Page 72 of 2 Sisters Murder Investigations

Baby waited. Precious seconds passed.

“Looks like the guy she left all her shit to was a cop. Does that help?”

“Yes.” Baby sat bolt upright. “What’s his name?”

For a moment, Baby listened so hard that every sound in the car became amplified: The wind rushing by the windows. The tires thrumming on the blacktop. Summerly talking on the phone beside her.

“Do you remember the officer’s name?” Summerly asked.

“William Brogan,” Jamie told Baby.

“WilliamBrogan?” Summerly took his phone away from his ear for a second and stared at it like it had become a snake in his hand. He looked at Baby and put it back to his ear. “Did I hear that right?”

CHAPTER83

TIME PASSED; I COULDonly guess how much. I was upside down, looking at the airbag. My seat belt cut across my sternum and ribs, crushing my breaths to thin, raspy puffs. I spit out my sock. My teeth felt loose in my skull, but they were all still there and intact, thanks to my makeshift mouth guard. The unconscious detective beside me was also hanging from a seat belt, but his airbag hadn’t deployed; blood poured from his chin.

I unclipped my seat belt and fell onto the ceiling of the car amid the detritus of crushed cigarette packs, takeout containers, articles of clothing. I had to fight my airbag to get upright. There was no telling where either of our weapons were now. I grabbed the belt I’d spied earlier on the back seat, now coiled against my window, and went searching for my phone. Brogan groaned and unclipped himself too. He shoved open his door and tried to get out. I didn’t know where he thought he was going — maybe toward a weapon or into some dream landscape induced by his face-plant on the steering wheel. But it wasn’t going to happen. Not on my watch. I looped the belt through itself and threw it like a lasso over his head.

“Don’t eventhinkabout it,” I snarled in his ear as I yanked it tight around his neck.

I shoved him out of the driver’s side, followed him, and pinned him against the dirt beside the vehicle, the belt pulled taut, my knee in his spine. Fuel and coolant spilled from the car onto the scrubby earth. My thoughts were ticking slowly as I pieced together a plan. I told myself the first step was to neutralize the current threat.Bind Brogan’s hands. Find a phone inside the car or around the crash site. Call 911.Assistance would likely come quickly — we hadn’t driven far from the shoot-out on the freeway.

I adjusted my grip. As I reached for a T-shirt inside the car to wrap around Brogan’s wrists, I heard a scraping sound. I looked down and saw that one of his hands was by his jeans pocket. He was flicking the drum on a cigarette lighter. I had time to gasp, but that was all — the spilled fuel lit and the ignition pressure wavewhumped and blew me away from the car.

CHAPTER84

RED AND BLUE SHEETSof light cut through the deep purple of the forest shadows, making the trees that lined the highway look weirdly festive. Dave Summerly pulled the car to a stop two hundred yards or so from the incident and parked at the end of a long queue of vehicles. Baby could see the pink mist of road flares in the distance. She was unsteady on her feet as she stepped out.

It was the reflective tip of a mini-pop-up camping marquee that made the yelp escape her throat. She knew what those foldout marquees were for — patrol cops erected them over bodies in the road to shield lookie-loos from the carnage.

“Oh God, Rhonda! Oh God!”

Baby took off running. Vehicles idled on either side of her. Ordinary families and single travelers checking their phones, trying to see ahead, adjusting their radios. Separated from her nightmare by mere glass. She could feel Summerly at her heels, but he wasn’t yelling for her to stop. The marquee came into view, surrounded by squad cars and uniformed officers. Baby spotted the nose of Rhonda’s white ’58 Chevy Impala through the chaos. The classic car was pulled over onto the shoulder. A tire was off. The door was hanging open.

Baby didn’t even see the officer waiting to catch her until he cut expertly into her path, secured her waist in a bear hug, and spun her to a stop.

“Hold it, ma’am. Hold it. Hold it.”

“That’s my sister!” Baby screamed. “I’ve got to get to her!”

“No one can access the site at this moment. Absolutely no one. I’m gonna have to ask you to — ”

“I’m Officer Dave Summerly.” Baby looked up. Summerly had his badge out. “You gotta tell me who’s on that scene,” he said.

“I ain’t gotta tell you shit, sir!” The officer puffed his chest at Summerly, his hand out, palm up. “This is a closed cordon! I’ve got my orders.”

Baby didn’t make the decision to kneel; the ground just seemed to rush up at her, welcoming her with its sun-warmed steadiness. She pressed her hands against the asphalt and tried not to be sick. She was aware that Summerly was barking orders and cursing and there was shoving going on above her, but all she could do was look at the little black bits of tar on the surface of the highway under her fingers.

And then a string of words hooked her and dragged her up like she was a fish on a line.

“Look, buddy, all I can tell you is it ain’t anybody’s damn sister under that tent.”

Baby grabbed Summerly’s jeans and climbed up him. His arm wrapped around her like a great, solid life buoy.

“It’s a dude.” The cop yanked off his hat, raked a hand through his hair, and turned to check the whereabouts of his boss. “Okay?Okay?The victim’s a male. Now go back to your goddamn vehicle, will ya?”

Baby and Summerly walked back along the line of cars, the curious faces of drivers following them, and tried to regroup.

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