I looked at Estelle in astonishment. “You managed to climb this far back up with a busted ankle, cracked head, and bent elbow?”
“I didn’t want to spend the night, sir.” She turned her head and looked up the hill. “Another couple of hours and I would have made it.”
“Yep,” I said. “That would have been a long couple of hours.” I flashed my light downhill again. “You think it’s Tammy’s truck?”
“I’m positive, sir.”
“How did you see it?”
Estelle sat forward, resting her back. “I decided I needed to talk with Pat Torrance. I was driving up the county road really slowly…”
“Idling?”
“Yes, sir. I saw tracks going off the shoulder of the roadway. Nothing deep. No skid marks or anything. Just straight and true.” She imitated the trajectory with her right hand. “So I stopped and got out. I didn’t see it right away, but when I walked along the road a bit, I could just see the glint of shiny paint. The tailgate is facing uphill.”
“And so you decided to climb down and check.”
“Yes, sir. At three in the afternoon, it didn’t look so steep.”
I took a deep breath. “Well, if she’s in it…”
“I think she is, sir. Just before I fell, I saw what I think was a piece of colored cloth. That’s when I got excited and didn’t pay attention to where I was putting my feet.”
“While we’re sitting here waiting, here’s another grim thought for you to consider. I’m here because I drove out to the Torrance ranch myself. Nobody had heard from you, and I figured that was the most likely place to look.”
“That’s where I was going.”
“True enough. I talked to Herb Torrance. Among other things, he hasn’t seen Patrick since sometime yesterday.”
The rumble of Bob Torrez’s patrol car bounced off the side of the mesa as the vehicle emerged from the trees and slowed to a stop in the middle of the road. He switched on the red lights briefly, creating a psychedelic pulse against the surrounding rocks and trees.
“If Pat Torrance is involved in some way,” Estelle said slowly, “then the odds are good that either he put that truck down there, or…”
“Or he’s in it,” I finished for her, standing up.
Estelle thumped her right fist against the flat surface of the rock. “Damn, damn, damn…” she groaned, and I knew what she meant. Being left out of the chase was more painful than any fracture.
Chapter 25
“Looks like one occupant.” Bob Torrez’s voice was matter-of-fact over the radio. He’d scrambled down the talus slope like a sure-footed youngster, checked on the two of us briefly, and then continued on.
For a few minutes we had been able to see his flashlight beam slashing this way and that as he traversed the boulder field, but then the trees hid him from view.
“Can you ID?” I asked.
“Oh, yeah,” Torrez said, and I knew exactly what he was going to say before he said it. “It’s Tammy Woodruff.” I wasn’t ready for what he said next. “And she’s still alive, sir.”
“Oh, my God,” I breathed. That option had never occurred to me, and judging from Estelle’s quick intake of breath, not to her either. “Is she conscious, sergeant?”
“Negative. Hold on a minute.” As Estelle and I sat in the dark cold, we could hear vehicles coming up the county road. “Sir, she’s inside what’s left of the cab. It’s twisted around her pretty good. It’s going to take a lot of cutting to get her out of there.”
“Rescue is just arriving now. They’ll be down in a few minutes. Stay with her, Bob.”
“Tell ’em to bring both the jaws and a saw. They’re going to have to cut through a piece of frame to get to her.”
More winking lights lined the road above us, and I stood up and waved my flashlight.
“Sheriff, what the hell are you doing down there?” Sam Gates’s voice was a welcome sound as it crackled over Estelle’s radio.
“Sam, we’re going to need two Stokes. One where I am for a patient with multiple fractures and cuts, and one farther on down the slope. Do you see the deputy’s light?”
“You’re kidding.”
“No. And you’ll need both the jaws and a saw. There’s a vehicle down there, and it’s going to be a puzzle.”
“Jesus,” Gates said, never particularly mindful of the FCC. “Occupant’s still alive?”
“Affirmative.”
Bob Torrez interrupted. “Pulse is 130 and ragged. Respiration is shallow and uneven. Hustle it up, guys.”
Estelle moaned a single syllable and then bit it off. I pulled part of the blanket around her shoulders and tried to pad the rest between her back and the rock against which she was leaning. “Just a bit longer,” I said.
She shook her head. “They need to go on down to the truck.”
“No heroics now,” I said. “They know what they’re doing. They’ll have both of you out of here in no time.”
Which, as it turned out, wasn’t the case at all. Cassie Gates arrived first, breathing like a locomotive and carrying enough luggage to stay a week. “Look at this place,” she said, as she searched for a level spot to spread her paraphernalia. “God, how I love it. Sweetheart, couldn’t you have found a steeper cliff to dive off of? Let me see what you did, now.”
I backed away, giving the EMTs room. Cassie was joined almost immediately by two members of the Search and Rescue crew, another young EMT I didn’t know, and Nelson Petro. The last time Nels had been with us was when he ran the cherry picker for Estelle down on the state highway. He looked a little unsure about this mess.
I could see a flow of lights angling down the talus slope toward the wreck below. A gentle nudge from one of the EMTs pushed me farther out of the way. There was nothing I could do but shut up and watch, giving them lots of elbow room. Their efficiency left me feeling all thumbs and stupid.
Cassie had a BP cuff on Estelle, and in short order she was evaluated and immobilized on the Stokes with her lower leg and foot encased in one inflatable splint and her left arm in another. Radio reception back to Posadas was blocked by the mesa, but one of the S and R folks up on the road served as a relay.
Even Velcroed in as tight as she was, Estelle still let out a single gasp and clenched her teeth when the six men picked up the Stokes and the guide rope tightened. It was going to be a hell of a long ride to the top.
Longer still for Tammy Woodruff. By the time Estelle’s litter had progressed to within fifty feet of the road, the first generator fired up. In rapid succession, 500-watt quartz floods snapped on, bathing the hillside in white light. Another generator was on its way down the hill. I watched the four men horsing it down over the rocks and felt a wave of exhaustion. I sat down on a convenient rock to catch my breath.
I heard the boots on rocks behind and above me, but ignored them, content to sit in the dark cold and watch.
“Sir, are you all right?” It was one of the EMTs. I turned my head and watched him crab across the jumble of loose, football-sized talus that twitched and turned under his boots like a living thing.
“Yeah, I’m all right.”
With a cough, the second portable generator sprang into life and more light blossomed. I still couldn’t see the wreck, so I gestured across the slope. “I’ll make my way over that way,” I said.
The EMT glued himself to my elbow, and after about the fourth assist, I felt like an old maid trying to cross a busy street.
“Shouldn’t you be helping down the hill?” I said at one point as I stopped to catch my breath.
“I’m fine,” he said.
I turned and pointed my flashlight at his name tag. “Curtis, I don’t need an escort.”
He grinned. Of course he wasn’t short of breath. “I’d sure hate to be on this cliff by myself in the middle of the night, sir. Think of it as your escorting me.” He was a foot taller than I was, fifty pounds lighter, and a century younger. He could have carried me up the hill and still had that grin on his face when he reached the top. “Cross over to those ropes and they’ll be a help to the top, sir.”