injuries on the part of the face she could see. He was missing one shoe, though, and his white sock was filthy, tattered, and dappled with blood. So he hadn’t lost the shoe at the moment he fell. He’d been running through the trees like that for some time.
“Did he throw his hands out in front of him?” she asked.
“No. That’s exactly why it looked weird.” Carl was relieved somebody figured it out—he hadn’t articulated it clearly to himself.
“He fell with his hands still on his head,” Danny said. “Huh.”
It didn’t make sense. Maybe he’d been drunk and his reflexes were shut off. Or he could have been on amphetamines or something like that—somebody was dealing in the local area, but Danny hadn’t figured out who—whichwould also make his reflexes go haywire, and would explain why he hadn’t stopped to retrieve his shoe. It was probably good old-fashioned death by misadventure. Danny very much doubted the man was chasing these boys, in any case.
Whatever the circumstances that led to this, she was going to have to spend the rest of an already busy day dealing with a dead person, and that meant whatever else went down, her deputies would be dealing with it. The thought made her despair. She wanted a drink now, more than ever.
Her radio clicked and deputy Ted’s voice came over the speaker: “Sheriff, come in? We got a report from down to the Chevron station.”
“Shoot,” Danny said. “Kids present here, FYI,” she added, in case there was anything unsavory to report, like the time a man was gassing up his car and set his pants on fire. That made the papers, all the way down in the flatlands.
Ted had to think about it—he wasn’t fluent with the 10-signals, and Danny hadn’t demanded he learn them as they were becoming obsolete. “10–53,” he said at last.
Drunk and disorderly , Danny thought. It was hardly past noon and the drunks were already on the move.
“You’re going to have to deal with it,” she replied. “I got a 10–105 here. Misadventure.”
Danny was entirely sober for once, so this was her chance to feel superior. Her radio came back to life.
“You still there?” Ted asked, and continued without waiting for a reply. “The thing is, he was running and screaming like crazy, he got away from me, and I don’t think I can get to him in time. He’s headed northwest.”
Same direction as this one , Danny thought. “Nick, do you copy?” she said.
“Ten-four,” Nick promptly replied, caught up in the radio game himself.
“Intercept this one for me, will you? I can’t leave the body unattended.”
Nick, in the station, was at the correct end of Main Street. But it would leave the station itself unattended.
“Sheriff?” Officer Park came downhill a few feet, and said, confidentially, “I can stay here if you need to get back.” Danny was grateful. She flicked a salute off the edge of her hat and started up the mountainside.
“You gentlemen come with me,” she said to the boys. They fell into line behind her. Halfway back to Main Street, Danny looked over her shoulder and saw Park speaking into his radio mic, probably reporting the situationto the brass back at his home base. Whatever was going on, it had gotten Danny what amounted to an extra deputy, and that was a big advantage. The way things were going, she thought she would need it.
What worried her most about the 10–53, as described by Ted, was the running and screaming. Second case of running and screaming that day, if the boys were to be believed.
He was inside the Forest Peak patrol car, a Crown Victoria that should have been auctioned off to a taxi company long ago. He had shoulder-length brown hair and no shirt, his skin covered in abrasions and cuts. The backseat of the Vic, like that of the Explorer, was a seamless plastic form, similar to the benches in a fast-food restaurant. It was spattered with blood. The man was completely out of control, shrieking and flailing his
“Did he throw his hands out in front of him?” she asked.
“No. That’s exactly why it looked weird.” Carl was relieved somebody figured it out—he hadn’t articulated it clearly to himself.
“He fell with his hands still on his head,” Danny said. “Huh.”
It didn’t make sense. Maybe he’d been drunk and his reflexes were shut off. Or he could have been on amphetamines or something like that—somebody was dealing in the local area, but Danny hadn’t figured out who—whichwould also make his reflexes go haywire, and would explain why he hadn’t stopped to retrieve his shoe. It was probably good old-fashioned death by misadventure. Danny very much doubted the man was chasing these boys, in any case.
Whatever the circumstances that led to this, she was going to have to spend the rest of an already busy day dealing with a dead person, and that meant whatever else went down, her deputies would be dealing with it. The thought made her despair. She wanted a drink now, more than ever.
Her radio clicked and deputy Ted’s voice came over the speaker: “Sheriff, come in? We got a report from down to the Chevron station.”
“Shoot,” Danny said. “Kids present here, FYI,” she added, in case there was anything unsavory to report, like the time a man was gassing up his car and set his pants on fire. That made the papers, all the way down in the flatlands.
Ted had to think about it—he wasn’t fluent with the 10-signals, and Danny hadn’t demanded he learn them as they were becoming obsolete. “10–53,” he said at last.
Drunk and disorderly , Danny thought. It was hardly past noon and the drunks were already on the move.
“You’re going to have to deal with it,” she replied. “I got a 10–105 here. Misadventure.”
Danny was entirely sober for once, so this was her chance to feel superior. Her radio came back to life.
“You still there?” Ted asked, and continued without waiting for a reply. “The thing is, he was running and screaming like crazy, he got away from me, and I don’t think I can get to him in time. He’s headed northwest.”
Same direction as this one , Danny thought. “Nick, do you copy?” she said.
“Ten-four,” Nick promptly replied, caught up in the radio game himself.
“Intercept this one for me, will you? I can’t leave the body unattended.”
Nick, in the station, was at the correct end of Main Street. But it would leave the station itself unattended.
“Sheriff?” Officer Park came downhill a few feet, and said, confidentially, “I can stay here if you need to get back.” Danny was grateful. She flicked a salute off the edge of her hat and started up the mountainside.
“You gentlemen come with me,” she said to the boys. They fell into line behind her. Halfway back to Main Street, Danny looked over her shoulder and saw Park speaking into his radio mic, probably reporting the situationto the brass back at his home base. Whatever was going on, it had gotten Danny what amounted to an extra deputy, and that was a big advantage. The way things were going, she thought she would need it.
What worried her most about the 10–53, as described by Ted, was the running and screaming. Second case of running and screaming that day, if the boys were to be believed.
He was inside the Forest Peak patrol car, a Crown Victoria that should have been auctioned off to a taxi company long ago. He had shoulder-length brown hair and no shirt, his skin covered in abrasions and cuts. The backseat of the Vic, like that of the Explorer, was a seamless plastic form, similar to the benches in a fast-food restaurant. It was spattered with blood. The man was completely out of control, shrieking and flailing his
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