The Twenty Seventh South Station, actually at Twenty-Seven Hundred South, allowed them a few moments more to talk as they walked the near block length to the second street down.
"This weird grid, drives me nuts sometimes." Mike stated.
"Used to get to me. But, after a few decades, ya get used to it." Arvard admitted. "Dang. Inside an unlicensed telesond tube. And an older style one too."
"Yeah. She said she would see about sending what ever she can dig up on the line in Agency records. And by querying Deseret Telesond, Ma Bell and a few others on possible theft of service schemes in the past." Mike looked back to the bakery by the station. "What time that place open?"
"Six. But as the owner lives upstairs, I'd be willing to say we'll have hot chocolates and donuts at the crime scene shortly." That infectious grin creased his face again. "And if not, I'll be glad to intimidate them to starting a pot. Might even have some of that illicit coffee been smuggled in lately."
That admission startled the investigator. "Be a shame to have them shut down over it."
"Won't happen. Stupidest thing the Legislature ever did. Quorum's been on them about it too. Should have that little quirk fixed soon enough for you folks next supply train not to get stopped." The older man's head shook, long grey hair and white close cropped beard catching the orange tint from the gas fired street lights. "Damned fools want another war. We Angels told them to fight it themselves. Even threatened to step aside and let those Army boys at the Fort have a clear ride in, and throw them a parade for cleaning the shallow end of our geanalogical pool."
Mike chuckled. "Good thing your funding is not through them. Too bad mine is through elected fools. Nice idea, though if the Army hears you don't want to fight, they might tell Congress to get their own lazy bodies out here to fight."
"A war fought with fertilizer? Son, the farmers will love it, but your tree hugger agents might have a conipiton fit." Arvard laughed loudly, causing a young paperboy to jump as they rounded the corner.
The gathering of equipment impressed Mike. Two Fire Department Wagons, an ambulance, several other horse and buggy rigs. A neighbor's front yard already resembled the remuda of a large ranch. And an Allard '01 Road Steamer, gleaming with one of the fancy new rotating globes able to project light generated from auroral charges the vehicle would build up during the geomagnetic storms triggered by the increasingly frequent solar flares lately.
True to Arvard's prediction, the delivery steamlorry for the bakery held center stage, vapors moving into the empty branches of trees, wreathing the few pines set back from the street, mingling with the layer of fog building down into the valley as the inversion built.
"Quite a welcoming committee. I see Chief Burbank's car still runs. Amazing." Shaking his grizzled head, Arvard sighed. "Never trust these newer metal vehicles. Even the trolleys scare me. I remember the GeeStorm Surges of 89 all too well."
Mike shuddered. Deseret got off easy during the last high peak, in his opinion. "So do I. Lost two sisters and my father to one in Boston. One of those Sky Trams across the Charles had the suspension cable melt when the insulators failed."
Arvard stopped. Something in Mike's voice caught his attention. "You were there?"
Mike stepped onto the grass as he looked around, letting the paperboy pass them. "Yes. Managed to save two brothers, and my baby sister. Dad went back after mom and the girls. Mom was pulled free by some guy we never saw again already, but he never knew. The charge in the wire electrocuted him."
Arvard shook his head. "Small world. Should have known." Looking around, his voice dropped. "Southern accent like mine in Boston, back then with the Confederacy testing the waters for annexing Maryland from you Yanks, not a good thing. Being a mormon on top of that, could have looked bad. Terrorism bad. Even if I was there to out a few Johnny Reb saboteurs to settle some scores from something done out here."
Mike was shocked. It never occurred to him that the man who saved his mother might not have been a southerner. "Very small world. Thank you. From the bottom of my heart."
Setting a hand on Mike's shoulder, the old man bowed his head. "It's irked me something fierce all these years, not being able to get them girls free from the tangled cable."
Mike nodded, quietly praying no repeats this solar cycle, but experts warned they were reaching another new peak in that activity. "Don't. They went quick. And that is what turned me to being an investigator. I wanted to ensure no one ever died because some company cut corners on materials again."
Arvard merely nodded. They stood a moment longer, then walked quietly to the house once Mike gestured that way.
At the door, a patrol officer stood checking credentials. Some reporter was trying to sweet talk her way in. "No press. Chief will issue a statement later for you. No pictures either. Not fair to the folks living here." Noting the Angel, he waved Arvard in. "Sir!" The way he locked up to attention spoke of his leanings, be it Saint or Jack Mormon, the few who kept only some of the faith's tenants, and at least attended church, though lacked the credentials to enter the Temple.
"Roped me in a Confederal Inspector who told me something I don't believe." Arvard told him, jerking a thumb towards Mike.
Holding up his badge, the Inspector asked a short question. "Where's the Chief. He asked for me."
Confederal law only allowed him to take the lead on cases that crossed Republic borders. Otherwise, he had to be escorted by the agency requesting assistance in their investigation.
"One moment, sir. Carlson, Get the Chief!" The officer shrugged. "Stupid restriction. We should be able to just let you in. Like I can Brother Higgins."
"Much as the Rebs were wrong on reasons, limiting Federal Powers makes sense now. Seen some of the things happened in Europe, and being as divided as we were on the Big War, I think staying out of those issues was smart." Mike allowed.
Moments later, the Chief stuck his head out. "Holzon, you have to see this. I still don't believe it."
Mike chuckled. Normally, with Burbank, he was the one showing evidence from cases outside the Zion Curtain and saying he was not believing it. "That bad?"
"That strange. I have no clue how they stuck it in there. That tube is only three inches in diameter. Some bones would fit,but how the skull got that far intact..." He noted the reporter. "Don't print anything until I get the statement out, Lindsey!"
"Can I at least say it has you puzzled?" The blond asked.
"Yes, and that it's going to be a cold case. These have been here a long time. Get that out, it's not a recent incident. Don't want folks thinking the Boyles are ax murdering beasts. The remains are visibly older than their residency here." He frowned. "And that is all I want to say for now. Agent Holzon, you need to see it first. Then we'll talk the other evidence we are finding.
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