Mike walked back up the stairs, thinking. Every clue led to something that made things look more sinister or strange on this case. Bad enough he was investigating the incident that started a war, he thought.
Once upstairs, he looked back down, where Arvard was taking what they'd found. He decided his wife could yell at him tonight all she wanted, but he needed a pipe to clear his head. She'd been on him to keep it to one smoke at night, after the girls went to sleep, lately. The twists so far had him realising there would be more than just a simple recovery involved. Out of courtesy, and from habit, he stepped back out into the back yard.
A cloud of thick silver smoke drifted about him when Arvard at last stepped out. The older man rolled cigarette, studying the sky above, where the clouds still roiled across the valley. Both men stayed silent, looking over the back wall of the house. Mike's eyes drifted back to that southeast corner every few moments.
"This is beyond passing strange." Arvard broke the silence after they both finished their smokes.
"Well, guess I'll need to decide if we can convince a judge to get a warrant to search behind those bricked off areas." Mike's voice rose a bit as he spoke, fighting to be heard over the rumble of thunder as a burst of snow fell down across the neighborhood.
Arvard nodded. "Be a tough sell to the local magistrate, given how most felt about Custer out here."
"There is no way this mess won't strain the Federation." Mike scowled at the suddenly white sky, as the snow increased. "You're wrong, Arvard. We found a can of rattlesnakes, and no reason for them to be there."
The Angel stayed quiet, noting the Chief Constable approaching. Mike shook a hand through his hair, irritated at leaving his hat back in the are near the closet. "Chief. It's going to be a mess."
"Knew that when I got my first glance." Burbank's right hand rubbed his bare scalp. "My techs are yours, got that approved by the folks downtown. Governor did say to help, so I guess if you need something, ask."
Mike nodded. "I will. Ask, not demand, that is." Looking back at the house, Mike had an idea. "Chief, take a gander at that root cellar. Look real close, and tell me what you think."
"That pipe does head back this way. Give me a minute. I need to relay a message to Fienstien. His wife is worried about him forgetting it's Friday." Burbank shrugged. "He gets wrapped up in some details and forgets about his Sabbath services. And she tends to blame me." The chief strode back to the house, his pace a bit quick.
"He hates the snow. Too many folks think these steamcars can still stop on a dime." Arvard said when Mike looked to him.
"I need to get Candace and her techs down here to see this pipe." Mike pressed.
"Visas are being cut. The First Presidency agrees, we need to get answers on this." Arvard field stripped his smoke, setting the butt into his pouch. Tobacco was expensive in this part of the Federated Republics, with the sin taxes Deseret added to it. "Best we head in."
"Not yet." Mike gestured at the house. "That cellar is only about one third the house's width. Why wall off an area, given your local drive for setting aside food for disasters."
"And when did it get walled off is a problem. Building permits for internal changes are only a fairly recent thing." Arvard answered. "Bit of a quandry, I agree."
"Warm summer, bad winter coming." Mike said, looking up at the intensifying snow. "Not a good way to start." Already, two inches lay on the ground.
"Nope. And this mess might not clear up until spring. Best get used to moving about in the slush." Arvard shrugged. "Folks don't shovel walks like they used to. We're all getting lazy, I guess."
Mike tussled the wet flakes from his hair. "Yeah. Well, I should at least get my hat. Then grab a bite to eat."
"I suggest we go to Dee's. Good food, and in this weather, they could use the business. they are a bit aways from the main part of Sugarhouse." The older man removed his hat, knocking off a good quarter inch of sticky snow from the wide brim. "Think we need to step back a bit, look it over from a short distance." He grinned at Holzon. "And we can walk there in just a few, not have to deal with the idiot drivers who trust these fancy automobiles."
Laughing, Mike shuffled through the snow. "Yeah. Good idea. Never have been able to try anywhere but Bill and Nada's on my few forays off the Fort. Heard of some good food other than there, though."
Inside, the men headed back through the house. In the main basement, the Chief had his people gathered up, talking softly about keeping things quiet, and saying it was something related to Federal investigations, not local. "Keep it from stirring up. What you know, stays with you, unless I or the inspector approves it. I need the neighborhood patrols back out on the streets, the bricks and cobbles are getting slick, so watch it, and keep folks from doing stupid things. Tremont, get back to Highland and Twenty-First. I have two accidents over there already, you will be busy, grab some rookie to help direct traffic, the signal arms look like they're jammed open again."
That provoked a groan from all the patrol officers. The arguements about right of way after an accident when the signals malfuncitioned tended to be heated, even in the very laid back and curteous society of Deseret.
"Can you leave us two to help the honor guard while I take the team to lunch, Chief?" Mike asked.
"Leaving four, permanent detatched duty, plus Detective Smith and Feinstien. Also, will toss you any bodies you need, if I can spare them, once the snow is cleared from the streets." Burbank grinned. "And the MP's up at the Fort told me to keep you away from cars in this. Guess you are one of my snow idiots?"
Laughing, Mike accepted a towel from someone. "Yeah. I need to get my wife and her team down here."
"I'm here. Go chat with your fellow law enforcement people." Mike grimaced, as his glasses were handed to him. "Not even seeing your own wife. We need to get you in for a new set of spectacles, honey."
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