One Was a Soldier (12 page)

Flynn went over to see what he could get from the elderly couple while they were being examined by the remaining EMTs. Hadley pulled out her own notebook. “Dennis, can I get your statement?”

The big man tore his gaze away from the now vanished ambulance. “Sure.”

Hadley checked her watch to note the time. She blinked. It had been exactly ten minutes since she had gotten the call from Harlene. She shook her head to clear it. “Can you tell me what you saw?”

“I was headed up to town on the Sacandaga Road”—he pointed to a spot south of the accident site—“and the Ford and the young lady’s car were coming down the hill toward me. All of a sudden, that Mini Cooper comes bombing outta the resort road. Musta been going seventy, at least. Those folks”—he thumbed toward the Ford—“kinda spun. I figured he slammed on the brakes and tried to skid himself. Probably woulda gotten by without more’n a scare if, uh, Christy hadn’t been behind him.” Walker gestured to the front of the Saab, accordioned into the rear corner of the Ford. “Wasn’t her fault, I don’t think. She mighta left more room between ’em, but, you know, unless she was a NASCAR racer in her spare time, there’s no way she coulda swerved.” He rubbed his big hands together. “Damn, I hope her and her baby come out okay.”

“Me, too. Then what happened?”

“Then? I called nine-one-one and got out to see if I could help. There was a lady come down the resort road after the Mini Cooper. She said she was a friend of the woman in the car. She took off down the field to check on her, I guess.” He glanced toward the pasture spreading out beneath the road. The car that had caused the accident, its driver, and her friend were invisible from where Walker and Hadley stood. As they watched, one of the paramedics toiled up the grassy slope into view. “What happened to her?” Walker asked. “The other driver, I mean.”

“She was killed.”

“Damn.” He shook his head, his beard swaying along in somber disapproval. “I hate to say it, but I figured something like this was gonna happen sooner or later. There’s a blind spot at the end of that resort road with all them trees and bushes there. Folks build up a good head of steam coming off the mountain and don’t have the sense to stop and look both ways.” He sighed. “It ain’t like it used to be.”

Hadley was quite sure of that. There were a number of increasingly dangerous intersections in the area, roads meant for farm vehicles and pokey local traffic overwhelmed by tourists and trucks and commuters rushing to get to Saratoga or Albany. Chief Van Alstyne’s wife had died in a collision less than ten miles from this spot.

She took Walker’s contact information and thanked him again for stopping to help.

“Anybody woulda done the same.” He rubbed his hands again. “I just hope that girl and her baby do all right.”

The fields around them were gold and green and bright with the summer sun, still high at six o’clock, but the accident site slid into the cool blue shadow of the mountain as she and Eric and Flynn processed the scene. The elderly couple elected to go to the hospital for a more thorough checkup, and the wrecker arrived. The fire police set up detours, and Hadley called for another tow truck.

The chemical response truck inched down the steep grade to the pasture and sprayed the remains of the Mini Cooper with fire retardant. The Ford, a total loss, was chain-winched to the side of the road, and the Saab, also a goner, got loaded on the flatbed and started for town.

The mortuary transport rumbled up, never in any hurry, and the body was removed. The driver, a middle-aged woman named Ellen Bain, had been coming from her job at the Algonquin Waters Resort after having “just one drink at the bar,” according to her sobbing co-worker. Ellen was also “a very safe driver!”—although the friend admitted she never used her seat belt.

“She used to tell us about a driver who got burned right up because he couldn’t get out of the car.” The woman could hardly speak. “She always said she wanted to be thrown clear in case of an accident.”

Hadley, who had hiked down to the crumpled Mini Cooper to take pictures, had to turn her head away.

Eric and Kevin took photos and measurements of the skid marks, and the second wrecker came to impound Bain’s car until the final report had been written, and the chemical response guys sprayed the torn and flattened grass once more for good measure.

They gave the all clear to the fire police volunteers, and the road was reopened. Hadley watched as the volunteers’ pickups jounced past. Nothing now but three cop cars and some broken glass on the roadbed to tell what had happened here. Everything else had faded into twilight.

“I never understood why people made those roadside shrines until I became a cop.” Flynn stood beside her, his hands tucked up under his arms.

