Infected

42.

In Dew’s experience, local cops rarely looked like happy campers. These particular local cops? Well, they looked downright pissed. Three Ann Arbor police cars were parked in front of Nguyen’s house. They’d pulled right up on the lawn and sidewalk, passing the three gray vans that had parked on the curb. The former occupants of those cars stood on the sidewalk and on the snow-trampled yard, staring up at a pair of men dressed in urban camouflage and holding P90s. Dew had told the four men in Squad One to lose the Racal suits and take positions at the entrances, two at the front door, two at the back. Pissed-off local cops always looked like genuine bad-asses, but Dew’s boys looked like they’d kill a man just as casually as they’d squeeze out a fart.

The six Ann Arbor locals were ticked because they couldn’t enter the house. They’d been told jack shit. All they knew was that there were definite fatalities on their turf, and some government guy wouldn’t let them do their job. Five cars had responded already; the three parked in front plus one at each end of Cherry Street, rerouting all traffic.

A blue Ford slipped slowly past the east roadblock and pulled up to the house. A thick-chested man wearing a brown polyester sport jacket got out and stomped toward Dew. Maybe fifty, maybe fifty-five. This guy didn’t look like a happy camper, either. He had a jaw so pronounced and rounded that he could have passed as a cartoon character.

“Are you Agent Dew Phillips?”

Dew nodded.

“I’m Detective Bob Zimmer, Ann Arbor Police.”

Drew shook Zimmer’s hand.

“Where’s the chief, Bob?”

“He’s out of town at a terrorism training conference,” Zimmer said.

“I’m in charge.”

“A terrorist-training conference? Damn, talk about your irony.”

“Look, Phillips,” Zimmer said, “I don’t know what the fuck is going on here, and I’m having a donkey shit of a day. I just got called to a house that had a gas explosion-mother and son are dead. On the way there, I get calls from the chief, then the mayor, telling me some feds are running the show, that some government asshole named Dew Phillips is in charge.”

“The mayor called me an asshole?” Dew said. “The governor I can understand, but the mayor? I’m hurt.”

Zimmer blinked a few times. “Are you making a joke?”

“Just a little one.”

“Now’s not the time, mister,” Zimmer said. “Then I get to this lady’s house, there’s four of those feds in chemical suits, saying they have to wait for the fire to die down so they can go through it. Then I get a call from the motherfucking attorney general of the fucking United States of fucking America, and then I hear you’ve locked down another house and won’t let my men in.”

“That’s a lot of phone time,” Dew said. “I hope you didn’t use up your minutes.”

Zimmer’s eyes narrowed. “You best quit your joking, Phillips.”

Dew smiled. “Gallows humor, forgive me. If I don’t laugh, I’ll cry, or something like that. So you’ve made some calls, you’ve talked to some people, and you understand that I have authority here, right?”

Zimmer nodded. “Yeah, but tell me what’s happening in this house. We’ve heard multiple fatalities. College kids. What the fuck happened here?”

“You don’t need to know that.”

The detective took a step forward until he was almost nose to nose with Dew. The sudden move took Dew by surprise, but he stood his ground.

“Fuck you, Phillips,” Zimmer whispered, quiet enough that he wouldn’t be heard by the local cops standing only fifteen feet away. “I don’t care who called me. The chief, he’s a nice guy and would cooperate, do whatever you tell him to do, but me? I’m stupid and I like to pick fights I can’t win.”

“That saying must look great on your Christmas cards,” Dew said.

“How about this one: my name is Bob Zimmer and I dream of getting fired?”

Zimmer just smiled.

“I’m old, I own my house, and I invested wisely. You have me fired and I get to go fishing every damn day. This may be a shock to you, on account of my obvious cosmopolitan nature, but I don’t exactly get a daily how-ya-do call from the attorney general. I wanna know the danger level to my boys, and to this town, and I want to know now. ”

As if anything else could go wrong, here it was. A man Dew couldn’t bully. The guy wanted to protect his men first, worry about his career second. Dew knew he didn’t have to say jack to Zimmer, shouldn’t say jack to Zimmer, but they already had two cases in Ann Arbor: if this was the place the shit would hit the fan, Dew wanted allies who knew the terrain.

Dew took a half step back to end the face-to-face stalemate. “It’s bad, Bob. Real bad. You’ve got six dead kids in that house.”

Zimmer’s lip curled up in a snarl. He also kept his voice low, a quid pro quo that instantly showed he’d keep most of the information to himself. “Six? If this is another little joke, now’s the time to say gotcha.”

Dew shook his head. “Six. Four by gunshot, possibly tortured first. One other tortured for sure, probably killed with a hammer to the head.”

“Jesus H. Christ. That’s five. The sixth?”

“The gunman, did himself,” Dew said, then felt a surge of inspiration. “But we don’t know if he acted alone.”

“Are you telling me there’s someone else out here? That why your men were at the other house?”

“We don’t know for sure. As soon as we get more information on that, we’ll let you know.”

“And why?” Zimmer said. “Why are the feds involved?”

“The dead gunman inside may have connections to a terrorist cell. We think he was building a bomb. Maybe the other kids in the house found out, maybe they were part of it.”

“And what did this terrorist cell want with a soccer mom and her son?”

“We don’t know,” Dew said.

“You’ve got to give me more than that.”

“No, Bob, I sure as fuck don’t. I’ve already stuck my neck out giving you this much. So stop pushing me.”

Zimmer looked away, then nodded. “Okay. So what do you need from us?”

“We need another hour. Then the scene is all yours. There will be another car here shortly, an agent and two science types to make sure there’s no biocontaminants inside the house.”

“Biocontaminants? Like anthrax and shit?”

Dew shook his head. “We don’t know. We’re setting up a temp biohazard lab at the University Hospital. We’re taking at least one of the bodies there. Once the eggheads are done with their sweep, you can ID the kids and call the parents.”

The muscles in Zimmer’s massive jaw twitched. “We’ll provide whatever support you need. And if you find the motherfucker who’s responsible for this…well, we’d be just plain happy to take care of him.”