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police chief. This was also part of the plan. “What I tell you must be handled with the utmost discretion.”
    Quinn leaned forward and nodded. “Of course.”
    “We’re relying on some ECHELON chatter and reports from some deep-cover operatives.”
    The chief nodded and leaned back in his chair.
    “I’m convinced you’re convinced,” he said and cleared his throat. “But I’m a skeptic at heart.”
    Sam reached into his suit pocket and produced a credible facsimile of an FBI business card and pushed it across the desk.
    “Our supervisor, Agent Tom Willis, working out of the St. Louis field office, can clear up any jurisdictional concerns,” he said. “Possibly provide you with more detailed threat assessment information than we’re authorized to reveal.”
    Quinn picked up the business card and examined it for a long moment with one eyebrow arched before sliding it into a shirt pocket.
    “Thank you. I’ll take that under advisement.” He stood abruptly; Dean and Sam rose with him. “Regardless, I see no reason why you can’t read the statements or interview witnesses.”
    Dean glanced meaningfully at the photo of Quinn’s daughter. “Even...?”
    “Legally, she’s an adult,” Quinn said. “Might do her good to learn the... consequences of this type of report.”
    He shook hands with both of them.
    “I do have one reservation.”
    “Which is?”
    “This is a quiet town,” Quinn said. “I’d like to keep it that way. Wasn’t always like this though. As I’m sure you’re aware, Falls Federal Prison is just outside the town limits. Couple of years ago, they added a supermax wing. Worst of the worst locked up in there. Had folks in town jumpy as frogs on a hot skillet. Protests, picketing, demonstrations—and not always peaceful. Time passed. Falls remained secure. Life goes on.
    That’s where we are now. Peaceful, quiet, and orderly. What concerns me is that talk of a terrorist attack here could cause a panic.”
    “Understood,” Dean said.
    “But if we’re right, Chief Quinn,” Sam added, his deep voice serious, “this could turn dangerous.”
    “Noted. Keep me informed.”
    “Of course.”
    Chief Quinn opened the door and looked out into the bullpen area. Only one uniformed cop remained along the row of desks: mid-twenties, buzz cut, earnest.
    “Jeffries. Give these FBI agents—DeYoung and Shaw— copies of the witness statements from last night.”
    “Everything, Chief?”
    “Warts and all.”
    “Yes, sir. Oh, and Lucy’s...?”
    “Everything, Jeffries.”

FOUR

    “Well, that’s everything,” Officer Richard Jeffries said, dumping the stack of folders on the edge of his desk. “Sorry it took so long. Copier jammed. Office assistant usually takes care of this stuff, but she only works mornings. Budget cutbacks, you know.”
    Dean picked up the pile of folders, itching to get out of the building.
    Jeffries hooked his thumbs in his belt. “You’re taking all of this seriously?”
    “Very seriously,” Sam said. “Why?”
    “Even Shelly’s giant lizard?”
    “No stone unturned,” Dean said.
    “You hear stories about people dumping pet alligators down the sewer and they supposedly grow down there to full size. Live off rats. But that stuff ’s urban legend, right?”
    “One of the great mysteries,” Dean said.
    “Think somebody dumped a Gila monster down the sewer?”
    “You never know,” Sam said. “Are you familiar with these reports?”
    “Read them all. For entertainment value, sure beats traffic citations.”
    “Impressions?”
    “Hard to take them seriously,” Jeffries said and shrugged.
    “Well, except for the hit and run. Bullinger stood in the middle of the road. Driver of the car should have seen him, but... who knows? We’re looking for a red car. Don’t know make and model. Not even a partial on the plate. Not much to go on, really.”
    “What about Lucy Quinn’s statement?” Dean asked.
    Jeffries hesitated, glancing at the police chief