team."
Officer Amity shook his head. "Ma'am, with all due respect, the driver wasn't wearing a seat belt. She'd hit the rim of the windshield and lost half her brain. While she might not have been DOA, even I could tell it was only a matter of time. Now I don't know how it is in Oregon, but in Virginia it doesn't do us any good to build the case when we got no one left alive to charge with the crime."
Rainie eyed him shrewdly. She said two words. "Budget cuts."
Amity's eyes widened in surprise. He nodded slowly, studying her with fresh interest. In most states, the minute an accident involves a fatality, particularly a pedestrian fatality, an accident investigation team will be called out regardless of the condition of the driver. But in the wonderful world of policing, accident investigation teams were the first to feel the sting of budget cuts, even though police officers spent the majority of their time dealing with MVAs and not homicides. Apparently, society couldn't stand the thought of death by stranger, but demise by automobile was okay. Merely the cost of living in the modern age.
"Tell me about the seat belt." Rainie switched gears.
"She wasn't wearing one."
"In the report, it says the strap was 'nonoperative.' What does that mean?"
Amity frowned, scratched his head, and flipped through his notes. "When I was checking for a pulse, I brushed against the seat belt and it pooled out onto the floor. No tension. Gears probably busted."
"The seat belt was defective?"
"It was nonoperative."
"No kidding." Rainie's voice gained an edge.
"Why
was it nonoperative?"
"I haven't the foggiest idea," Amity drawled evenly.
"You didn't examine it, disassemble it? Come on, Officer, if that seat belt had been working, it might have saved the driver's life. That ought to make it worth some attention."
"A defective seat belt is a civil, not criminal, matter, ma'am. Being underworked cops with an unlimited budget, we would love to focus on things outside of our jurisdiction, of course, but that would entail spitting in the face of standard investigative procedures."
Rainie blinked twice, then scowled when she finally detected the sarcasm underlining his amiable drawl. Here was the difference between formal and informal police practices, she thought not for the first time. If she'd come across an accident like Mandy s when she'd been a small-town cop, she would've checked out the seat belt. But small sheriffs departments didn't rigidly follow things like standard investigative procedures. Hell, half of their volunteer staff probably couldn't spell investigative, let alone procedures.
"I made a phone call," Officer Amity said abruptly. His face remained expressionless, but his voice dropped, as if he were about to confess a sin.
"About the seat belt?" As long as they were being co-conspirators, Rainie lowered her voice, too.
"I didn't like the fact that lack of seat belt made it a fatality," Amity said, "and it just so happened that the seat belt was broken. So I called the garage that serviced the Explorer. Seems that the broken seat belt wasn't new; it happened a month before. The driver called about having it replaced. Even made an appointment. But she never came in."
"When was the appointment?"
"A week before the crash."
"Did the garage know why she canceled?"
"She called to say something had come up, she'd reschedule shortly." He shrugged. "So now we got a driver running around for four weeks without a proper harness system. Then she crawls behind the wheel dead drunk. I don't know about suspicious, ma'am, but in my book the accident is looking stupider all the time."
Rainie chewed her bottom lip. "I still don't like the
nonoperative
seat belt."
"Makes Daddy nervous," Officer Amity shrewdly guessed.
"Something like that. What about the pedestrian victim, the old man?"
"Oliver Jenkins. Lived one mile from the crash site. According to his wife, he always walked his dog along the road and she always told him it was
Officer Amity shook his head. "Ma'am, with all due respect, the driver wasn't wearing a seat belt. She'd hit the rim of the windshield and lost half her brain. While she might not have been DOA, even I could tell it was only a matter of time. Now I don't know how it is in Oregon, but in Virginia it doesn't do us any good to build the case when we got no one left alive to charge with the crime."
Rainie eyed him shrewdly. She said two words. "Budget cuts."
Amity's eyes widened in surprise. He nodded slowly, studying her with fresh interest. In most states, the minute an accident involves a fatality, particularly a pedestrian fatality, an accident investigation team will be called out regardless of the condition of the driver. But in the wonderful world of policing, accident investigation teams were the first to feel the sting of budget cuts, even though police officers spent the majority of their time dealing with MVAs and not homicides. Apparently, society couldn't stand the thought of death by stranger, but demise by automobile was okay. Merely the cost of living in the modern age.
"Tell me about the seat belt." Rainie switched gears.
"She wasn't wearing one."
"In the report, it says the strap was 'nonoperative.' What does that mean?"
Amity frowned, scratched his head, and flipped through his notes. "When I was checking for a pulse, I brushed against the seat belt and it pooled out onto the floor. No tension. Gears probably busted."
"The seat belt was defective?"
"It was nonoperative."
"No kidding." Rainie's voice gained an edge.
"Why
was it nonoperative?"
"I haven't the foggiest idea," Amity drawled evenly.
"You didn't examine it, disassemble it? Come on, Officer, if that seat belt had been working, it might have saved the driver's life. That ought to make it worth some attention."
"A defective seat belt is a civil, not criminal, matter, ma'am. Being underworked cops with an unlimited budget, we would love to focus on things outside of our jurisdiction, of course, but that would entail spitting in the face of standard investigative procedures."
Rainie blinked twice, then scowled when she finally detected the sarcasm underlining his amiable drawl. Here was the difference between formal and informal police practices, she thought not for the first time. If she'd come across an accident like Mandy s when she'd been a small-town cop, she would've checked out the seat belt. But small sheriffs departments didn't rigidly follow things like standard investigative procedures. Hell, half of their volunteer staff probably couldn't spell investigative, let alone procedures.
"I made a phone call," Officer Amity said abruptly. His face remained expressionless, but his voice dropped, as if he were about to confess a sin.
"About the seat belt?" As long as they were being co-conspirators, Rainie lowered her voice, too.
"I didn't like the fact that lack of seat belt made it a fatality," Amity said, "and it just so happened that the seat belt was broken. So I called the garage that serviced the Explorer. Seems that the broken seat belt wasn't new; it happened a month before. The driver called about having it replaced. Even made an appointment. But she never came in."
"When was the appointment?"
"A week before the crash."
"Did the garage know why she canceled?"
"She called to say something had come up, she'd reschedule shortly." He shrugged. "So now we got a driver running around for four weeks without a proper harness system. Then she crawls behind the wheel dead drunk. I don't know about suspicious, ma'am, but in my book the accident is looking stupider all the time."
Rainie chewed her bottom lip. "I still don't like the
nonoperative
seat belt."
"Makes Daddy nervous," Officer Amity shrewdly guessed.
"Something like that. What about the pedestrian victim, the old man?"
"Oliver Jenkins. Lived one mile from the crash site. According to his wife, he always walked his dog along the road and she always told him it was
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