But when an hour had gone by, and I was still waiting for an officer to get to the scene, I began to get nervous. Traffic was picking up, so I had put the car in neutral and pushed it further to the side of the road. I made another call. The dispatcher was frosty.
"They're on their way, sir. We do have to prioritize our calls due to the cutbacks. Please remain in your vehicle, and wait for the officer."
Like an idiot, I waited. I thought about just taking off and forgetting the whole incident, but they had my cell number. They’d track me down. And beyond that, there was Alyss. Why it should matter to me at this late date, I’ll never understand, but I needed to know what had happened to her.
Exactly one hour and forty-eight minutes after I’d made the first call, a sheriff’s deputy pulled up behind me. He got out and made his way to the window of my car.
“License and registration, sir.”
“What?”
“I said, license and registration.” His hand moved nervously to the side of his Sam Browne. He looked to be about the age of my youngest son. “Lucky me,” I thought. “I got the rookie.”
I pulled my license out of my wallet and reached with exaggerated caution for the glove compartment to get my registration, explaining what I was doing as I went. He seemed twitchy. Fortunately the registration was on top of the pile of papers, and I handed it over respectfully.
“So, where’s the driver of the other car?”
“I’ve been wondering that myself.”
“What do you mean? Did they flee the scene?”
“They were never at the scene, near as I can tell.”
The muscle at his jaw twitched. "Mr. uh . . ."
"Helms. Stanley Helms."
“Sir, I don’t have time to play games.”
“I’m not playing games,” I assured him. “The car was sitting in the middle of the road when I got here. I damn near hit it.”
“So how come it’s on the shoulder?”
“I pushed it there. I was afraid someone else wouldn’t be as lucky as I was.”
He had begun taking notes. “And you never saw the driver?”
“No, she was missing when I got here.”
He gave me a quizzical look. “How do you know it was a female?”
“She left her purse in the car. And it just so happens, I know the person. She used to work for me.”
My brain was screaming at me to shut my mouth and shut it fast, but my body wasn’t getting the message.
“I don’t know what happened to her, but I’m worried. It’s not like her to just abandon her car in the middle of the road that way. I mean we weren’t always on the best of terms, but I still care about her. You know, as a person.”
Somewhere in the middle of this speech, the officer twisted his neck to his shoulder and made some indecipherable noises into his radio. Backup arrived in record time, considering how long it had taken the first deputy to get there.
“Sir, step out of the car, please.”
“Sure, officer, sure. But I haven’t done anything wrong.” I opened the door and got out.
“Come around to the front and put your hands on the hood.”
“Is this really necessary? I haven’t done . . .”
“On the hood.” The second deputy moved menacingly towards me.
I did as I was told. They had me searched, cuffed, and in the back of the squad car in a matter of minutes. “At least they’re efficient at something,” I thought wryly.
They made a cursory search along the roadside to see if they could locate the missing driver. It was fruitless.
“We’ll have to take you in for questioning. We’re holding you as a material witness. We have probable cause to believe there’s been foul play here.”
I didn’t argue. You just can’t fool fate. I had started out that morning thinking I could stay ahead of the system, and now I had no doubt that by the end of the day I’d be making a perp walk in an orange jumpsuit for something I hadn’t done. I just hoped they kept the TV cameras at bay.
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