“What’s that?”
“The placenta peels away some from the uterus. It’s all kinds of bad.” She glared at the road. “Where the hell is that ambulance?”
“Hey! Officer!”
They both turned. Walker had squeezed himself between the front and rear seats so Christy could hold his hand again. “She says she’s getting her pains!”
Hadley opened her mouth to either pray or swear, but she was cut short by the whoop whoop whoop of the ambulance cresting the hill, followed by the fire department’s chemical response truck, two volunteer fire police pickups, and, praise God, a second ambulance.
Duane Adams, one of their own part-time officers, led the EMTs. He prided himself on being fast. With good cause. Within two minutes, he had Christy Stoner on a stretcher, an IV in her arm and a fetal monitor strapped across her belly. They were pulling out, hospital bound, before Walker managed to extricate himself from the floor of the Saab. The last Hadley saw of the pregnant girl was a flip of her sundress over her tan legs as they slid her into the ambulance. God, look out for her and the baby.
Flynn went over to see what he could get from the elderly couple while they were being examined by the remaining EMTs. Hadley pulled out her own notebook. “Dennis, can I get your statement?”
The big man tore his gaze away from the now vanished ambulance. “Sure.”
Hadley checked her watch to note the time. She blinked. It had been exactly ten minutes since she had gotten the call from Harlene. She shook her head to clear it. “Can you tell me what you saw?”
“I was headed up to town on the Sacandaga Road”-he pointed to a spot south of the accident site-“and the Ford and the young lady’s car were coming down the hill toward me. All of a sudden, that Mini Cooper comes bombing outta the resort road. Musta been going seventy, at least. Those folks”-he thumbed toward the Ford-“kinda spun. I figured he slammed on the brakes and tried to skid himself. Probably woulda gotten by without more’n a scare if, uh, Christy hadn’t been behind him.” Walker gestured to the front of the Saab, accordioned into the rear corner of the Ford. “Wasn’t her fault, I don’t think. She mighta left more room between ’em, but, you know, unless she was a NASCAR racer in her spare time, there’s no way she coulda swerved.” He rubbed his big hands together. “Damn, I hope her and her baby come out okay.”
“Me, too. Then what happened?”
“Then? I called nine-one-one and got out to see if I could help. There was a lady come down the resort road after the Mini Cooper. She said she was a friend of the woman in the car. She took off down the field to check on her, I guess.” He glanced toward the pasture spreading out beneath the road. The car that had caused the accident, its driver, and her friend were invisible from where Walker and Hadley stood. As they watched, one of the paramedics toiled up the grassy slope into view. “What happened to her?” Walker asked. “The other driver, I mean.”
“She was killed.”
“Damn.” He shook his head, his beard swaying along in somber disapproval. “I hate to say it, but I figured something like this was gonna happen sooner or later. There’s a blind spot at the end of that resort road with all them trees and bushes there. Folks build up a good head of steam coming off the mountain and don’t have the sense to stop and look both ways.” He sighed. “It ain’t like it used to be.”
Hadley was quite sure of that. There were a number of increasingly dangerous intersections in the area, roads meant for farm vehicles and pokey local traffic overwhelmed by tourists and trucks and commuters rushing to get to Saratoga or Albany. Chief Van Alstyne’s wife had died in a collision less than ten miles from this spot.
She took Walker’s contact information and thanked him again for stopping to help.
“Anybody woulda done the same.” He rubbed his hands again. “I just hope that girl and her baby do all right.”
The fields around them were gold and green and bright with the summer sun, still high at six o’clock, but the accident site slid into the cool blue shadow of the mountain as she and Eric and Flynn processed the scene. The elderly couple elected to go to the hospital for a more thorough checkup, and the wrecker arrived. The fire police set up detours, and Hadley called for another tow truck.
The chemical response truck inched down the steep grade to the pasture and sprayed the remains of the Mini Cooper with fire retardant. The Ford, a total loss, was chain-winched to the side of the road, and the Saab, also a goner, got loaded on the flatbed and started for town.
The mortuary transport rumbled up, never in any hurry, and the body was removed. The driver, a middle-aged woman named Ellen Bain, had been coming from her job at the Algonquin Waters Resort after having “just one drink at the bar,” according to her sobbing co-worker. Ellen was also “a very safe driver!”-although the friend admitted she never used her seat belt.
“She used to tell us about a driver who got burned right up because he couldn’t get out of the car.” The woman could hardly speak. “She always said she wanted to be thrown clear in case of an accident.”
Hadley, who had hiked down to the crumpled Mini Cooper to take pictures, had to turn her head away.
Eric and Kevin took photos and measurements of the skid marks, and the second wrecker came to impound Bain’s car until the final report had been written, and the chemical response guys sprayed the torn and flattened grass once more for good measure.
They gave the all clear to the fire police volunteers, and the road was reopened. Hadley watched as the volunteers’ pickups jounced past. Nothing now but three cop cars and some broken glass on the roadbed to tell what had happened here. Everything else had faded into twilight.
“I never understood why people made those roadside shrines until I became a cop.” Flynn stood beside her, his hands tucked up under his arms.
“It doesn’t seem right all cleaned up,” she agreed. “It shouldn’t be so easy to ignore. Or forget.” A harsh growl, a sound of anger and pain, jerked her around. “What the hell?”
Thud. Thud. Thud. A dull hammering, punctuated by McCrea’s voice, low and vicious. Coming from the slope below the road. “Eric?” Kevin’s hand went to his gun. “Are you okay?”
No reply. She and Flynn headed toward the noise, both their guns out now. McCrea was halfway down the slope, straddling a deep gash where the Mini Cooper’s bumper had dug into the earth and wrenched off. He was flailing at the dirt with the crowbar, beating-Hadley peered into the gloom, looking for the snake. There was nothing there.
“Goddamn fucking stupid bitch! ” Eric smashed the bar down. “Goddamn fucking drinks -” Thud. “And speeds -” Thud. “And doesn’t wear a goddamn fucking seat belt! ” Thud.
“Eric!” Flynn sounded appalled. “What are you doing, man?”
McCrea looked up at them, his eyes gleaming in the darkness. “We live in the safest fucking place in the world.” Eric’s voice was grating. “We have air bags and seat belts and traffic signals. We have highway inspectors and road crews and goddamn designated drivers. And that stupid bitch just throws -” Thud. “ It all -” Thud. “A way !” Thud.