Button flipped through the DEA documents, then watched a few minutes of the camera’s video to make sure Pike hadn’t been fucking with him. But Pike, of course, had never fucked around and wasn’t fucking around now.

Button felt even more sick when he put down the camera. He picked up his phone to call Straw, then reconsidered. He was definitely going to confront the sonofabitch, that was for sure, but he wanted to have all the facts straight before he did. Button intended to file an official complaint.

Button called Dale Springer in the FBI’s New Orleans office. Springer was the agent Button had spoken with about the Rainey case less than an hour ago.

“Special Agent Springer.”

Button even hated how these condescending pricks answered their phones.

“Jerry Button in L.A. again. I stepped into something out here I need to ask about.”

“Sure. What’s up?”

Button noticed Futardo looking at him, which made his stomach clench. He would have to tell her about his fuckup as soon as he got off the phone.

“You know an agent named Jack Straw?”

“Sure. Jack’s a good friend.”

“Uh-huh. Well, who’s his supervisor down there?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’d like to speak with his supervisor. Your Mr. Straw misrepresented himself to the Los Angeles Police Department and is acting like an underhanded prick. I’d like to get this straightened out.”

Springer cleared his throat.

“Hang on, Sergeant. I’ll get him for you.”

A few seconds later, a different male voice came on the line.

“This is Jack Straw. Who is this, please?”

Button felt a stillness settle into his belly.

“Jerry Button with the Los Angeles Police Department. Your name is Jack Straw?”

“That’s right. Have we met?”

“You’re working the William Rainey case?”

“I’m one of the original case agents, Detective. Can I ask what this is about?”

“Ah, listen, is there another Jack Straw on the case?”

The New Orleans Jack Straw laughed.

“Not the last time I looked. What’s going on, Detective?”

“We have a gentleman here identifying himself as an agent named Jack Straw from your office. He has FBI credentials.”

“That isn’t possible.”

“I’ll call you right back.”

Button leaned back in his chair and checked his hands. Steady as parked cars. He looked at Futardo. She was back on her computer, typing away. She was a good kid. He got up and walked over. She jumped to her feet when she saw him coming, but he motioned her down, and pulled up a nearby chair.

“Sit down, Nancy.”

“Did I do something wrong?”

Her eyes were dark as black forest chocolate, but wide as demitasse saucers. She probably thought he was going to chew her out, which he did, often, but now he wanted to teach her.