by Claire Booth
The first crunch was more typical, Dindleton said, like what he was used to hearing. The two men stared at each other and then walked as one to the large rock set at the curve in the road. Beyond it was the last of Dindleton’s fall corn crop. On it was a smear of brown paint and black rubber.
The second sound came so quick that it ran together with the first, Dindleton said, staring down at his boulder. But it was different. It was a crack and a boom and a skid all at once.
‘Like the sky fell … that’s what it was,’ Dindleton said. ‘It fell, and I was too late to catch it.’
He looked at his lowly garden hose and swallowed hard. Hank got dizzy.
A scrape against the asphalt drew their attention to the wreck. The paramedics had brought up another gurney. They watched as Larry helped lift the front seat passenger into a body bag. His name was Gabriel Schattgen. He had been seventeen.
THREE
Dindleton gently steered him up the driveway, his knurled fingers on Hank’s shoulder. He stopped about ten yards from the road.
‘OK, son, let me see your hands. You’re gettin’ blood everywhere.’
Hank stared down at his hands in surprise. The right was covered in red scratches. The left had a gouge near his thumb and another one on the edge of his palm. He jumped back as Dindleton turned on the hose nozzle.
‘Now hold still. You’re bad as a newborn colt.’
Dindleton carefully flushed out the cuts. The cold water in the open wounds hurt and made him glad. It drew his attention away from the pain in his head, and his chest.
‘There,’ Dindleton said, turning off the hose. ‘Feel better?’
He gave Hank a keen look that seemed full of speculation, or of judgment. Hank fought the urge to hang his head and instead forced himself to turn back to the wreckage. He should at least face what he’d done. He saw Sheila striding toward him and walked over to meet her.
‘MCIU is on its way,’ she said, putting her cell back in the pocket of her windbreaker. She was in civilian clothes – T-shirt, jeans, and tennis shoes. Apparently it had to be one in the morning before she would forego a uniform.
‘They said they’d have a sergeant here within a half hour, so we need to leave everything as-is until he gets here,’ she continued and then stopped at the look on his face.
‘We can’t leave those kids in there,’ he said. ‘We have to get them out. They can’t stop.’ He flung his arm toward the emergency workers, just in time to see them all step back from the twisted metal. ‘They have to get those kids out of there.’
He realized his voice was rising, but he didn’t care. Sheila did, though. She raised a calming hand. ‘I think that—’
‘Hey, it’s OK,’ Larry interrupted as he loped over to them. ‘We can wait. The rest of the county’s quiet. And I’ve alerted my off-duty guys that they might have to take a call if one comes in. So everything’s fine.’
Everything was not fine.
Sheila’s hand was on his chest. ‘Calm. Down.’
Larry took a step back. ‘Dude. You OK?’
Hank again stated that they couldn’t leave the bodies in the wreckage for that long. Maybe too forcefully, seeing as Larry took another step back. Then his friend shot Sheila a what-the-hell look.
‘I just think,’ Hank said in what he thought was a deliberate tone, but to the others might’ve sounded angry, ‘that we should get the victims out of the car. They need to be … taken care of.’
Larry nodded. ‘I get it. Especially if they end up being as young as those two in the front looked. But to get to them – and we don’t even know how many there are – we have to completely tear the car apart. And that’s not going to do the Major Crash folks much good when they try to reconstruct what happened. You know that.’
Sheila gave Hank the tiniest of shoves. She was communicating that he needed to say something – calmly.
‘You’re right …’ Hank said. ‘I’m just a little wound up about it because … because I pulled them over. That car. Earlier tonight. About twenty minutes before …’ All three turned to look at the bloody wreckage. ‘And there were six of them. Four in the backseat. I made them buckle up and promise me they’d go straight home to their parents. And this …’ he searched for more words and came up empty.
Larry – irrepressible, wise-cracking Larry – could manage only a faint gasp. Finally, he looked at Hank and shook his head. ‘Man …’
They all stood in silence and watched the one person who could continue working. Kurt Gatz was hard to miss, with his camera flash going off repeatedly. The crime scene tech moved methodically around the car, carefully stepping over scattered vehicle parts as he photographed every inch of the wreck.
