Crash & Burn Read Free

curve.”
    This time, Kevin gestured down the road, where the pavement bent to the left, while the Audi had definitely gone right. “Must have already been drifting,” Wyatt said, eyeing the angle of theroadway behind him, then once more checking ahead. “Otherwise, car should’ve made it farther along before going off.”
    â€œMight’ve already been asleep. Passed out. That sort of thing. Todd knows his DWIs.”
    Wyatt nodded. Officer Todd Reynes was an experienced patrolman who’d spent time on the DARE task force. He had a nose for drunks, could spot ’em driving from miles away, he liked to say. He was also a helluva hockey player. Two useful skills in the mountains of New Hampshire.
    â€œTodd said he’d never smelled anyone in such a state. She must’ve had an open container in the vehicle that shattered on impact, because her clothes were drenched in whiskey.”
    â€œWhiskey?”
    â€œActually, turned out to be scotch—Glenlivet. Eighteen-year-old single malt. The good stuff. But I’m cheating—already saw the remains of the bottle.”
    Wyatt rolled his eyes. “So our driver drinks a little scotch, pours on even more scotch and misses the corner. Maybe too drunk to see it. Maybe already passed out. Either way, goes sailing off into the night.”
    â€œSounds about right.” The Technical Accident Reconstruction team would sort it out, of course. They’d shoot the scene with a Total Station, which worked much like the surveyor’s tool used by road crews, mapping angles, trajectories, point A and point B. Then the computer would spit out a complete guide to what, where, why and how. For example, an unconscious driver would’ve gone off the edge at low rpms, or even no rpms—foot off the accelerator. Whereas a woman driving erratically, fishtailing here, overbraking there, would leave other evidence behind. Both Wyatt and Kevin were qualified TAR team members. Had done it before. Would do it again.
    But that was not this morning’s task. This morning they, not tomention the dozens of other local, county and state uniformed officers, were swarming the cold, muddy scene with one goal in mind: find a missing girl.
    â€œSo,” Wyatt spoke up briskly, “assuming the vehicle vacated the road here, and shot through the air to land on the ground there . . .”
    â€œFirst patrol officers started searching within fifty feet of the vehicle. We’re now backtracking all the way up the ravine to the road, obviously. Terrain is steep, but not too dense, and yet, as you can see . . .”
    Their view from this vantage point was nearly bird’s-eye. Granted, a few hours ago, in the middle of the night, in the midst of a storm, it would’ve been one dark mess. But now—Wyatt glanced at his watch—at 7:25 A.M. , with dawn breaking and a damp gray daylight filling the muddy, shrubby space . . .
    They could visually scan a significant part of the ravine without ever taking a step. And everywhere Wyatt looked . . . he saw nothing but mud.
    â€œDogs,” he said.
    Kevin smiled. “Already called them.”
    They stepped off the road and headed down into the muck.
    â€œWhat do we know about the girl?” Wyatt asked as they trudged their way down to the wreck. Mud was still very soft, making footing difficult. He kept his eyes focused on the terrain, partly to keep from breaking his neck and partly to keep from destroying anything that might be useful. His coffee sloshed out of the small hole in the top of the cup and ran down the side of his hand. Sad waste of an essential beverage.
    â€œNothing.”
    â€œWhat do you mean nothing? How’s that even possible?”
    â€œDriver was out of her mind. Alcohol, injuries, God only knows. Todd says she went from stony-faced shock to near hysteria in aspan of seconds. EMTs finally strapped her down and carted