“It doesn’t seem right all cleaned up,” she agreed. “It shouldn’t be so easy to ignore. Or forget.” A harsh growl, a sound of anger and pain, jerked her around. “What the hell?”

Thud. Thud. Thud.
A dull hammering, punctuated by McCrea’s voice, low and vicious. Coming from the slope below the road. “Eric?” Kevin’s hand went to his gun. “Are you okay?”

No reply. She and Flynn headed toward the noise, both their guns out now. McCrea was halfway down the slope, straddling a deep gash where the Mini Cooper’s bumper had dug into the earth and wrenched off. He was flailing at the dirt with the crowbar, beating—Hadley peered into the gloom, looking for the snake. There was nothing there.

“Goddamn fucking stupid
bitch!
” Eric smashed the bar down. “Goddamn fucking
drinks
—”
Thud.
“And
speeds
—”
Thud.
“And doesn’t wear a goddamn fucking
seat belt!
”
Thud.

“Eric!” Flynn sounded appalled. “What are you doing, man?”

McCrea looked up at them, his eyes gleaming in the darkness. “We live in the safest fucking place in the world.” Eric’s voice was grating. “We have air bags and seat belts and traffic signals. We have highway inspectors and road crews and goddamn designated drivers. And that stupid bitch just
throws
—”
Thud. “
It
all
—”
Thud.
“A
way
!”
Thud.

“I know. It sucks.” Flynn stepped toward Eric. “It really does. Why don’t you give me the crowbar, and we’ll go get a beer. Blow off some steam.”

“I don’t want to
blow off some steam!
”

Hadley shook herself. Eric McCrea was acting like a three-year-old lashing out at feelings he couldn’t name or express, and one thing she knew how to deal with was a cranky three-year-old. “Okay, Eric.” She kept her voice calm. “We’re not in any hurry. We’ll wait for you.” Flynn shifted his weight—going for McCrea or going for his car, she couldn’t tell—and she wrapped her hand around his forearm. “We’ll keep an eye on you to make sure you don’t accidentally get hurt. Go on. Go right ahead.”

Eric’s arm twitched. He kicked at the gouged and torn soil beneath his boots. “Just—leave.”

“No, man, that wouldn’t be right.” Kevin’s tone told her he had caught on to what she was doing and was running with it. “We came on the call together, we’ll leave together.”

“Jesus.” McCrea stepped toward them. Stepped back. Shook his head. “I can’t do it with you watching me.”

“Take your time,” Hadley said. “Just ignore us.”

McCrea barked a laugh. Harsh, but genuine. He tossed the crowbar at Kevin’s feet. “You two are assholes, you know that?”

Flynn picked up the crowbar. “Takes one to know one, big guy. C’mon.”

She drove back to the station with her heater on, despite the lingering warmth from the day. It took that long to get the chill inside her under control. In the squad room, they checked in and went straight to their reports. No joking or chatter tonight. Eric was the first to finish.

“The offer’s still open if you want a beer,” Kevin said.

Eric paused at the door. “Thanks, Kev. I think I’d better just go home. G’night, Hadley.”

“Goodnight,” she called. He left, his footsteps echoing down the hall. She glanced over at Flynn. It was just them now. Harlene had gone off duty after the last emergency vehicles had been dispatched; calls to the station would be routed through the Glens Falls board until morning. Ed and Paul were patrolling; if the need arose, one of them might stop by the station. A lot of times over the past year, she would have found the chief working late, but since Reverend Clare had gotten home, Van Alstyne bolted out the door as soon as possible and didn’t show up again until the morning briefing, blissed-out and yawning.

Nope. It was just her and Kevin Flynn. The situation she had been dreading since he came back from his TDY. It wasn’t that they had slept together. Yeah, he was a lot younger than she was, and yeah, it was against departmental regs, but, hey, things happen. In fact, if he hadn’t gotten all emotional about it, she would have been tempted to keep on as friends-with-benefits, because it had been pretty good. Okay, really good, if she was being honest. Flynn had acted as if she were the final exam in sex ed and he was determined to make honor roll. How could she have known it was all book-learning with no hands-on experience?

She had been very hands-on—and because of that, he thought he was in love. With her. Right.

Flynn shut his computer down and scraped his chair back. “You done?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll walk out with you.”

