Читать книгу The Sheriff - Angi Morgan - Страница 11

Chapter Two

Driving this empty length of pavement could put him to sleep if he wasn’t careful. Pete Morrison stretched his neck from side to side, turned the squad car’s radio up a bit louder and rolled down the window for fresh air. A quick trip out to the Lights Viewing Area and back to the office for some shut-eye.

Probably just a plane and a waste of taxpayer gas.

“I saw some strange stuff out there,” a trucker had told Dispatch. “I don’t believe in UFOs or nothing like that, but if it is, I want the credit for seeing it first. Okay?”

“Sure thing” had been the standard reply to every driver who thought he’d seen a UFO. And each report had to be checked out. It was Marfa, after all.

Griggs would get an earful in the morning about honesty and the law. This was the third time in two weeks Pete had covered the son of a gun’s night shift at the last minute because of illness. Everyone knew the deputy had gone to Alpine to party. If he wanted to change shifts, he just needed to ask. There were twelve other deputies on the payroll, and yet Pete was covering. Again.

Partying hadn’t been something he’d personally wanted to do for the past couple of months. But since Griggs had transferred from Jefferson Davis County, he’d been covering his shifts a lot. Covering wasn’t the problem. He got extra pay and could normally sleep on the back cot. Nothing ever happened in Marfa beyond speeding citations and public intoxication.

Tonight was one of the exceptions. He’d make a quick pass by the official Marfa Lights Viewing Area, drive back and get some shut-eye.

“Dispatch, I’ve got an all clear. Not seeing anything unusual. But I might as well make a run to the county line.”

“Okey dokey, Pete. This is Peach. See you in a while.”

He laughed at Peach’s official acknowledgment. No sense trying to get her to change. Everyone called her Peach. She insisted on it. Her sister, Honey, got the day shift since she was older. He supposed nicknames were better than Winafretta and Wilhilmina. They’d been in Dispatch for as long as his dad had been a deputy or sheriff of Presidio County. Or longer. His dad swore no one could remember hiring either of them. They’d just shown up one day.

When his dad officially retired, the new sheriff could request replacements for them, but he’d like to see anyone tell Peach she was too old to handle things at night around the office. A shot of regret lodged like a clump of desert dirt in his throat. He’d have to withdraw his name from the election so someone else would step forward. Galen Rooney had only been on the force for a couple of years and just didn’t have the experience needed to run things.

No matter who the county elected, they’d most likely keep him on as a deputy. If not... Unfortunately, he hadn’t thought past quitting the race. The idea of withdrawing gnawed at his gut like a bad case of food poisoning. He’d never quit anything. His dad—he couldn’t ever think of the man who’d raised him as anything else—wouldn’t be happy.

“Crap. What the hell was that?”

He successfully dodged a long object in the middle of the road. He swiftly U-turned the squad car, flipped his lights on and drove a couple of seconds. Parking across the road, he turned the floodlight until it shone on a black bumper resting on the yellow line.

Joe Morrison had raised him riding shotgun in a squad car. The mental checklist of what he did exiting his vehicle was as natural as walking. Even if Peach wasn’t a stickler for the rules, he still needed to let her know exactly what he was doing.

“Dispatch, I swung back west to pick up some road debris. Guess a bumper dropped from a car and the driver didn’t stop to take care of it. Almost sent me off the road.”

“Wow, Sheriff Pete. It’s a good thing we got that call to take you out that way tonight, then,” Peach replied through the speaker. “What if an eighteen-wheeler had hit that thing? Oh, gosh, and what if it had been transporting fuel or hazardous waste? It might have spilled and leached into the water supply. We could have had deformed livestock or mutant wolves running around for years without anyone knowing.”

“You reading another end-of-the-world novel, Peach?”

“How did you know?” she asked.

“Lucky guess.” He laughed into the microphone. Peach and Honey’s theories of espionage and Armageddon changed daily with each book they read.

“Well, I’m at a good spot in the story, so I’ll let you clear the garbage. Shout out when you’re heading back,” she said.

“You got it. And, Peach, will you stop with the sheriff title? You know I’m the acting sheriff until the election.”

“I feel the same way about my dispatch title.”

“Point taken.”

Picking up the plastic bumper from a small car, he noticed some skid marks on the asphalt. He flipped his flashlight on and followed their path to the gravel and farther into the flattened knee-high grass. A vehicle had obviously gone off the road. He tossed the bumper to the side and started walking.