‘All right,’ Sheila said, slapping her hands together. ‘This inaction isn’t good for anybody.’ By which she clearly meant that it wasn’t good for Hank. ‘Here’s what we’re going to do. Larry, you start walking back along the road the way they came. Take these evidence markers and put them wherever you see skid marks. Not on them, just next to them. Got it?’
‘I am not a rookie, Ms Chief Deputy.’ Larry grabbed the stack of yellow A-frame markers, and then flashed her a grin. ‘But you’d better watch me. I might be good enough to make it as a deputy myself. Then you’d never get rid of me.’
‘Oh, hush and get along, you impossible man.’ She waved him off, and then focused on Hank. And sighed.
‘I could’ve done that,’ he said, gesturing toward Larry’s departing back.
‘No way. No long, depressing, solitary walks for you. You’re with me.’
She pulled on plastic gloves and walked over to the boulder, fully expecting Hank to follow. He stayed where he was. He’d already seen it.
She gave him the briefest of glances and turned her flashlight toward the rock to study the scrapes. The rock was more square than round, about two feet high and maybe thirty inches wide. Not huge, by any means, but certainly big enough to inflict some damage on the fenders of cars taking the curve too quickly. She knelt down, balancing on the balls of her feet as she got as close as she could without touching the rough surface. She scrutinized the whole front of the rock and then stood, shaking her head and muttering loudly in Hank’s direction about a dozen different colors of paint and the microscopic analysis that would be needed to figure out exactly what was from the sedan.
She was trying to draw him in, take his mind off the dead kids entombed twenty feet to the left. He didn’t move from his spot at the end of Dindleton’s driveway. She stepped off to the side of the boulder and contemplated it for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, he gave in and joined her. Kurt walked over as well, and his high-wattage flash immediately began lighting up the rock.
‘What the hell are you doing?’
All three of them stopped and turned toward the road, where a Highway Patrolman stood, arm raised accusingly in their direction. Hank couldn’t make out his face in the dark, but based on his posture and his tone, the guy was not in a good mood. Well, neither was he.
‘We’re photographing evidence,’ he said, walking well clear of the boulder and onto the road. ‘And you are?’
The man lowered his arm and stared at Hank. At least Hank thought that was where he was looking. It was hard to tell with his face in shadow and the emergency lights bouncing off his reflective vest.
‘Who the hell do you think I am? I’m Major Crash Investigation. And I want him to follow me, right now.’ He jabbed his finger toward Kurt.
Kurt froze, looking at the patrolman and then to Hank, silently asking what he should do. Hank started to tell him to finish what he was doing because Major Crash could damn well wait two minutes. Then he looked over at the wreckage and swallowed his indignation. He nodded at Kurt, who rose to his feet and was hit with a torrent of orders from the investigator. He hustled his bulky frame away with a backward glance of trepidation.
‘He better be able to handle it,’ the Highway Patrol guy growled. ‘I don’t like people who
can’t move effectively around a scene.’
Sheila bristled and started forward. Hank held up a hand, surprised that he was able to stay so calm. Maybe his roiling reservoir of emotion had finally run dry.
‘Kurt is an exemplary crime scene technician and will be able to do whatever you need him to,’ Hank said. ‘His size is not an issue.’
‘It better not be.’ The man spun on his heel and headed for the sedan.
Hank called after him. ‘I didn’t get your name … trooper.’
The man stopped and slowly turned back to Hank. He was now closer to the still flashing emergency lights and finally visible. He had grey hair in a fresh crew cut, a Dudley Do-Right jaw and Tony Soprano eyes.
‘I am a sergeant. You will kindly address me as such. My name is Jenkins.’
Hank knew he had to be well above the starting rank of trooper in order to be assigned to the major crash unit. He could see Sheila grinning out of the corner of his eye as Jenkins strode away. She skirted the boulder and came to stand next to him.
