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raised his hands and spat out his cigarette so he could speak clearly. “Take it easy, Sheriff. I’m a Deputy U.S. Marshal.”
    “I’ll be needing some proof of that.”
    “I have my badge right here in my coat. If you’ll let me get it, you’ll see this is just one, big misunderstanding.”
    “All right, but you make any sudden movements, and the next bullet’s got your name on it,” Pierson warned. “Now take it slow…real slow.” The sheriff maintained a firm aim.
    Jordon moved with extreme caution and reached into his coat. He located his badge right away, pulled it out, and flipped it open.
    Sheriff Pierson lowered and holstered his Glock .45. “Sorry about that, Marshal, but you can’t be too careful.”
    “No harm done. I’m Marshal Jordon Black. I stopped by your station to advise you of my arrival and spoke with Officer Gantt.”
    “I assume you’ve been sent to investigate the murder,” Pierson stated.
    “Not exactly, or I guess I should say I’m not quite sure yet.” Jordon looked down and stubbed out his cigarette still burning on the ground at his feet. “The
    murder you had here is identical to those of a killer I’ve been tracking.”
    “So you have a suspect, then?”
    “Sorry, Sheriff, I wish I did. He’s quite a mastermind, real good at covering his trail.”
    “What makes you think this is the same killer?” Sheriff Pierson reached for another cigarette, having lost the first when pulling his gun on Jordon.
    “I’m not positive it is. But from what I’ve read it seems to be his handiwork. I’ve been after him for two years. He’s cunning, never stays in one place for long. Killing comes easy as breathing to him. He’s left a considerable number of blood-drained bodies in his wake, and the string of cases just keeps getting longer and longer.”
    “Blood-drained bodies?” The sheriff looked surprised. “I hadn’t considered a serial killer.”
    “You don’t know the half of it.”
    “I thought that was the FBI’s job.”
    “I’m with a special division of the Service. We work closely with the FBI,” Jordon told him. “Would you mind if I take a look around the site?”
    “I have no problem with that. I’ m here to take another look myself,” Pierson replied and moved toward the taped-off area.
    Jordon followed, sure that, sweep or not, the unqualified little force had missed something. And preferring to conduct his own search in private, he deliberately put some distance between them, scouring the tree line and underbrush about eighty feet away from Pierson, where he found something of interest. Squatting down, fearful the sheriff might confiscate his find, he smoothed out the crumpled piece of paper and gave it a quick skim. It was a receipt from the Black River Falls Inn.
    “Have you got something there?” Pierson called over to him.
    Jordon slipped the receipt into his pocket before rising from his crouched position.
    “Oh, no, I was just checking the underbrush for any tracks or clues your group might have missed,” he lied.
    “I know what I saw, so how about you just empty that right pocket of yours and prove me wrong.”
    “Happy to.” Jordon pulled the pocket inside out , but with a bit of sleight of hand, transferred the receipt under his sleeve. “Nothing here but a pack of gum, a couple wrappers, and a lighter. What you saw was me retrieving a wrapper that fell from my shirt pocket when I was bending over. Like I said, I was just checking the underbrush for missed clues. I suspect you don’t have the best forensics team at your disposal, am I right?” He went on with uncouth arrogance, not caring how his words came across.
    “I’m rather proud of my team, Marshal, and I can assure you, they did a more than adequate job.” Pierson responded, his irritation at Jordon’s insult apparent.
    “It’s a small county, but we do know how to follow protocol. Everything was done by the book.” He dropped his cigarette to the ground and pressed