The whole walk to Dee's, Mike kept the conversation off the case, trying to learn more about the poeple he'd be working with for the next while. Each had a story, whether of heading west for adventure and mountains, as Feinstien had, or a long family history of being in Deseret, which Detective Smith held, being a descendant of the Latter Day Saints' first Prophet and founder.
Arvard turned the chat into a game of evasions, trying to avoid answering how a Johnny Reb turned to a Saint, and Graves joined it, telling tall tales of his journey from the Carolina mountains to Federated Army, none of it possibly true.
Luckily, the snow had the cafe a bit slow, so they took a corner booth and settled in over warm drinks, waiting for their sandwiches.
"Emma, we'll need all the records we can find about who owned that property in 1893." Mike said, once they'd thawed out a bit. "And neighboring ones. I'll see what Candace turns up in her records searches about after that for an assist in tracking it back." Scratching his chin, the stubble rasped. "I really should have shaved."
Only Graves was clean shaven. "I think you can claim extenuating circumstances, son." Arvard opined.
"Wife will veto that, trust me. Not to mention my daughters." Mike chuckled. "So, time to compare first impressions and things we noted."
"Very puzzling." Feinstien offered. "Besides the mystery telesond pipe, we have how the body managed to be placed there."
"I think we stumbled onto something that we might regret opening up again. Not just the who, but the why." Emma spoke softly. "Looking at the skull alone, no trauma, no other bones broken, save that collar bone, and it may have happened when it dropped. I'd want a doctor to confirm that."
"Your choice, Inspector." Arvard injected. "The First Presidency offered any help you wish. I can call up folks from Provo, or you can use the ones at Joseph Smith Medical Center over in the Avenues."
"Which is better?" Mike asked.
"Brigham Young docs are better at medical diagnostics, but the crew at Joe are much more versed in the forensic sciences of violence." Feinstien spoke up.
"Both, and I can call in folks from Dover, the main Graves Registration and Remains Identification teams, if my fellow Reb can swing visas for them." Graves offered.
"Touchy subject, but probably a good idea." The angel's forefinger and thumb stroked the tips of his mustache. "We'll need a place to keep evidence, have meetings, and the like. I can ask for a stake house."
Mike waved his right hand to fend that off. "Better yet, I bet we can use the Peace Hall. Unless..."
"I can ask the Quorum and Presidency to ask for a delay on the annual meeting with the Ambassador, and may even convince them to point our needing the space for the investigation."
"Hell, sir, better yet, we take the Soldier's Hollow Hall, over by the road. More space." Sergeant Littlefoot piped up, joining them. "And, it's what the General offered. Closer to the laboratory and you offices. Mount Olive is off limits, per the SarMajor." He motioned over a waitress. "Plate of eggs and potatoes, and cocoa if you please."
"It will do, unless I need easier access. I'd rather use the Olive Creek trail, for coming into town." Mike said. "Red Butte Creek drifts this way enough, but there is too much missing ordanance along it."
"Best Chapman could get, sir." The Lakota smiled as his drink arrived. "Best thing about out here, they have great chocolate."
Fingers drumming the table in frustration, Mike grimaced. "The Peace Hall would have been better, but I forgot it was that time again. Wanted something convenient for everyone."
Littlefoot handed Holzon a letter. "General's orders for the hall, and a note for you. He was not a happy two star, sir."
"Drop the honorary, I had chevrons, not a lobotomy." Mike gingerly accepted the paper, reading slowly, as their food arrived.
"Funny thing, that pipe. Runs north by north east. Almost headed to the prison, not Sugarhouse itself." Emma noted. "Deseret Telesond's switching room is over on Highland, by the Canal Mill and Steam Station."
Arvard kept quiet, but caught Mike's eyes as he looked up. Mike struggled a moment, then revealed their discovery. "There is something in the south east corner of the house that is walled off. I will see about getting search warrants to open it, just in case. But I need to know the full layout of that pipe, as best we can determine."
Feinstien started. "Wait. Something is ringing a bell here. Can you do me a favor, semaphore a message to Chicago for me?"
Looking up, Holzon noted the tech's face, shock mixed with curiousity. "Depends on the message."
"It is for the Communications Research Labs. Ask for Professor Kramer to open the Tesla files, copy them, and send them out here." He shrugged off the looks the others threw him. "Hey, once upon a time, I had higher ambitions. Before getting married and being cursed with kids."
"Kids do change things." Mike interjected, to stave off Emma's sudden fiery look. "Goals, needs, making us set aside our desires for their safety and security."
"Children are a blessing." Smith muttered, unfazed by Holzon's comment.
"You got yours one at a time, we had three dumped on us at one shot. Not enough hands to change diapers fast enough." Feinstien laughed, making Emma look shocked. "Yeah. Triplets. All girls, and now they want to date outside the faith. Not something I disagree with, just their choice of boys is a bit over the top."
"Tesla files?" The name sunk in finally. "What would that have to do with our case?" Mike asked.
"He and Edison ran a lab out here about this time, if I remember correctly." Feinstien shrugged. "Something to do with the telesonds being improved. That might explain the tube, at least, if it was related to it, and maybe more."
Holzon shuddered at that thought. Smearing the reputations of great inventors like those two might prove dangerous, and messy. "Great. Well, if you think it will help, I'll ask."
"And we need a good forensics doctor." Emma said. "Wilkinson is out. Her family suffered too much during the Third and Fourth Wars." When Mike glanced at her, she shrugged. "Their family had orchards and a field up on the bench. While no one really knows who fired those first shells each time, they know who died first out here. Her father was the only survivor of the clan. She was raised hating the Federal Government."
Mike nodded. "So, some neutral remains inspector is needed. No problem there. Custer being just as hated by the South, I think folks in Atlanta could send us a Reb doctor for that."
"Just as bad, son." Arvard shook his head. "Think you would do better asking for a League or Nation doctor. Seems there was a Cherokee one that came out to recover remains off the no man's land a few years back. She was very well respected for her impartiality and reverent treatment of the remains. Big things here in Deseret."
"Never quite understood that concept out here, of families being together even in death." Mike admitted.
"Come the Resurrection, they want to be together again." Arvard shrugged. "Me, I may forgive my family, but don't want to spend eternity with them."
Nodding, Mike dug into his meal. "Well, looks like I'll need to be back up the hill for a bit today. I take it you're the Deseret Agent in Charge?"
"For now." Higgins scratched his mustache. "I'll keep you from stepping on toes too much, and let you know if we are dealing with toes that need a good squashing."
They all laughed, then went back to their notes, between bites.
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