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made her have a psychotic break, or something like that.”
    I nodded. “That wasn’t uncommon, unfortunately.”
    “Right,” Davidson said again. “She hung in for a couple of years and then her body gave it up.”
    “Sorry,” I said.
    “It was bad,” Davidson said. “But it was bad for everyone. I mean, shit. The first lady got it. That’s why it’s called Haden’s.”
    “It still sucks.”
    “It does,” Davidson agreed, and pointed to Vann. “I mean, she got Haden’s too, right?” Davidson asked. “At some point. That’s why she’s like she is.”
    “Sort of,” I said. “There was a tiny percentage of people who were infected who had their brain structure altered but didn’t get locked in. A tiny percentage of them had their brains altered enough to be able to be Integrators.” It was more complicated than that, but I didn’t think Davidson actually cared that much. “There’s maybe ten thousand Integrators on the entire planet.”
    “Huh,” Davidson said. “Anyway. She’s an Integrator. Or was. So maybe she’ll get something out of this guy after all.” He turned up the volume on the speakers so we could hear what she was saying to Bell.
    *   *   *
    “I brought you some coffee,” Vann said, to Bell, sliding the coffee over to him. “Knowing nothing about you, I guessed you might want cream and sugar. Sorry if I got that wrong.”
    Bell looked at the coffee, but otherwise did and said nothing.
    “Bacon cheeseburgers,” Vann said.
    “What?” Bell said. Vann’s apparent non sequitur had roused him out of complete silence.
    “Bacon cheeseburgers,” Vann repeated. “When I worked as an Integrator I ate so many goddamned bacon cheeseburgers. You might know why.”
    “Because the first thing anyone who’s been locked in wants when they integrate is a bacon cheeseburger,” Bell said.
    Vann smiled. “So it’s not just me it happened to,” she said.
    “It’s not,” Bell said.
    “There was a Five Guys down the street from my apartment,” Vann said. “It got so that all I had to do was walk through the door, and they’d put the patties on the grill. They wouldn’t even wait to take my order. They knew.”
    “That sounds about right,” Bell said.
    “It took two and a half years after I stopped integrating before I could even look at a bacon cheeseburger again,” Vann said.
    “That sounds about right, too,” Bell said. “I wouldn’t eat them anymore if I didn’t have to.”
    “Be strong,” Vann said.
    Bell grabbed the coffee Vann brought for him, smelled it, and took a sip. “You’re not Metro,” he said. “I’ve never met a Metro cop who’d been an Integrator.”
    “My name is Agent Leslie Vann,” she said. “I’m with the Bureau. I and my partner investigate crimes that involve Hadens. You’re not typically what we consider a Haden, but you are an Integrator, which means a Haden might have been involved here. If there was, then you and I both know this is something you may not be responsible for. But you have to let me know, so I can help you.”
    “Right,” Bell said.
    “The police tell me that you’ve not previously been forthcoming on the whole talking thing.”
    “I’ll give you three guesses why,” Bell said.
    “Probably because they zapped you as soon as they saw you.”
    “Bingo.”
    “Not that it means anything, but I apologize to you for that, Nicholas. It’s not the way I would have handed it if I were there.”
    “I was sitting on the bed,” Bell said. “With my hands up. I wasn’t doing anything.”
    “I know,” Vann said. “And like I said, I apologize for that. It wasn’t right. On the other hand—and this isn’t an excuse, just an observation—while you were sitting on the bed with your hands up, not doing anything, there was a dead guy on the floor, and his blood was all over you.” She moved a single index finger to point. “Still all over you, come to think of it.”
    Bell stared at Vann, quiet.
    “Like I