Tony McCain cornered without slowing. His offsider gripped the dash and braced while she spoke into the mike over the clamour of the siren, updating their ETA.
The sergeant’s spine cracked as they took the hairpin bend.
Down the long straight, around one more corner.
Down the long straight, around one more corner.Central communications had relayed a sketchy report. A vehicular collision with a pushbike. The location. Minimum of one serious injury. The anonymous male witness refused to remain on the scene or elaborate. Every instinct from twenty-nine years in the job told McCain it’d be gruesome.
He glimpsed the young constable in the passenger seat. Her face was dappled in the premature dusk of winter and he saw that a curly tuft of black hair escaped her bun. A strange thing to notice
