Keeping an eye on Victor Boyd’s body, Rosa remained at the control platform. A line had formed on the opposite side with fairgoers oblivious to the hazards of this ride. She hoped none, with their growing impatience, would wander over to find the dead operator.
Two other carnies came by, and Rosa diverted them from getting too close by asking, “Do either of you have a sign that will close the ride temporarily? There’s been an accident, and it would be terrific if you could make sure the pier manager knows about it.”
The carnies looked at each other, nodded, and then rushed off in the direction they’d come from to grab some signage.
Rosa continued to keep the site quiet. Word getting out would not be good—not for the pier’s business, but more importantly—if the news was contained, the police would have a clean and calm scene to investigate. For all Rosa knew, Victor could have died of natural causes, but Skip’s mention of a “defect” had her instincts on high alert. Besides, she was trained to treat all deaths as suspicious until they were unquestionably ruled as accidental.
Diego didn’t like missing out on the action, it seemed, and before Rosa could stop him, he perched his tiny paws along the top rim of her satchel and launched out of it.
“Diego!”
If he wandered off, Rosa wouldn’t be able to leave the body to go after him. But fortunately, her kitten was only interested in a small pool of water that had formed behind the control platform, and began drinking.
Rosa felt a wave of remorse. “I’m sorry, Diego, I should be taking better care of you.” Giving her kitten a moment to quench his thirst, Rosa picked him up. She lined her face up with his as if looking him in the eye might help him understand.
“I’ll get you another drink, one that’s not part of a crime scene, just as soon as I can.” Rosa lowered Diego back into her bag. “But for now, it would be best for everyone if you took a little nap.”
Just as she looked up, two men rushed at her from different directions. One was Miguel, concern etched on his face, and the other was a pudgy short man, in a wrinkled white shirt and a well-worn hat, who kept a good pace despite his stubby legs and big belly. Rosa had the impression he walked fast wherever he went. His eyebrows pulled together—stern bordering on angry—and as he approached, he called out, “What’s going on here? And who are you? What are you doing here?”
When the man moved closer, Rosa saw his nametag: JOE HENDERSON—MANAGER.
At the same time, Miguel called out, “What’s wrong, Rosa? I heard you needed my help?”
Rosa looked between them for mere seconds before settling her eyes on Mr. Henderson and delivering the news. As a police officer, she knew Miguel would overhear the information directed at others, and besides, she didn’t have time for formal introductions. If they came much closer, they would likely get a visual clue of what had recently transpired.
“I’m afraid there’s been an incident,” Rosa said to Mr. Henderson. She’d had the sad experience of relaying news of a loved one’s death to relatives or of dead employees to business managers often. One thing she’d learned was that you never knew how the person left behind might react. It was essential to be clear and concise, but with a soft and compassionate tone. “The roller coaster wasn’t stopping, and when Skip, the ticket-taker, and I came over to investigate, we found the operator collapsed on the platform.”
At her words, Miguel took a few steps forward, and peered over the chest-high ledge into the control platform. His eyes flashed with understanding. Rosa motioned to Miguel as she continued to address Mr. Henderson. “This is Detective Belmonte from the Santa Bonita Police Department. I’m afraid I couldn’t find a pulse on the operator. Do you have a first aid attendant on-site?”
Mr. Henderson stepped up to the platform, stared at the body, then stepped away. As if the sight of a corpse was a typical day-to-day affair, his stern expression never wavered. Rosa had to wonder how many of his carnies had collapsed at their posts.
Miguel reached for the gate. “May I?”
He brushed past Rosa before she could step completely out of the way. They paused as if touching had surprised them both, before Miguel took another step and squatted before the body. As he checked for a pulse, Rosa turned back to Mr. Henderson.
“I’m a police officer from London.” She shook his hand. “WPC Rosa Reed. I’m in town on holiday, but I happened to be at the right place at the right time—or the wrong place at the wrong time, I suppose. I’ve tried to keep the situation as quiet as possible, but a long line of people are waiting to board the roller coaster.”
Mr. Henderson grunted.
“I sent a couple of carnies to post a sign,” Rosa continued, “but before any of them start asking questions, you may want to say that there’s been a technical difficulty, and you’re temporarily closing the roller coaster. Do you know if an ambulance has been called?”
Mr. Henderson nodded, a cuss word escaping his lips. “I called for them myself.” He reached for a wooden sign behind the door that read, CLOSED FOR MAINTENANCE.
Rosa silently chided herself. If she’d taken a closer look, she could’ve hung the sign herself. She blamed Diego for distracting her, but when she peered down at his sweet, inquisitive face, her annoyance was short lived.
“Mr. Henderson,” Miguel said. “Please make sure the police are called.”
The manager snorted, then hurried off as fast as his short legs could take him.
Miguel patted his shirt pockets out of habit but came up empty.
Digging through her satchel, Rosa reached around Diego’s warm, fuzzy body and produced