‘That’s just what we need – a total jerk,’ she said.
Hank hadn’t taken his eyes off him. He sighed. ‘Yeah. Just be careful with him, OK? I shouldn’t have done that. No more poking the bear on this one. Just let him do his job and get him gone.’
Sheila gave him a puzzled look and shrugged just as Larry came jogging up the road, still clutching a full stack of evidence markers. He hadn’t found any skid marks. With better lighting, they might be able to find some, he said as he handed the markers at Sheila. But he’d come up empty.
‘Well, except I did find her,’ he said with a smile, pointing at the petite woman in cargo pants walking down the road toward them.
Alice Randall, the sheriff department’s other crime scene tech, rolled her eyes. ‘You did not “find” me, Larry.’ She turned to Hank. ‘I heard multiple fatalities. Is Major Crash here yet?’
Sheila growled a yes as Jenkins the jerk looked over. Hank quickly stepped in front of Alice.
‘Larry, get over there and distract that guy,’ he said. ‘Keep him away from over here for a while.’
Larry sighed dramatically and walked back toward the wreck. Hank, still shielding Alice from view, told her what photos he wanted taken of the boulder. She quickly started as Hank stood nonchalantly in front of her. He wanted pictures of everything. Because there were no skid marks, and that made no sense. It was a sharp curve, with a boulder that would’ve appeared in the headlight beams. Why hadn’t the driver braked? What had gone on with that car?
‘Whatcha doing?’
Both Hank and Alice froze, and then looked up to see another Highway Patrol official staring at them from the road side of the large rock. This one, however, did not seem to be an asshole, and certainly didn’t appear to be a man.
Hank rose to his feet and stepped clear of the evidence area.
‘We’re just making sure everything gets recorded. Before it can possibly be altered.’
‘Good idea. Because we’re going to need to analyze that rock – paint scrapings, things like that.’ She peered at the boulder and then turned to him. ‘I’m Nina DeRosia, Major Crash Investigation.’
Hank, whose injured hands were in no condition to shake hers, nodded at her and introduced himself. She raised an eyebrow.
‘You’re the actual sheriff, and you’re out here in the middle of the night fully uniformed?’
‘I take a patrol shift every once in a while. That’s what I was doing tonight. I was the first on scene.’
Now both eyebrows rose. She was tall and slim, with what looked like blondish hair pulled back in a bun. She had on the same kind of reflective vest her colleague wore. ‘First on scene? We’re definitely going to want to talk to you, then. But I need to start with what’s going on over there. When you finish with your evidence technician, can you send her over?’
She gave him a smile and walked away.
‘Well, that was like night and day.’ Sheila stood at his shoulder, stripping off her own gloves. She peered up at him. ‘You want to stay here? I can go handle the inter-agency stuff.’
He took a deep breath as Larry fired up the Jaws of Life again. ‘No. I did this. I can’t walk away now.’
FOUR
After a fierce argument they tried to pass off as only a friendly discussion, the two Major Crash sergeants agreed that the lowly sheriff’s deputies, who now included two other officers, could help mark the extensive debris field that had occurred when the sedan crashed. Sheila was thoroughly amused by the whole thing. Hank didn’t think anything would ever amuse him again.
He combed the slope on the far side of the wreck until it was blanketed with yellow evidence markers. He was about ten yards down from the car when the yelling started. Jenkins appeared at the top of the rise and ordered him to come up. Hank complied, slowly.
The second he reached the level ground by the road, the jerk let loose. He hadn’t been told that Hank pulled the car over earlier in the evening. He wasn’t informed that Hank had important information about the passengers in the vehicle. He didn’t know that Hank was essentially a witness and shouldn’t be participating in the investigation. He should’ve been told everything immediately.
Hank stared at him impassively.
‘You didn’t give me a chance to tell you. You walked away.’
‘Oh, you need an invitation? Is that it? You need somebody to hold your hand? What kind of law enforcement officer are you?’
‘I’m the sheriff of Branson County.’ He drew himself up to his full height, which was exactly as tall as Sergeant Jenkins. ‘And this might be your scene, but it’s my road, and my constituents. So you’re stuck with me, because I’m not going anywhere.’