About twenty yards away, the fence wasn’t only down, but a section had been demolished and disappeared. There was nothing in range of the flashlight beam, so he shut off the light and let his eyes adjust to the well-lit night.

He finally spotted the car, the underbelly reflecting the starlight about four hundred yards into the field. He ran the short distance to the vehicle. The driver might need a hospital. A serious injury, he’d need to transport himself.

“Dispatch.” Back in his car, he pointed the spotlight directly in front of the hood and followed the path through the fence. “Peach?” He raised his voice to get her attention.

“I’m here, just finishing the chapter. You heading back?”

“Looks like a vehicle went off the road about half a mile east of the Viewing Area. I spotted it. Driving there now. Check if there are any cattle around that could get loose, and notify the owner.”

“Time to wake the sheriff.”

“Don’t wake Dad. He’s officially retired.”

“You know that’s not going to stop him. Neither could a heart attack.”

“Give me five minutes to check out the vehicle, Peach.” And do something on his own without his dad shouting instructions in his ear. “I need to find the driver and see if we need assistance.”

“He’s gonna be mad,” she sang into the radio. “You know how he hates to be the last told.”

“My call.”

“But you know how he is,” she whined.

“Remember that he’s retired. Five minutes.”

“Yes, sirree-dee, Acting Sheriff Morrison.”

Yeah, but for how long? He watched the land closest to him, searching for ditches or large rocks. Closer to the vehicle, it was apparent it had hit the foundation of an old building. Whoever had been driving the car had been traveling at a high speed, hit the broken concrete and flipped the vehicle.

He approached with caution, flashlight in hand, gun at his fingertips. “County Sheriff. Anyone need help?”

No answer. Nothing but the cool wind.

He switched the flashlight, looked inside the car. One body. Nonresponsive.

“Sir?” He felt the man’s neck for a pulse. “Damn.”

Dead.

The body was mangled pretty badly. “You should have buckled up, stranger. How’d you end up in the backseat?” He’d seen weirder things happen in car accidents than the driver being thrown around.

Back at his car, he pulled his radio through the open window. “Peach, send for an ambulance. We have a fatality.”

“Poor soul.”

“Yeah.” He tossed the microphone onto the seat.

“Unit says they’re about an hour out, Pete,” he heard through the speaker. “There was an accident in Alpine and since it’s only a pickup they aren’t in a hurry.”

“Not a problem.”

No shut-eye anytime soon. He was stuck waiting here an hour unless Peach called him for a Marfa emergency. Fat chance. He’d get the pics they’d need for their records and maybe catch a nap after. He grabbed the camera from the Tahoe.

Careful not to disturb the body, he started snapping away, including the outside of the car and the tags. When he reached the driver’s-side door, he noticed blood on the outside and then the tracks, patterns in the dirt as if someone had crawled from the car.

“Anyone out here?” he yelled, tilting the beam as far as it would project and following distinct shoe impressions. “I’m with the Marfa Sheriff’s Department and here to help.”

He shoved the camera in his pocket and picked up his pace. Two or three minutes passed, the footprints grew more erratic and then the bottom of a shoe came into view.

“Hello?” He ran to a woman lying facedown in the sand. She was visibly breathing, but unresponsive to shaking her shoulder. He verified no broken bones and no wounds, then rolled her over.

There was a lot of blood on her white tank, but no signs of any bleeding. He dusted the sand from her young face. Smooth skin. That won’t go in the report. Caucasian. Short brown hair. Blue eyes, responsive to light.

“Ma’am? Can you hear me?”

The accident couldn’t have happened that long ago. The hood of the car had been warm. Should he move her? There could be multiple things wrong with her. He ran his hands over her body checking for broken bones. She wasn’t responding to stimulation. She needed immediate care and the ambulance was an hour out. That sealed it. He scooped her into his arms and rushed her back to his car.

Once he had her buckled, he picked up the microphone. “Peach!”

He returned along the same tire tracks, picking up his speed since he knew the path was clear.

“Bored already?” Peach asked.

“I’m transporting a survivor to Alpine General. Found her fifty yards or so from the car.”

“Lord have mercy. I’ll let them know you’re on your way.”

The car hit a bump and he heard a moan and mumbling from next to him. Good sign. “Hang in there, ma’am.”

Slowing as he hit the road’s pavement, he could swear the woman begged him not to let the aliens get her.

The Marfa Lights sure did attract a lot of kooks.