Maggie glanced at Donny who had noticed, too.
“The sheriff?” she asked.
“Probably.”
Within seconds another silhouette appeared on top of the hill. Then another. Two more. And still another.
“They know this is a crime scene, right?”
When Donny didn’t answer she glanced back at him. He looked like a deer caught in the headlights.
She counted six men. One started down the hill toward them.
“We have to limit how many people come inside the perimeter,” Maggie said. “You told me most of the injuries weren’t life-threatening, right?”
“That’s right. The rescue crew knows we’re bringing them out to their unit. They’ll set up a triage area on the other side of that sand dune.”
“Then who are these guys?”
The others started following the first.
“Donny?”
“Could be the mayor. City councilmen. Maybe parents. We have two dead teenagers and five injured. They’ll want to see if it’s their own kids.”
“You can’t let them come tromping onto a crime scene.”
“Nothing I can do about it.”
“Excuse me?”
“This isn’t my jurisdiction.”
“It’s not theirs, either.”
Seconds ticked off. The men continued single file down the sandy trail, the same path that the ATV had just taken. The men were almost to the cattails. Their heads bobbed in the shadows of the floodlights: one with a cowboy hat, two with baseball caps, the others bareheaded.
Maggie stood up. Donny stayed on his haunches. She shot him a look, hoping to mobilize him. Instead, he stared at the approaching men, accepting the inevitable, this giant of a man silenced, almost cowed.
Then she heard him whisper, “It is federal property.”
“So it’s Hank’s jurisdiction?”
She saw him shake his head.
“FBI trumps Forest Service.”
Maggie’s pulse raced. He was right. She wasn’t sure why it hadn’t occurred to her. She was the only federal investigator present at a crime scene on federal property. Crap! Officially, that made it her jurisdiction.
She didn’t take time to figure it out. Instead, she marched to meet the entourage that arrived at the fringe of their perimeter, almost to the halo created by the floodlights.
“Gentlemen, this is as far as I can allow you.”
“Just who the hell are you?”
She opened her jacket, pulling it wide enough for them to glimpse her holstered weapon while she pulled out her badge.
“I’m the sheriff of Thomas County,” a short but solid man said as he elbowed his way to stand before 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.