when I discuss this case with others. I understand that this is an active police investigation and if I violate this confidentiality agreement, I may be subject to civil or criminal penalties as determined by the United States District Attorney in cooperation with law enforcement personnel.
There was a line at the bottom with Signature in small print underneath it. "You're kidding. I'm not going to sign this. What if you tell me something and I need to discuss it with, um, with somebody?"
Tinsley regarded me steadily, his blue eyes flinty and hard. "If you feel that way, I don't believe we have anything to talk about. You can consider this visit a formal request on my part for you to come to the Roseville Police Department tomorrow morning at nine o'clock so I can take your statement and you can sign your deposition. At that time, you will need to produce your late husband's effects from his locker at the Fire Department. Be aware that you may be subpoenaed for a grand jury investigation. If you no longer have his effects, you should be prepared to explain why you don't have them, what you did with them, and where, if possible, they can be found." He held out his hand. "I'll take that."
"Whoa, wait a minute." I held the paper against my chest lest he snatch it away. "What's going on?" I shifted my attention to Dan, surprised when I saw him roll his eyes.
Dan's features smoothed into an attentive, almost bland, expression. "This is a complicated investigation," he said, his voice a mix of soothing and dismissive. "There might be people involved whom you consider friends. We want to make sure you don't inadvertently drop hints about what we're talking about here." He twitched his shoulder as Grumble inched forward, cat lips poised near Dan's right ear.
"We? You're involved in the investigation?"
"Mr. Steele is assisting the FBI," Tinsley said quickly.
"You and he are friends," I pointed out. "Isn't that a conflict of interest or something?"
Tinsley stood abruptly. "It's obvious you're not interested in helping us find who killed your husband. The Police Department liaison will be in touch."
He was starting to piss me off, FBI or not. "Sit down. I need to think about this. You've handed me this ultimatum, and you're asking me to sign it without giving me a chance to think about it, that's all." I stared at the document again, more to escape Tinsley's ice-blue focus than to read the words.
What if I signed this? All it meant was that I shouldn't blab about what the police told me to anybody else. That seemed reasonable, although a confidentiality statement seemed a bit heavy-handed. I didn't like being backed into a corner like this. Why couldn't I keep it, talk it over with my mother or my aunt or somebody and sign it tomorrow? Maybe Mom could get in touch with what's-his-name, Darryl Brody the attorney, and I could ask them about it.
Because the very fact that they're asking me to sign it indicates that somebody I know is involved in the murder . The knowledge settled over me in a wave. If I told other people about this whole confidentiality thing, it might spook whoever was involved. I glanced to my left. Dan was busy petting Grumble, who had insinuated himself onto Dan's shoulder, his triangular face snugly tucked under Dan's chin and his body twisted into a posture only a cat could manage. I raised an eyebrow at this outpouring of affection.
"I like cats," Dan said, his voice amused and muffled by my cat's head.
"I hope you do. And I hope you're not allergic. If you are, you'll be in the hospital soon." I flourished the paper. "Did you sign one of these?"
"I didn't have to. I was deputized. It comes with the territory."
"Deputized?" My voice rose as I looked from one man to the other. "Is that even legal? Can the FBI go around and grab people and make them deputies?"
"The FBI didn't do it," Tinsley snapped. "The Sheriff did. And yes, it's legal. A civilian can be appointed as a reserve police officer or deputy
There was a line at the bottom with Signature in small print underneath it. "You're kidding. I'm not going to sign this. What if you tell me something and I need to discuss it with, um, with somebody?"
Tinsley regarded me steadily, his blue eyes flinty and hard. "If you feel that way, I don't believe we have anything to talk about. You can consider this visit a formal request on my part for you to come to the Roseville Police Department tomorrow morning at nine o'clock so I can take your statement and you can sign your deposition. At that time, you will need to produce your late husband's effects from his locker at the Fire Department. Be aware that you may be subpoenaed for a grand jury investigation. If you no longer have his effects, you should be prepared to explain why you don't have them, what you did with them, and where, if possible, they can be found." He held out his hand. "I'll take that."
"Whoa, wait a minute." I held the paper against my chest lest he snatch it away. "What's going on?" I shifted my attention to Dan, surprised when I saw him roll his eyes.
Dan's features smoothed into an attentive, almost bland, expression. "This is a complicated investigation," he said, his voice a mix of soothing and dismissive. "There might be people involved whom you consider friends. We want to make sure you don't inadvertently drop hints about what we're talking about here." He twitched his shoulder as Grumble inched forward, cat lips poised near Dan's right ear.
"We? You're involved in the investigation?"
"Mr. Steele is assisting the FBI," Tinsley said quickly.
"You and he are friends," I pointed out. "Isn't that a conflict of interest or something?"
Tinsley stood abruptly. "It's obvious you're not interested in helping us find who killed your husband. The Police Department liaison will be in touch."
He was starting to piss me off, FBI or not. "Sit down. I need to think about this. You've handed me this ultimatum, and you're asking me to sign it without giving me a chance to think about it, that's all." I stared at the document again, more to escape Tinsley's ice-blue focus than to read the words.
What if I signed this? All it meant was that I shouldn't blab about what the police told me to anybody else. That seemed reasonable, although a confidentiality statement seemed a bit heavy-handed. I didn't like being backed into a corner like this. Why couldn't I keep it, talk it over with my mother or my aunt or somebody and sign it tomorrow? Maybe Mom could get in touch with what's-his-name, Darryl Brody the attorney, and I could ask them about it.
Because the very fact that they're asking me to sign it indicates that somebody I know is involved in the murder . The knowledge settled over me in a wave. If I told other people about this whole confidentiality thing, it might spook whoever was involved. I glanced to my left. Dan was busy petting Grumble, who had insinuated himself onto Dan's shoulder, his triangular face snugly tucked under Dan's chin and his body twisted into a posture only a cat could manage. I raised an eyebrow at this outpouring of affection.
"I like cats," Dan said, his voice amused and muffled by my cat's head.
"I hope you do. And I hope you're not allergic. If you are, you'll be in the hospital soon." I flourished the paper. "Did you sign one of these?"
"I didn't have to. I was deputized. It comes with the territory."
"Deputized?" My voice rose as I looked from one man to the other. "Is that even legal? Can the FBI go around and grab people and make them deputies?"
"The FBI didn't do it," Tinsley snapped. "The Sheriff did. And yes, it's legal. A civilian can be appointed as a reserve police officer or deputy
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