me in the loop, and I’ll do the same from my end. That’s all I ask.’
    Damn, Magozzi hated it when people did this to him. You get all prepped for battle and then the jerk you’re ready to stab through the heart lays down his sword. ‘Fair enough,’ he grumbled.
    ‘I got something here,’ Harley hollered from across the room, and everybody gathered around his computer. He pointed to some lines of text on a monitor bigger than Gino’s TV. ‘Check this out. It’s an encrypted post I hacked from one of your hot sites, Smith. It says, “City of Lakes. Bride in the water. Or would that be a groom? Near beer.” Whatever that means.’
    ‘The film showed the old Grain Belt sign across the river,’ Magozzi said.
    ‘Then that’s gotta be your case, guys.’
    Magozzi shrugged. ‘Sure. But this thing is all over the news, which means it’s all over the Web.’
    ‘I know. But you said your guy drowned two nights ago, right?’
    ‘Right.’
    ‘Well, this thing was posted the day before the murder.’
    The absence of sound in the room was profound, like a
    ‘Positive. This sick bastard was pre-advertising and then he posted his trophy film to prove he did it.’

Magozzi looked at the sign on the door that read CHELSEA THOMAS and his mouth turned down. Who named their kid Chelsea? And if you got saddled with a moniker like that, you ought to grow up to be an exotic dancer instead of an FBI profiler.