Watchers

reporters’ questions with stony silence until a convincing cover story could be developed.
    Sawhorses were lifted out of the way to let the unmarked NSA cars through the police line, then were put into place again.
    Lem parked at the end of the street, past the crime scene. He left Cliff Soames to brief the other agents, and he headed toward the unfinished house that appeared to be the focus of attention.
    The patrol cars’ radios filled the hot night air with codes and jargon—and with a hiss-pop-crackle of static, as if the whole world were being fried on a cosmic griddle.
    Portable kliegs stood on tripods, flooding the front of the house with light to facilitate the investigation. Lem felt as if he were on a giant stage set. Moths swooped and fluttered around the kliegs. Their amplified shadows darted across the dusty ground.
    Casting his own exaggerated shadow, he crossed the dirt yard to the house. Inside, he found more kliegs. Dazzlingly bright light bounced off white walls. Looking pale and sweaty in that harsh glare were a couple of young deputies, men from the coroner’s office, and the usual intense types from the Scientific Investigation Division.
    A photographer’s strobe flashed once, twice, from farther back in the house. The hallway looked crowded, so Lem went around to the back by way of the living room, dining room, and kitchen.
    Walt Gaines was standing in the breakfast area, in the dimness behind the last of the hooded kliegs. But even in those shadows, his anger and grief were visible. He had evidently been at home when he had gotten word about the murder of a deputy, for he was wearing tattered running shoes, wrinkled tan chinos, a brown- and red-checkered short-sleeve shirt. In spite of his great size, bull neck, muscular arms, and big hands, Walt’s clothes and slump-shouldered posture gave him the look of a forlorn little boy.
    From the breakfast area, Lem could not see past the lab men and into the laundry room, where the body still lay. He said, “I’m sorry, Walt. I’m so sorry.”
    “Name was Teel Porter. His dad Red Porter and I been friends twenty-five years. Red just retired from the department last year. How am I going to tell him? Jesus. I’ve got to do it myself, us being so close. Can’t pass the buck this time.”
    Lem knew that Walt never passed the buck when one of his men was killed in the line of duty. He always personally visited the family, broke the bad news, and sat with them through the initial shock.
    “Almost lost two men,” Walt said. “Other one’s badly shaken.”
    “How was Teel . . . ?“
    “Gutted like Dalberg. Decapitated.”
    The Outsider, Lem thought. No doubt about it now.
    Moths had gotten inside and were bashing against the lens of the klieg light behind which Lem and Walt stood.
    His voice thickening with anger, Walt said, “Haven’t found . . . his head. How do I tell his dad that Teel’s head is missing?”
    Lem had no answer.
    Walt looked hard at him. “You can’t push me all the way out of it now. Not now that one of my men is dead.”
    “Walt, my agency works in purposeful obscurity. Hell, even the number of agents on the payroll is classified information. But your department is subject to full press attention. And in order to know how to proceed in this case, your people would have to be told exactly what they’re looking for. That would mean revealing national defense secrets to a large group of deputies—”
    “Your men all know what’s up,” Walt countered.
    “Yes, but my men have signed secrecy oaths, undergone extensive security checks, and are trained to keep their mouths shut.”
    “My men can keep a secret, too.”
    “I’m sure they can,” Lem said carefully. “i’m sure they don’t talk outside the shop about ordinary cases. But this isn’t ordinary. No, this has to remain in our hands.”
    Walt said, “My men can sign secrecy oaths.”
    “We’d have to background-check everyone in your department, not just deputies but file clerks. It’d take weeks, months.”
    Looking across the kitchen at the open door to the dining room, Walt noticed Cliff Soames and another NSA agent talking with two deputies in the next room. “You started taking over the minute you got here, didn’t you? Before you even talked to me about it?”
    “Yeah. We’re making sure your people understand that they must not talk of anything they’ve seen here tonight, not even to their own wives. We’re citing the appropriate