“Deputy Bass is watching the back door and Deputy Steck is set up in the front foyer,” Tibbs said. “We’re receiving assistance this morning from Chief Williamson and four of his uniforms to get the extra manpower. I had to make a deal with him.”
“Let me guess,” Joe said. “You agreed that he could commission his tank into use.”
“You got it,” Tibbs said with disdain. “So if this doesn’t work out, you owe me big-time.”
“Gotcha.”
Chief Williamson of the Saddlestring Police Department had a well-deserved reputation for being overzealous and eager to use every tool at his disposal for any situation he could find. He believed in overwhelming force.
Williamson had been champing at the bit for years to roll out the MRAP—a mine-resistant ambush protected armored truck—the Pentagon had sent his department in the wake of the Iraq War. It weighed forty thousand pounds and the last time it had been used was for display in the Fourth of July parade downtown. Unfortunately, the MRAP was so heavy it had damaged the bridge over the river, and the incident had resulted in a recall election the chief had barely survived.
“The MRAP isn’t conspicuous, is it?” Joe asked.
“No. He agreed to hide it in the alley behind the bank down the street. But how can a vehicle that size not be conspicuous?
“So,” Tibbs said, “tell me your plan here again.”
Joe glanced at his watch. “Marybeth will go live with the photo album in fifty minutes. The library will provide a video and audio feed to news outlets that have requested a live link and a video file to those who don’t watch it in real time. She’s also going to send the link all over social media.”
“I hate social media.”
“I do, too. But Marybeth knows what she’s doing.”
“Where is she now?”
“In her office going over her presentation,” Joe said. “She’s good at this kind of thing.”
“And what do we expect will happen?”
“Like I told you, we don’t know for sure. But based on what we’ve figured out, we’re expecting the perps that murdered Bert Kizer and Lola Lowry to show up. They don’t want anyone to have the album or see what’s inside of it.”
“That sounds far-fetched.”
“Our bad guys are desperate,” Joe said. He didn’t know if he sounded convincing. Or if he was convinced of it entirely himself.
“This whole thing is crazy,” Tibbs said. “We’re talking about Nazi memorabilia showing up at our little Podunk library. I hope we aren’t embarrassing ourselves.”
“Don’t let Marybeth hear you say that,” Joe warned.
“Who in the hell will tune in, or whatever?” Tibbs asked.
Behind him, Joe heard Marybeth clear her throat. When she spoke, her tone was icy, and the sheriff blanched when he heard it. Joe noted that Griffith turned away so the sheriff wouldn’t see her grin.
“In addition to going live on Facebook, Twitter, and ConFab to millions of users, Sheriff Tibbs, our receptionist has been fielding calls and requests all morning. So far, we’ve got the Casper Star-Tribune, Wyoming Public Radio, the Billings Gazette, four television stations and five radio stations in Wyoming and Montana. All receiving the feed from our Podunk library.”
Tibbs’s face flushed.
“Oh,” she continued, “we’ve also got the New York Post, CNN, Fox News, the Associated Press, Library Journal, and the Wall Street Journal. That’s domestic press. Internationally, we’ve got Die Zeit and Süddeutsche Zeitung from Germany, the Daily Mail and the Sunday Times from the UK. Oh, and two Hungarian newspapers.”
“Hungarian newspapers?” Tibbs repeated.
She paused and Joe turned to see she was reading off a handwritten list.
“Blikk and Magyar Nemzet,” she said. “I don’t know anything about them, but I find it interesting.”
Her social media strategy had worked beyond her wildest dreams, she’d said earlier. News of the announcement had gone everywhere. And Steve-2 Price had come through on ConFab for Joe. Millions of ConFab followers were signed up for the live event.
“My God,” Tibbs said. “What if nothing happens? What if these bad guys decide not to show up?”
Marybeth gave Tibbs her most withering glare. Joe was happy it wasn’t directed at him.
“These news outlets aren’t signing up to witness an arrest,” she said. “They know nothing about our two homicides. All they know is that we are suddenly in possession of a photo album compiled by a notorious Nazi war criminal. A vicious monster of a man. It’s news, Sherriff Tibbs. And we’re generating it from our own little Podunk library.”