They went down the granite steps into the sweet warm night. Hadley fished her keys out of her pocket. “See you tomorrow.”

“Hadley?”

Here it comes.
“Yeah?”

“You were great with that pregnant girl. I’m glad you were there for her. I’m pretty sure she was glad, too.”

“Uh … thanks.”

“Good night.” Flynn clicked open his Aztek. He hopped in and was pulling out of the department’s parking lot before Hadley managed to fit her key into her car door.

She sat in the driver’s seat and looked at herself in the rearview mirror. Well. Evidently, she was no longer irresistible to Kevin Flynn. The small sting of that made her laugh, and laughing, she backed out and headed home to her kids.

YOU ARE NO LONGER STRANGERS AND SOJOURNERS, BUT FELLOW CITIZENS WITH THE SAINTS AND MEMBERS OF THE HOUSEHOLD OF GOD.

—Morning Prayer II, The Book of Common Prayer

MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 19

“Personal relationships.” Sarah let the phrase hang in the air while she looked from one member of the group to the other. In his wheelchair, Will Ellis stared at his knees. He was without prosthetics this session. Clare Fergusson sank lower in her seat and examined the ring she wore on her right hand. She buffed it against her short-sleeved black blouse. Tally McNabb lifted her hair away from the back of her neck and sighed.

They were having a spell of Indian summer on their third session, and the eighty-degree temperature would have been welcome, if the community center had better ventilation. Sarah could see, from the row of damp swimming suits and towels, how the preschool had escaped the heat. Unfortunately, she couldn’t move her therapy group to the kiddie pools in the playground.

“It’s a well-known phenomenon that a child who has been well behaved and cheerful at day care or on a play date will fall apart into tears and tantrums at home. Why? The child bottles up any negative emotions during the day and lets them all out with his or her parents.” Eric McCrea and Trip Stillman were nodding. “Even familiar caretakers and friends might not be safe—but parents can be relied upon to still love the child no matter how badly he or she behaves.”

Will Ellis absently kneaded his thigh muscles. His disengagement worried her. It might be time to refer him to more one-on-one care.

“As adults,” she continued, “we carry on these same patterns. We unload our baggage on our partners or family members because we learned as kids that it’s safe to do so. The problem is, of course, that we’re not kids anymore. We’re not dealing with all-powerful, all-forgiving parents, either.”

Clare Fergusson shot a glance at Will Ellis. He looked at her and shifted in his seat. Sarah realized Will was, in fact, still dealing with his parents. Better cut the metaphor short.

“Let’s talk about how we’re dealing with our loved ones.”

WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 10

Eric was trying to keep his temper over being checked up on like a little kid. “I just wanted to make sure you didn’t forget,” his wife was saying over the phone.

“For chrissakes, Jen, I can remember to pick up my own son from practice.” He was running a little late, but jeez. He pushed back from his chair in the squad room and headed for dispatch. “I’m leaving the station now.”

“I didn’t put a dinner in the freezer, but there’s a bowl of meat sauce in the fridge, so all you have to do is boil some pasta—”

“I can handle feeding us. Relax, will you?” He logged himself off the board hanging next to Harlene’s communication center.

She sighed fretfully. “I’m sorry. I’m just not used to—I haven’t spent a night away from him since you were deployed.”

Which was a big part of the problem, Eric thought. Jennifer was so used to doing everything she practically tried to wipe the boy’s mouth for him while he ate. All the mothering had turned Jacob into a sulky, self-entitled brat.

“Maybe I should just come home.”

“No.” He shifted his grip on his phone as he walked down the hall and out the door. The long, slanting rays of the western sun struck him full in the face as he jogged down the granite steps. He held up a hand to shield his eyes. “Your mom needs you there. We’ll have a good time. Don’t worry.” As he turned the corner into the department parking lot, he held the phone away from his face. “Honey? You’re fading out.” He could hear her talking, shrill and distant, like a bird afraid of a stranger under her nest. “Honey?” he said to the phone, now at arm’s length. “Talk to you later.” He flipped it shut.

He stowed his service piece and duty belt in his cruiser’s lockbox and slid into the seat. He had parked in the shade, so the car hadn’t heated up too bad. He eased the cruiser across the bump where it interrupted the sidewalk and pulled into Main.