“She has to meet with the FBI so they can debrief the emergency personnel who responded to the scene. Our people should be on site by the time we get there.”
There weren’t many city lights visible from the highway as they left the airport. Gas stations came and went with exit ramps, but night ruled most of the ride. The darkness thickened when they hit a rural highway, then endless turns on the back roads.
Porch lights and the occasional passing cars were the only assurance the night wasn’t as eternal as it felt.
Sleep tugged at Reese again, but he refused to rest his eyes. Because every time he blinked, there was Koda’s face and sometimes his voice.
Reese blamed the fucked-up dream on his visit to the Utah facility.
The SUV came out of a slow curve. Red and blue lights flashed ahead. A dozen police cruisers dammed the street, holding back the river of TV news trucks.
The driver stopped in front of two orange striped barricades. The window hummed and disappeared into the door.
“ID?” the cop said.
The driver flipped open a card wallet. “US Army.”
The cop wasted no time waving them through.
Brighter spotlights created a circle of artificial daylight in the front yard of a small farmhouse. They passed it, and less than a quarter mile down the road, more spotlights lit up the yard of another house.
“I figured we’d start here. It’ll take a while for our forensics team to finish cleaning up the body at the other location.”
The driveway cut through a wide field. The headlights caught the edge of deep ruts in the grass that followed castoff gravel scattering out from the driveway.
“Looks like someone tore out of here in a hurry.” Did that mean whoever lived here survived?
Two men searched the gravel parking area with flashlights. One of them carried bags containing small metal shards. The second person collected the larger ones, placing them into a box.
The driver stopped behind a white van.
Two men in military uniforms and carrying rifles stood on the porch by the door. Other people wearing white jumpsuits combed the grounds taking pictures and soil samples. In the dark, the Tyvek material drank up the light casting foggy halos.
Reese leaned forward to get a better look at the residence. Neat, clean, well maintained, at least from what he could see in the spotlights. “Do they know who the house belongs to?”
“The deed has the name of a law firm on it,” Harrington said.
“A law firm?”
“Yeah.”
“Is that normal?”
“I wouldn’t call it normal, but it’s not like it doesn’t happen.” Yet his tone suggested there was more.
“Then what’s bothering you about it?”
“Everything about this mess bothers me.” Harrington cut a look at Reese. “But the lawyers are refusing to turn over rental records.”
“Did they say why?”
“They’re lawyers, they never say anything that makes sense.”
“Did you check the post office? I mean, they should know who gets mail here.”
“No mailbox.”
“What?”