Brenda Novak - In Seconds

The needle on his speedometer edged up to seventy-five as Pineview faded in his rearview mirror. Like his office, the morgue was in Libby, thirty minutes away. But less than five miles down the road, he spotted a vehicle broken down on the shoulder.

Because he was so intent on reaching the morgue, he almost left the driver to work it out on his own. Two men were with the car. But there wasn’t any cell service here, so they couldn’t call for help, and when he saw one of them limp around the vehicle to reach the engine, he slowed.

The man had an awkward gait, as if one leg was shorter than the other. Maybe the second guy, who was sitting in the driver’s seat, wasn’t any more mobile and that was why he hadn’t gotten out.

Flipping on his lights to warn other motorists to give them a wide berth, Myles pulled in behind the economy-size truck and cut the engine. Then he ran the California plate, only to learn that the computer system was down and had been for the past twenty minutes.

“No big deal,” he muttered. These boys just needed a hand. If he got them on their way soon enough he could still make the autopsy.

As Myles got out, the handicapped man leaned around the hood. “Afternoon, Officer.”

“Looks like you got trouble.” A red bucket of bolts, the truck probably hailed from the early nineties.

“Radiator’s busted,” came the response.

Camping and fishing gear filled the bed, not unusual for this time of year. The person inside the cab stared at Myles through his open window but stayed put. He seemed young. Not young enough to be the driver’s son, but maybe a nephew or brother.

The lame guy leaned heavily on his hands, as if it pained him to support his own weight. Although dressed in jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt and a ball cap, which didn’t expose a lot of skin, what skin Myles could see as he drew closer was covered with ink, even his face. The images of snakes and gargoyles were off-putting enough to make Myles wish he’d been able to run the license plate. He dealt with a lot of tourists, mostly men, some of them pretty rough. But this guy went beyond anything he’d seen since his days on the force in Phoenix. His appearance and lack of relief at the prospect of having help, not to mention the way the fellow behind the wheel pulled his ball cap down and sank lower in the seat, set Myles’s cop instincts abuzz.

He immediately thought of Pat’s murder and wished he could find out if they were driving a stolen vehicle or had outstanding warrants. “Engine’s hot, huh?” he said.

“Too hot to drive without cracking the block.” A jug of water sat on the ground next to the speaker. Obviously he’d done what he could to remedy the problem.

Judging by the burned smell, Myles thought it was too late to save the engine. “If that’s true, it can’t be driven. Why don’t I call for a tow? Harvey can come out, pick you up and take you and your vehicle into town.”

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.