“Pas auf,” I said to Clyde. Guard.
I knelt, touching two fingers to Heinrich’s neck. A steady pulse beat beneath his cold skin. Gently I turned his head and found a lump the size of a baby’s fist above his right ear. I did a quick survey of his body but found no other injuries. I called in a Code Nine for medical assistance—dispatch took the details of Heinrich’s injuries and location and routed an ambulance in our direction.
“Heinrich!” I snapped. “Wake up.”
No response. I peeled back each eyelid with my thumb and shined my headlamp on the irises. The pupils were of equal size and contracted nicely.
I released his lids. “Greg!”
He moaned. “The hell?”
“We got you, buddy,” I said. “Help is on the way. Can you hear me?”
“Dear God,” he whispered. He opened his eyes, winced at the light.
I aimed my headlamp away. “Sorry.”
“I feel like shit.”
“You look worse. You got hit pretty hard.”
“By what?”
“I was hoping you could tell me.”
He raised a hand toward his head. “Hurts like a mother.”
I caught his fingers. “Wait for the EMTs.”
“I was on a call.” He frowned. “Wasn’t I?”
“I figured you were off sneaking a smoke.”
“Dispatch sent me. I remember that. Then . . .” He closed his eyes, opened them. “How bad’s my head?”
“You’ve got a knot the size of Rhode Island up there. But that’s good. Means the swelling is going out instead of putting pressure on your brain. You remember seeing a woman?”
“A woman? Was that the call?” His freckles were dark against his pale skin. “Ah, shit. If I was clocked by a woman, I’m going to look like an idiot.”
“You don’t need a woman for that. Do you remember her?”
“I don’t even remember getting hit. I must have blacked out. That’s not a good sign, is it?”
“You got a concussion. Doesn’t mean it’s long-term serious. Speech is good, eyes are good. But my guess is you were out for ten minutes or more. You feel all your fingers and toes?”
He moved around. “Yeah.”
“You want to try sitting up?”
He levered himself onto his elbows and tried to work his way up to a sitting position. His face went from the color of old ice to new snow.
“We’ll wait a bit on that, Lone Ranger.” I slid out of my jacket, folded it, and used it to prop up his head and shoulders. “Let’s stay horizontal for now.”
“Mauer is going to fire my ass.”
“Nah. He’ll just run your ass through a thresher,” I said.
“Wait.” Heinrich tried again to sit up. “Is my truck still here?”
I put my hands on his shoulders. “It was ten minutes ago.”
“I left it running, didn’t I?”
“You must have seen something. Exited the vehicle in a hurry.”
“My truck—”
“It’s fine.”
“What would make me do that?”
“Question of the hour.” I turned his hand over and dropped the keys into his palm. “Now will you take a minute? I need to think.”
Heinrich closed his eyes.
“But don’t sleep.”
“No.” Heinrich opened his eyes.
I rocked back on my heels, shivering in the cold. Whoever had thumped Heinrich was long gone, I figured. Hitting a cop, even a railroad cop, was a good way to three squares and a long-term piece of solitary real estate. Any self-respecting criminal would be miles away by now.
But maybe he—or she—had left a clue.
“I’m going to take a look around,” I said. “But let’s get you to your truck first. You think you can walk?”
“You aren’t supposed to do my job.”
“Someone has to.”
Sweat popped on Heinrich’s forehead. “I’m gonna puke.”
I helped him turn his head, and he vomited onto the grass. Gently I settled him back down.
“Maybe help me to my truck in a little bit,” he said.
“Sure. You all right if I leave you for a few minutes? Where’s your phone?”
“Coat pocket.”
I found it and placed it in his hand. “I’ll be back in twenty. Call me if you feel worse. Or if you hear or see anything.”
For a moment he looked panicked. “You think he’s still here?”
“So maybe it was a he?”
“Big motherfucker. That’s my story.”
“Well, there’s no vehicle. And Clyde’s calm. I think it’s just us. You got your gun?”
His right hand fumbled down to his holster. “Yeah.”
“We won’t be long. Hang tight. And don’t shoot us when we come back.”
I got to my feet, took Clyde’s lead, and, knowing I could do nothing more for Heinrich at the moment, headed out. I directed my partner toward the train tracks, and when my headlamp picked out the iron railings, we made our way over the broken-down fence and walked parallel to the tracks. We stayed a safe distance away, mindful that a train could appear at any moment.
Fifty yards on, Clyde slowed and hesitated. His ears swiveled, and his nose came up. I signaled through the lead for him to stop, and then I turned slowly in a circle, watching for the headlamp to catch something.
There. A flash of gold in the grass.
Clyde barked. Sudden shapes materialized in the fog. One pronghorn and then another leapt past. Maybe the same herd we’d almost crashed into earlier. We’d crept upon them from downwind, and now they bolted, heading away from us and from Heinrich, vanishing into the darkness, a rush of hooves and horns and the smell of wildness.
I listened to them flee, my heart slamming up somewhere near my throat.
When they were gone, I looked back at the ground.
The light struck a small, upright cross made of two unbent paper clips held together by a rubber band and pushed into the ground. Coiled around the cross was a gold pendant, strung by a loop onto a thin gold chain. Chain and pendant were spattered with red.
I crouched and leaned in. The medallion showed an image of a woman. At the top were the words Our Lady of Guadalupe. At the bottom, Pray for us.
Not just any woman. The Virgin Mary.
Smears of red darkened her face.
Behind me, Clyde gave a soft whine. I looked over my shoulder at my partner. He’d lowered his tail and pinned
