Julia Spencer-Fleming - I Shall Not Want

He didn't get to hear what she wanted. They curved in a long arc down and around a steep cut in the hillside and there was the accident scene, at the point where the forest once more shaded into farmlands, laid out in front of them like a set of toy vehicles that some giant kid had played hard with and then abandoned.

"Oh, my God," Clare said.

A large white van lay, overturned, among the trees, its crumpled side panel showing where it had rolled. More than once-it must have done a complete 360 and then some to be that far from the road. Only one ambulance, from Corinth -he frowned-but he could see two EMTs, bent over somebody at the side of the van. The Volunteer Fire Department's pump and hose trucks were angled off to the side, with Huggins's SUV parked tight behind. He pulled in behind Huggins. Clare had unbuckled and was swinging the door open before he had killed the engine. She dashed toward the ambulance. "Stay out of the way!" he shouted. She waved one hand in acknowledgment.

He found Kevin Flynn arguing with John Huggins, Hadley Knox close by, her arms wrapped around herself. "You okay?" Russ asked. She nodded.

"… how much assistance could they need?" Huggins was saying to Flynn. The fire chief's shoe-leather face and squat four-by-four body made Flynn look even more like a junior varsity basketball player than usual, but the kid wasn't backing down an inch.

"We won't know that until your guys get out there and find them!"

"Settle down, Kevin. Give me a report."

Flynn shot him a frustrated glance. "The driver says she heard a loud noise and then lost control. It looks like the left front tire blew. She went-well, you can see where she went." He flung his arm out to where tender new grass and delicate maple saplings had been torn raw and crushed. "No witnesses to speak of. The driver said she saw a big boxy vehicle, maybe an Aztek or a Humvee or Jeep Cherokee, but it didn't stop." He sounded disgusted. "Didn't call it in, either. The driver's complaining of chest and shoulder pains, difficulty breathing, difficulty moving her legs, dizziness. We've got one guy unconscious, one guy with a broken arm, and one more banged up pretty bad."

"That it for injuries? One driver, three passengers?"

Kevin blew out a puff of air. "I don't know. Officer Knox and I responded with lights and sirens. Like we're supposed to."

Russ nodded.

"So when we come over the hill, we see guys running into the woods; I can't tell you how many. They just scattered." He glanced past Russ to where the long shadows of the mountains were darkening the woods and fields. "Some of them may be hurt."

"As I was telling the kid, if they're well enough to evade arrest, they're well enough left alone." Huggins removed his helmet and scrubbed at his bald spot. "I don't see any need to send my guys chasing after them."

"Evade arrest?" Russ's question was aimed at Flynn, but Huggins answered.

"Illegals. Gotta be. Not a one of the ones left behind speaks a word of English. Probably one of them whaddayacallits. Where they smuggle 'em in."

"The driver is a nun!" Kevin said.

Russ pinched the bridge of his nose beneath his glasses. "John, we're not working for the Border Patrol. We're working for the town, and the town doesn't want injured people wandering around the woods in Cossayuharie, even if they don't speak English. Get your men walking a search pattern. Tell 'em to shout No soy del I-C-E. Estoy aquí ayudarle . Can you repeat that?"

Huggins screwed up his face, as if he were swallowing something nasty. "No soy del I-C-E. Eztoy ackee a-you-darrel."

"Close enough."

"Don't know why they can't just learn English," Huggins said, stomping back to the pump truck.

"I didn't know you speak Spanish, chief."

"The army likes its warrant officers to have a second language. Got the chance to polish it up in Panama and the Philippines."

Flynn looked impressed. Of course, it didn't take much to impress a twenty-four-year-old who had never been out of New York State.

"C'mon, let's see if we can sort out these people." He headed toward the battered van, Flynn falling in beside him. After a beat, so did Knox. "You see or hear anything that might make you think they had another reason to flee?"

Flynn shook his head. "Nope."

"Well…" Knox sounded hesitant.

"What is it?" Russ stopped and faced his newest officer. She was biting the inside of her cheek. "Listen," he said. "You know how you tell your kids there aren't any dumb questions? Well, there aren't any dumb details. Noticing things around you, at an accident, on a crime scene, patrolling, making a stop-someday it could make the difference between life and death. Your life and death."

She nodded. "Okay. Yeah. Two of the guys left behind were talking about the accident. One of them was saying he heard two pops, you know, two noises like the tires were blowing out, and the other guy said he heard three." She looked up at Flynn. "But Officer Flynn said it was one tire blown out. When we got here."

Next to him, Flynn stiffened. "You speak Spanish, too? Why didn't you tell me? We coulda questioned those men!"

She shrugged. "You told me our job was to secure the scene."

Russ sighed. "Hadley. We're a small department. We can't afford to have anybody sit on his ass and say, 'That's not my job.' Pardon my French."

"I didn't-"

He held up one hand. "We work as a team. If you have anything to contribute to the team, whether it's an observation, or a skill, or a piece of knowledge, I expect you to put it out there. Got it?"

"Yes, sir."

He resumed his path toward the overturned van. Just outside his peripheral vision, he could feel Knox glaring daggers at Flynn. He decided to let it be.

He heard a distant whoop carried on the cooling air, and a moment later the Millers Kill ambulance crested the hill. It swung in as close to the van as possible, its EMTs on the ground and headed for the injured before the siren had died away.

No… that wasn't the echo of the ambulance. Far down the valley, where the road ran out of sight between the next mountain gap, he saw a whirl of red-and-whites, following the blazing headlights of a speeding vehicle.

"Christ on a crutch," he said. Just what he needed, some jacked-up idiot thinking he could give one of their cruisers a run right through an accident site. "Get back!" he bellowed to the Corinth paramedics, who had strapped a man onto a pallet and were now angling for the rear door of the ambulance. He turned back toward where Huggins was huddling with his volunteers. "Everybody away from the road!"

Where was-? He stalked toward the ambulance, his chest tightening, until he spotted Clare kneeling beside someone on another pallet, her BDUs pale in the gathering dark. Well away from the edge of the road. Okay. He saw a flicker of red hair out of the corner of his eye. "Kevin, get on the radio," Russ said. "I want to know what the hell-" He broke off.

The speeding car was slowing down. Way down. Dust plumed beneath its tires as it veered onto the opposite shoulder and skidded to a stop. The MKPD cruiser rolled into place behind it.

Two men emerged from the car, a souped-up GTO that seemed too small for the size of its driver and passenger. Their dark-blond hair and long-limbed, powerful bodies were similar, although one had a russetty beard swallowing half his face and a couple inches on the other.

"Who're they?" Knox asked.

"Bruce Christie and his brother Donald," Russ said.

"What're they doing out here?" Flynn said.

"Well, that's a question, isn't it?" Across the road, Eric McCrea was getting out of the squad car and settling his lid on his head. He was frowning at the Christies, but made no move to stop them. "You two get over to the remaining passengers," Russ said, without turning. "Take their statements. Knox?"