Page 103 of Inside Silence

When I’m a few minutes out, dispatch informs me the fire department and EMTs are en route as well, but will be a few minutes behind me.

This part of Old Winchester Creek Road is dark, without street lighting, but it makes the red glow of a set of rear lights poking out of the snow up ahead all the more visible. I’m not sure who called it in, but there aren’t any other vehicles around.

I leave my lights running so the location is easy to spot for any emergency vehicles behind me, make sure I have my flashlight, and pull my beanie over my ears before stepping out.

Damn, that wind is cold. The snow hits my face sideways and feels like sharp icicles digging into my skin, while I grab the snow shovel from the back of my cruiser. Grateful for my sturdy fur-lined boots, I make my way to the back of the stranded vehicle, noting the front end disappears into the ditch, which is buried under the deep snow.

To my surprise, the first vehicle that shows up is one of our own, and KC gets out.

“Give me that,” he grumbles, grabbing the shovel from my hands.

“What are you doing here?” I inquire. “Your shift doesn’t start until the morning.”

“I was monitoring the scanner. Why are you out here anyway? Why didn’t Warren take this call?”

I stare slack-mouthed at my deputy. I’m not used to him being this assertive, it’s borderline rude, and that is not like the KC I know.

“Watch your tone,” I caution him.

That seems to startle him.

“I apologize if I was rude, but I worry about you,” he clarifies as he keeps shoveling at the snow.

“About me?”

My question gets lost when the fire department rolls up. With their help, enough snow is cleared away for us to be able to open the door. We find the driver slumped over the steering wheel, reeking of booze, with a cell phone clutched in his hand. He must’ve called 911 himself.

“No pulse,” one of the firefighters announces.

I’m shocked when he eases the man back and I recognize Jeff Sanchuk.

“Oh shit,” KC mutters.

He pulls me out of the way as the first responders pull Sanchuk from the vehicle and carry him up to the road where they attempt CPR to revive him.

“Wasn’t his assault trial coming up soon?”

“Next week, March fifth,” I confirm.

Nate had a meeting with the assistant district attorney just a few days ago to prepare for his testimony. Something I know he wasn’t particularly looking forward to.

“I think maybe karma doled out some justice today,” my young deputy shares sagely.

I wince, because it’s a bit harsh, but he’s not lying.

“Maybe.”

Half an hour later, the snow has stopped falling, Sanchuk’s unresponsive body has been removed by ambulance, the fire department has left, and the tow truck has pulled the stranded vehicle from the ditch. I’m about to tell KC to go back home, but he beats me to it.

“You should get some rest,” he suggests. “You shouldn’t be out here in your condition.”

Once again, I find myself staring at my deputy with my mouth hanging open.

“My condition?”

He blanches at my question and starts sputtering.

“I’m sorry, I saw you throwing up in your trash can when I walked past your office on Tuesday. And yesterday morning I almost bumped into you when you were running for the bathroom. Both times were in the morning, and I thought…”