'Why are you a sergeant? Shouldn't you be an officer?'
'I didn't have the qualifications to go to the academy. I went to the police school. I'll probably be made an adjutant in due course.'
'An adjutant is an officer?'
'No.'
'Do you mind?'
'No. Officers spend most of their time behind desks. I prefer to experiment in the field; maybe you and I are alike in some ways. Goodbye, Madelin. Thank you.'
She laughed. 'Don't thank me. I'm a country girl. Foreign males don't come my way too often. I think I should thank you. You did very well.'
She walked him to the door and melted into his arms when he reached for his coat. He kissed her in return, but he still felt that he hadn't been anywhere near her.
'Come again, sergeant.'
'Yes, thank you.'
When he pressed the microphone in the Dodge the sheriff's response was immediate.
'Ten three, sergeant.'
'On my way home.'
'I just had a call. I'm leaving the jailhouse now, coming your way. You should be hearing my siren in a minute. There's a man in the road and an overturned car. I'm alone. Bernie is watching the radio in the jailhouse. You can come with me if you like, or are you exhausted?'
The sergeant looked at the microphone.
'Ten three, sergeant.'
'I'll come with you.'
'Ten four, sergeant.'
10
De Gier didn't hear the sirens when he pushed the microphone back into its clip, but he heard them when he got the Dodge out of the Astrinsky driveway. The long, plaintive howl of the cruiser was activated by the yap of its barker, boring into the sergeant's eardrums with impatient, self-centered, aggressive barks. De Gier smiled. He liked the yapping. He thought he might try to buy one of the machines causing the weird sounds. A good gift for Grijpstra's next birthday. They could screw the gadget into the Volkswagen patrol car and split the peace of Amsterdam with it, say in the early hours of a Sunday. He waved when the cruiser's array of blue flashing lights came into view. The cruiser slowed and its passenger door swung open. De Gier jumped in and fell against the back of the seat as the sheriff accelerated. De Gier leaned over and watched the speedometer. It moved his way until it rested on eighty. Eighty, de Gier thought, and we are on a sheet of ice.
'There are snow tires on the cruiser,' the sheriff said. 'Studded. They'll hold. Should have chains really, but it's hard to have a chase when you're hampered by chains.'
'But there is no chase. You said there was a man in the road, didn't you? And an overturned vehicle. They'll be waiting for us.'
The sheriff's eyes shone. 'Sure. But a little speed doesn't hurt, and die cruiser belongs to the state. We are the law, sergeant. We can move. Nobody else can these days. Why do you think we became police officers?'
De Gier held on as the cruiser skidded through a corner, slowed, and sped off again.
'Almost there now. Got the call from a man who lives in a trailer. Out-of-the-way part of the county. Nobody lives there except him. Old guy on welfare in a secondhand trailer. Looks like a cracker box that's been hit by a bulldozer, but it'll be invisible now, snowed over. Old guy doesn't like to use his shovel too much.'
'What do you think happened?'
'Drunken driver, what else? Turned his car over, crawled out of it, sat down to think, and fell asleep. Old guy must have seen him and phoned us. Easy little job. All we have to do is wake up the man in the road, get him into the cruiser, and put him in jail for the night. A tow truck can take care of the wreck. Nothing to it, but I thought you could do with a bit of a change after your love affair. How did it go?'
'Yes.'
'Did she say anything?'
'Perhaps. She may have been making conversation. But it could be that her father doesn't own the Cape Orca shore property. He may have been acting as a middleman and the real owner doesn't want his name to be known and hasn't had the deeds registered. The title is in Astrinsky's name, but only for the record.'
'Hey,' the sheriff said. 'That's fine. Good. So she did say something.'
De Gier was listening.
'Jim?'
'Yes?'
'Would you turn the wailer off? I'd like to hear the barker on its own.'
The sheriff pushed a button. De Gier opened his window. With the wail gone the barker was very clear. De Gier grinned.
'You like that, sergeant?' The sheriff was grinning too.
'I have another sound for you. Hold on. I'm going to turn into that side lane there. It runs parallel to this road and joins it again further on.'
The cruiser veered off the road and shot into the woods. A deep vibration filled the car from the rear. The sound was like a big drum being rapped by a vertical hand.
De Gier listened. His spine turned into a glowing rod and the glow eased into his entire body. The grin slid off his mouth.
'How's that?'
De Gier nodded. 'Yes. What is it?'
'The radio's antennae, brushing past overhanging branches. Hold on, we're getting back into the road. Bump coming.'
The bump came. De Gier was thrown out of his seat and his head hit the roof, but its insulation and his thick hair eased the contact. He bounced back.
'There!'
The cruiser stopped. A wrecked car lay on its roof, immobile in stupid helplessness. Another car was parked behind the wreck. The sheriff switched his siren and barker off, but the blue waving lights on the cruiser's roof kept on touching the trees, the shining road, and the two still cars.
'Open your window. I'll turn the radio on so that we can be reached even if we're out of the cruiser. Two cars, eh? The old guy should have put that in his message. There could be several of them, and there are only two of us. Take the shotgun, sergeant, and hang around. Don't let yourself be rushed into anything.'
The shotgun jumped free and the sheriff broke it and pushed shells into its cavity. 'Here you are. If you have to use the gun put one shell into the trees and the second into somebody's legs. Be easy with it. I've taken the safety off and the trigger is light.'
De Gier took the shotgun and slid out of his seat. The sheriff ran to the overturned car, bent down, and played his flashlight into its interior. There was nobody inside. De Gier waited, holding the shotgun, his forefinger stretched parallel to its barrel. The flashlight lit up the interior of the second car.
'Out! Out, you guys! Out I say!'
Four men came out, rubbing their eyes, blinded by the strong flashlight, stumbling. De Gier recognized the last man. Leroux, all three hundred and fifty pounds of him. He seemed fairly sober. The others were reeling, holding on to each other like frightened monkeys.
'Who was driving the wreck?'
Only one man responded. 'Don't know, sheriff.'
'So what are you doing in the other car? I had a call that there was somebody lying in the road, somebody wounded maybe. Did he crawl into the bushes? Where is he?'
