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unturned.”
    “Have there been any new developments?” another reporter said. “Some new leads you could share with us?”
    “Let me just say,” O’Hara said, smiling as he looked toward the camera, “that I have the utmost confidence in this group of
     officers here.” He held his big palm toward Leal and Hart. “They will do their best to investigate what we believe are substantial
     new developments.”
    That sounded promising, Leal thought. Maybe this wouldn’t be such a bad gig after all, if the boss wasn’t just blowing smoke.
    After a few more questions, the undersheriff stood and terminated the conference, saying that the sheriff had pressing issues
     to take care of. O’Hara took his cue and turned to shake hands with all of them before striding off the platform. A few of
     the old-time reporters crowded toward the doorway, trying to pump the undersheriff for more information as he left. Brice
     nodded for the task force to follow him out.
    “My office,” he said.
    Brice’s office was down the hall. The big room was separated by a drywall divider, with an assortment of plaques, awards,
     certificates, and photos decorating the wall behind the desk. A shelf of dust-covered law books was framed perpendicularly
     on the adjacent wall. Brice directed them to sit in the chairs opposite him. Leal noticed that the desk’s surface was relatively
     clear, except for the phone, a tray of papers, a well-packed manila folder, and an ornately framed photograph that faced the
     other way. Picking up the thick manila folder, Brice sat on the corner of the desk.
    “First of all, the ground rules,” he said. “You’ll all report to Ryan. He’s in charge of the unit.”
    Leal noticed Ryan’s eyebrows rise slightly, then he gave a slow, sideways glance in Leal’s direction.
    “And Ryan,” Brice continued, “you’ll report directly to me, and I’ll expect daily updates. Smith’s gonna be your partner,
     and Leal, you work with Hart. I don’t need to tell you how important it is that we kick ass on this thing.” He paused and
     stared at them, then thrust a manila folder, thick with papers, at Hart. “Here’s the file. Would you mind making four copies
     for everybody? I got some more stuff to go over with the guys here.”
    Leal watched Hart’s lips contract slightly, but she stood and left the room without saying anything. Brice watched her go,
     then turned back to the rest of them.
    “I’ve had a temporary office set up for you in room one-ten. You can go check out whatever you need as far as radios, beepers,
     telephones, and cars, but,” he stuck his thick forefinger out at Ryan, “let’s see some goddamn results.”
    Ryan nodded and smiled crookedly.
    “How long we got?” he asked.
    “Let me put it this way,” Brice said. “You’d better hope that you break something before the election. A new administration
     comes in here and who knows where we’ll all be.”
    Ryan coughed and pulled out a pack of cigarettes.
    “May I, boss?”
    “Sure,” Brice said, “in your own fucking office, not here.”
    Ryan grinned again, and stuck the unlighted cigarette behind his right ear.
    “Well, I guess we might as well move to our new facilities then,” he said, standing.
    In the hallway they paused at the copying room to tell Hart where to meet them. She smiled and nodded, watching the machine
     automatically collate the pages. Ryan unlocked the door and gave the other key to Leal. The room had two desks, a typewriter
     on each, and a bulletin board on one wall. “Shit, no phones,” Ryan said. “And only two keys. We’ll have to get some organization
     here.”
    “Want me to run down to supply and get us some phones, Sarge?” Smith asked.
    “Good idea, Joe,” Ryan said. “And get us some beepers, radios, and a couple of cell phones, too.” He looked at Leal. “We gonna
     need anything else?”
    Leal shrugged. “I’m sure we’ll think of something when we need it.”
    Ryan laughed