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“All right...”
They turned back and parked behind Durey, waited, listened to more tunes, talked about Cooper, and soon enough a parade of large, dark SUVs rolled along the avenue, which might have been a famous rap star with entourage, but turned out to be the FBI.
Virgil fell in behind them and parked behind the last of the federal vehicles. Agents were already getting out, one of them leading the way to Heath’s front door, while the others waited at the SUVs or were strung out behind the leader. The leaders were wearing suits, but the actual searchers wore vaguely tactical pants and shirts.
Durey pulled up behind them as they got out of the Tahoe, and two agents in suits walked toward them, one of them making shooing gestures with his fingers.
Lucas held up his marshal’s ID, and when the agents got close, said, “Marshals Service, BCA, and probably St. Paul cops.”
“We’ll ask you to wait here until we’ve made contact with Mr. Heath.”
“That’s fine,” Lucas said.
—
A minute or soafter the first agent rang the doorbell, Heath came to the door and the agent handed him the warrant and signaled those still on the sidewalk to come up.
When the agents broke away from the SUVs, Lucas recognized one of them as John Howahkan, the agent he’d met at the Sand murder scene. Howahkan spotted him, and stepped over, and they shook hands. “I guess we’re in it. I thought it’d be all you guys.”
“Your teams search better than anyone, and since the FBI is technically in charge of the operation, I guess St. Paul decided to go with that,” Lucas said. “Of course, the fact that you guys still have the death penalty might be useful in prying information out of people.”
“Okay. I thought you guys might be up to something slippery.”
They both smiled at once, and Howahkan nodded: as he’dsuspected, something slippery was going on, but he didn’t yet know what it was.
“The St. Paul cops doing something slippery? Seems unlikely,” Lucas said.
“I’ll find out eventually,” Howahkan said. And, “You all the way back yet?”
“Close, but not quite. Still hurt some. Not enough to slow me down. It’s nagging.”
“Like three days after somebody punches you in the mouth.”
“Like that, but nine months later.”
—
Virgil had alreadydisappeared inside, and when Lucas and Howahkan caught up with him, Virgil asked, “Wonder how you get in the garage?”
“You think he put Dahl in there?” Lucas asked.
“No. I... There’s who I’m looking for.”
Deeper in the house, they could see Heath on his phone, probably calling a lawyer, and behind him, a diminutive Hmong woman, holding a vacuum cleaner and looking frightened.
Virgil went that way, Lucas trailing, while Howahkan stayed with the FBI agents. Heath was talking rapidly in his phone, frowned at Virgil and Lucas and turned away from them. Virgil brushed by him and went to the Hmong woman. He smiled at her and asked, “Could you come over here...” He gestured at a small side room with a bay window overlooking the backyard.
The woman hurried over, carrying the vacuum. When they were away from Heath and the surrounding FBI agents, he asked, “Could you show me Mr. Heath’s tools? Where he keeps his tools?”
“He doesn’t have too many,” she said, shyly, still with some fear in her eyes.
“That’s fine. Where are they?” Virgil asked.
“In the garage,” she said.
“Can you show me?”
“Mr. Heath fire me...”
