her.
“And I’m the county attorney,” said the man who glanced at her badge but batted away her hand like her credentials didn’t matter. “I handle all the death investigations around here.”
“Sheriff, I hope you’ll give us a hand,” she said while purposely looking at the county attorney. “But the rest of you need to turn around. The forest is federal property.” She hoped that she sounded convincing. “This is a federal crime scene. Right now we need to keep access limited. We’re trying to bring out the injured while preserving the evidence.”
“This is ridiculous,” one of the men said.
“How many injured?” the sheriff asked as he stepped closer. “Darlene’s radio call never said.”
“If these other gentlemen will leave I can fill you in, Sheriff.”
“Wait. I think my son is here. I just need to know if he’s okay.”
“Frank, tell this woman I handle all the death investigations for three counties.”
“Gentlemen, please,” Maggie raised her voice. “If you’ll return to the area over the hill we can continue. We should be able to have some information for you in the next hour.”
“This is absolutely crazy. You don’t have the authority to tell us what to do.”
One of the men grabbed Maggie’s shoulder to push her aside.
“These are our kids. We have every right—”
He stopped so suddenly another man bumped into him. They all stared at the Smith and Wesson now aimed at the man’s face.
“Lady, you cannot be serious.” But he didn’t move.
Even the sheriff stood to the side and made no attempt to argue.
The others took several steps backward. Maggie could see beads of sweat on the county attorney’s forehead.
“Sheriff,” Maggie said, “would you please inform these gentlemen that I don’t have the time to make federal arrests right now, but I certainly will do that if it’s necessary.”
The only sound was the generator, a steady hum up on the ridge, muffled by the trees. A fork of lightning flashed far over the clearing, followed by a distant rumble. A reminder that time was running out.
“I’ll let you guys know what’s going on,” the sheriff said, and he edged closer to Maggie still keeping a yard between them.
Finally the men turned to leave, casting glances over their shoulders while mumbling to one another. Even the county attorney grudgingly left, after kicking at the ground like a toddler shaking off a tantrum.
When they were past the cattails Maggie said to the sheriff, “I’m Maggie O’Dell.”
She holstered her weapon still watching the men, only looking at the sheriff when he said, “I’m Frank Skylar. What the hell’s the FBI doing out here?”
“Believe it or not, I just happened to be in the neighborhood.” She held back adding “unfortunately.” She started leading him back to the crime scene when she added, “I’ll need you to call the coroner. See if you can get him here before those thunderstorms make it.”
“Well, that’s a bit of a problem.”
She stopped to look back at him, disappointed that she was still going to have him working against her. “And why is that?”
“You just sent away the coroner.”
“One of those men was the coroner? Why didn’t he say so?”
“Actually he did. Oliver Cushman is our county attorney. By state law the county attorney is the coroner as well.”
It was Maggie’s turn to say, “You cannot be serious.”
TEN
WILLIAMSBURG, VIRGINIA
“I just spent three days in Norfolk,” Bix told Platt after chewing two forkfuls of peach pie.
“I’m guessing not at Virginia Beach on vacation.”
“Forty-two students at Geneva High School were throwing up their guts after eating lunch in the school cafeteria.”
“Food contamination?”
Bix didn’t respond.
“Unfortunately it happens more often than we realize.” Platt’s second bite of cheeseburger didn’t taste as good as his first. It certainly did nothing to Bix’s appetite. For a guy who wanted “just coffee,” he worked his way through the slice of pie like he hadn’t eaten all day.
“What was it?” Platt asked when Bix didn’t immediately offer an answer. “E. coli? Salmonella?”
The CDC chief put his fork down, grabbed his mug, and slurped coffee.
“Don’t know.”
“Too early to tell?”
“No. I don’t know. I’ve tested for all six major strains of E. coli and three different strains of salmonella. I haven’t found it yet.”
Platt stared at him, waiting for Bix to stop looking around the diner as if suddenly he didn’t want to talk. Bacteria could be tricky. Oftentimes you found only what you tested for. It wasn’t as if you put a sample under the microscope and the various germs lit up in different neon colors. Platt knew there were more than two thousand species of salmonella alone. Most of those existed in animals and humans without causing damage. Some were serious pathogens that could cause a wide range of illnesses and infections from gastroenteritis to typhoid fever.
“Are you saying it might be something we’re not used to seeing?” Platt asked.
“Could be a mutated version. I just don’t know.”
Platt watched the CDC chief fidget with his silverware.
“Was it accidental or intentional?”
“You know some people say our nation’s food supply is an accident of epidemic proportions just waiting to happen. We have an administration that’s declared child obesity a matter of national security and they want all vending machines out of schools. They want McDonald’s to quit enticing kids with toys in Happy Meals. They call Cheerios on the carpet for claiming their cereal reduces cholesterol when Cheerios is not federally approved”—he shot quote marks in the air—“to make such claims. And in the meantime, we have a national food supply that is more vulnerable than ever to accidents, contamination, and tampering. The feds’ answer? They need more regulations and yet they don’t, won’t, and can’t inspect what they already have authority over. They’re shutting down egg suppliers for a salmonella outbreak but forty-eight hours before that salmonella outbreak, a USDA inspector reported the supplier ‘good to go.’”
He shoved the silverware away and pushed back against the vinyl booth. All the while Platt sat quietly, allowing him his rant.
Platt was a soldier. He didn’t have the luxury of publicly voicing his political views like Bix, who, despite being a government employee, was still a civilian. That didn’t mean that Platt didn’t agree with Bix, at least with some of what he said. But it was late. Platt had driven almost two hours to the diner. He had the same drive back waiting for him. He didn’t owe Bix any favors. They were even as of Platt’s last count.
“What’s going on, Roger?”
Bix, finished with the pie, put his elbows back on the table, intertwined his hands, making a steeple of index fingers.
“It’s obviously a food-borne illness. Obviously some sort of contamination that took place. All of them ate lunch that day in the cafeteria and within hours they displayed typical symptoms of food poisoning: nausea followed by vomiting, abdominal cramps followed by diarrhea, then fever. That’s the first day. I wish they would have called me then.
