He watched her limp off to Mr. Fitzgerald’s room, to watch the night through with a dying man. That was what she did. He turned, and left to go back to what he did.
FRIDAY, JULY 29
Hadley was heading back to the station to clock out when she got the squawk. “Fifteen-seventy, this is Dispatch, what’s your forty?”
She unhooked the mic. “Dispatch, this is fifteen-seventy, I’m inbound at the east end of Burgoyne.”
“We’ve got multiple reports of a three-car crash on the Sacandaga Road near the entrance to the new resort.”
Shit. Home late again. “Roger that, Dispatch, I am responding.” She switched on her light bar and sirens, checked her mirrors, and made a U-turn back toward the shortcut to Route 57.
The entire month of July had been crazy with tourists, and things didn’t look like they were going to let up in August. She called home but only got the answering machine. “Granddad, I’m going to be late. I have frozen barbecue chicken breasts and those green beans the kids like in the freezer. All you have to do is nuke them. Don’t take the kids to McDonald’s again.” It wasn’t so bad for Hudson and Genny-they would have a couple small cheeseburgers, some onion rings, and milk-but Granddad’s idea of a fast-food meal was two Big Macs and a super-sized order of fries, washed down with a large milkshake. Not what the doctor ordered for a man who had heart disease, hypertension, and diabetes.
She swung onto the Sacandaga Road and saw red-and-whites ahead. She triggered her mic. “All channels, this is MKPD fifteen-seventy responding to an accident on Sacandaga Road, over.”
“Fifteen-seventy, this is fifteen-sixty-three.” Kevin Flynn’s unit. “Responding same. I am westbound on Sacandaga Road. Over.”
Right on his heels came Eric McCrea’s voice. “Fifteen-seventy, this is fifteen-twenty-five. I am southbound from Old Route 100.”
Hadley’s stomach churned. As overworked as they were during the summer months, it had to be one hell of a mess for Harlene to send three officers.
She slowed as she approached the final rise before the entrance to the Algonquin Waters. At the top of the hill, her gaze swept the horizon, the scene laid out before her like toys thrown about by a sulky child. Two cars parked on the shoulder. A Ford Taurus skewed across both lanes, an old Saab rammed halfway into its rear quarter. The third car way off in the field. Upside-down, its grill and side crumpled and scored, its make or model unidentifiable. People-good Samaritans or uninjured drivers, she couldn’t tell-on the road and in the field.
Holy shit. She and Kevin and Eric were it, for the next however many minutes it took for the ambulance and the fire trucks to get here. Hadley followed Flynn’s squad car down and parked in the travel lane, leaving her lights whirling. Flynn swung wide, between the accident and the parked cars, stopping on the other side of the tangle, blocking the northern approach as she blocked the west. In the next second, Eric McCrea’s unit came over the hill. He slowed and pulled in behind her.
She and Eric got out of their cars. Eric popped his trunk and removed a crowbar. “Kevin!” His shout carried over the wreckage. “Meet me at the off-road vehicle!”
“I can-” Hadley began.
“If there’s a fire risk, we’re going to have to get the occupants out.” He strode toward the field, gesturing toward the other two cars. “See if anybody there needs help.”
I can do that, she wanted to say, but he and Flynn were already heading downslope-steeply downslope, she could see, as they rapidly disappeared from view. Hadley turned her attention to the cars blocking the road.
A young woman barely out of her teens sat sideways in the front of the Saab, her hands cradling her very pregnant belly, her face red and raw and terrified. A deflated air bag covered the steering wheel. A big, bearded guy crouched in front of her saying something in soothing tones.
“Hey there.” Hadley squatted beside him. “What do we have here?”
The man looked as relieved as a con with an eleventh-hour pardon. “Thank God. She says she’s, uh, leaking. Down there.”
“Are you”-he looked easily old enough to be the girl’s father instead of the baby’s, but you never knew-“related?”
“No, ma’am. I was just driving home to Millers Kill and came across ’em. There’s an older couple in the Ford, but they were just shaken up some, so I thought I’d better stay with her.”
“Please help me.” The girl’s voice was wild. “I don’t want to lose my baby.”
“It’s going to be okay. There are ambulances on the way. They’ll be here any minute. What’s your name?”
“Christy. Christy Stoner.” Her chest rose and fell in quick, shallow bursts. Shock, or panic? Either way, it couldn’t be good.
“Christy, how far along are you?”
“Seven months.”
“Are you having any contractions?”
She shook her head. Gulped a breath. Let out a bleating, gasping cry.
“Okay, Christy, listen to me. Are you listening? You need to calm down. Your baby needs all the air it can get right now.”
Christy nodded, panting.
“Is this your first pregnancy?”
The girl jerked her head up and down. Hadley spotted the rings on her third finger, a skinny little diamond and a big fat band. “Why don’t we call your husband? You can talk to him while we’re checking you out.” That might help the girl relax.
“He’s in Afghanistan. He’s a marine.”
Oh, great. Hadley gestured the bearded man to come closer. “Okay, Christy. I want you to hold-what’s your name?”
“Dennis Walker.”
“I want you to hold Dennis’s hands and squeeze them tight.” She did so, her knuckles whitening. Walker let out a grunt. “Now I want you to close your eyes and take slow… even… breaths.”
Christy shut her eyes and opened her mouth.
“Dennis, I want you to pull her upright. We’re going to move her to the backseat so she can lie down.”
Christy groaned, then gasped, as they helped her out, but between the two of them, they got her relocated. Hadley had her lie on her left side, a vague memory from her own pregnancies that the left was better for circulation or something.
“You said she was leaking.” Hadley addressed Walker over the roof of the car. “Any idea what?”
“Are you kidding?”
She ducked back down into the Saab. The girl was wearing a maternity sundress, rucked up around her knees in the move. “Christy, did it feel like your amniotic fluid bursting? Or maybe letting go some pee?”
Walker made a strangled sound.
“I couldn’t tell! I don’t know what it feels like when your water breaks.”
“Okay. I’d like your permission to check your panties to see if I can tell what’s happened.”
“Oh, jeez!” Walker twisted this way and that, finally turning his back to the car.
“Okay.” Christy brought her knee up. Hadley bunched the girl’s skirt in her hands and took a look. Oh, shit. She was worried she was going to have to get more personal, but that wouldn’t be necessary. Christy’s white maternity undies were soaked right through with clear amniotic fluid-and streaked with blood.
“What’s going on?”
Hadley snapped the girl’s dress back into place and whirled around. She had thought Flynn’s face seemed more mature since his TDY. His bones a little more defined, maybe, or his expression a little more tempered. Standing in front of her now, he looked years older.
“The other car?”
He shook his head. “Dead.” His mouth compressed. “No seat belt.” He looked over her shoulder. “Her?”
“Seven months pregnant.” Hadley dropped her voice. “I think it might be a partial placental abruption.”