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“You should avoid sudden movements or strain. Anything that would jar your head and neck are likely to be painful. I can get you a whiplash collar, if you like. It might help.”
Remi frowned. “I hate those.”
“Nobody likes them. It’s up to you. It’s not like you’ll die if you don’t wear one. Just be careful, and if you have to ask yourself whether something’s a bad idea, it probably is.” Vanya regarded her. “You’re extremely lucky given the circumstances. The swelling on your face will subside within a few days, and you’ll have a slight bruise. Unbelievable you survived a rollover with only a few scrapes.” She eyed Sam. “And you look like you walked away without a scratch.”
“The air bags did their job,” Sam said.
“I’ll say. Did the police give you any indication of what they intend to do about this?”
Sam shook his head. “Doesn’t sound like much.”
“Don’t be too frustrated. Our islands have their charm, but nobody expects high efficiency. I tell newcomers who are thinking about starting businesses that if you just answer your phone and open on the days you’re supposed to, you’re ahead of ninety percent of the competition.” Vanya shrugged. “A relaxed island pace comes at a price. You’re seeing the downside. It’s nothing personal.”
“I just don’t understand why we were targeted,” Remi said as she sat up.
“There’s no way of knowing. There have been rumors of armed rebel groups in the mountains. Maybe you stumbled across something or disrupted their plans? Or saw something you weren’t supposed to?”
“Like what?” Sam asked.
“I have no idea. I’m just grasping at straws here. I’ve never heard of this kind of an attack, so I’m speculating. Who knows why crazy people do violent things?” She hesitated. “I treated someone whose husband attacked her with a machete. For no reason. The best she could guess was that she’d said something that set him off. It was by the grace of God she didn’t die. The husband disappeared into the hills and has never been found. Could be it’s he who attacked you. You never know.”
“How many of the islanders have vehicles?” Remi asked.
“I can’t say. The total population of the island is less than a hundred thousand, depending on which numbers you believe, and the vast majority live here in Honiara. My guess is there might be five thousand cars, if that,” she said doubtfully.
“Then finding the truck that did this shouldn’t be too complicated.”
“In theory, no. But if many of the trucks are in rural areas where the roads are basically goat tracks, you’re asking whether the police will spend weeks trying to track down every one in the middle of nowhere. I suppose anything’s possible, but did you get the impression they were champing at the bit?”
Sam laughed drily. “Not exactly.”
“Then there’s your answer. I’m sorry, but living here you quickly learn to have no expectations. Works better that way.”
Remi joined Sam at the door. “Thanks for seeing me,” she said, and Dr. Vanya smiled.
“I’d hoped it would be under better circumstances.” She scribbled a note on a chart and put it under her arm. “You’ve both been through considerable trauma. I’d take it easy for a few days. What do you have planned?”
“Other than explaining to the rental car place that one of their vehicles is now a piece of modern art? Not much,” Sam said.
“Well, try to relax. That’s the allure of the Solomons, isn’t it? Lounging on a beautiful beach, not a care in the world?”
“Other than the crocodiles.”
“Hardly, in town. I’d have a cocktail on the veranda and watch the sunset. Leave the strenuous activity for someone else.”
—
The walk to the rental car lot was grueling in the humid heat and by the time they got there they were soaked through. The owner’s eyes widened to the size of moons when Sam explained what had happened and he looked like he was ready to cry at the loss of his Nissan. Neither Sam nor Remi wanted to push their luck and ask about renting another vehicle, and after giving the dejected man all the police information as well as a copy of the report, they made their way back to their hotel.
As they rounded a corner onto the main road two blocks from the waterfront, Sam leaned in to Remi and murmured to her, “Don’t look back, but I think we’re being followed.”
“I don’t think I can look back with my neck like this. Who is it?”
“Unknown. One man in a sedan. I noticed it because it’s crawling along.”
“Why is it that every damned time we go anywhere we wind up attracting the wrong kind of attention? Are you sure about this?”