Jenkins took a belligerent step forward just as Sergeant DeRosia materialized at Hank’s side. She somehow steered him off to the side and sent Jenkins back to the wreck without either of them throwing a punch.
‘Now,’ she said calmly, ‘you checked the IDs of everyone in the car?’
Hank took her through the whole traffic stop, his stomach churning. He rattled off the license plate number from memory. The back one on the sedan had been obliterated in the crash and the front one was torn off and missing. He confirmed that the driver they’d pulled from the wreckage was the registered owner’s son, Alex Danzig.
‘And the other names?’
Her pen and pad were ready and her gaze was steady. He took a long breath and rattled them off, starting with Gabriel, the husky kid in the front. He could tell she was impressed he’d been able to do it by memory. He didn’t say that was the only place he had them – in his head. He hadn’t written anything down or run any names, besides the original driver, Isaiah Barton, sixteen, and Danzig. They were just kids. Doing what just kids always do on a lazy Saturday night. He took a step back and out of the spotlights that were getting set up everywhere, so she wouldn’t see his eyes. They were suddenly watery.
A piercing screech of metal came from the car as two of Larry’s guys started working on the doors of the sedan. The entire area was now awash in light and crowded with people in reflective vests. The sulfuric smell of road flares drifted over everything. Larry had handed over the hydraulic shears to someone else and was leaning against an ambulance mopping his face with a towel. Hank made a move toward him. DeRosia laid a hand on his arm.
‘Look, I’m sorry he was a dick about it, but Jenkins is right. It’s better – just to be safe – that you don’t participate anymore. Who knows how your traffic stop is going to play into this? You should just go home. I’ll keep you updated, talk to you tomorrow.’
Hank looked at her and then over to the car. They were nowhere near ready to extract anyone else. He wasn’t going anywhere until they did. He owed those kids that. He gestured to his cruiser, which was close to the sedan and pinned in by multiple emergency vehicles.
‘Guess that’s not possible.’ He pointed toward the end of Dindleton’s driveway. ‘I’ll be over there. Ou
t of the way.’
DeRosia gave him an appraising look and then slowly nodded. Hank knew she wasn’t sure she should believe him. He didn’t care. And he certainly didn’t intend to sit around doing nothing while they took their measurements and calculated their angles and bagged their evidence.
He pulled out his phone and checked the signal as he walked over to Dindleton’s driveway. He had a feeling that the old man, who had gone back inside, wouldn’t mind if he camped out there for a while. There were a couple of big logs lining the drive as it got closer to the house. He had a seat and pulled up an internet browser. He’d start with the car owner’s son.
Alexander Danzig was seventeen. It was his mother’s brown sedan that was scattered in pieces on the country lane that wound through the rocky hills north of the Highroad. He lived in a neighborhood across from the Branson Events Center. Hank knew that from the car’s registration. Alex was a drum major for the Branson Valley High School marching band. He knew that from an article on the Daily What’s-It website about the season’s opening football game.
Gabriel Schattgen was also seventeen. Hank hadn’t even known his last name until tonight when he saw his driver’s license during the traffic stop. He just knew that the kid was friendly and polite, seemed smart, and was a very good soccer player. He shook his head to rid himself of the teen’s sightless stare. It didn’t work. He gave up and typed into the browser. A Schattgen lived on Fall Creek Drive. And another on Abbott Lane. He couldn’t remember the address on the kid’s license. He’d have to narrow it down later.
Isaiah Barton had just turned sixteen. He was the original driver Hank had demoted to the back seat. His grandmother passed away last year – he was listed as a survivor in her online obituary. Now he would be getting his own. Hank’s stomach lurched.
Kayla Anderson was also sixteen. She’d ended up sitting next to Isaiah. Without access to the databases on his laptop, it was impossible to figure out which of the county’s many Anderson families she belonged to. From a year-old activities blog on a neighborhood news site, it looked like she was a marching band member, too.