Sergeant Emily Parker -- December 17th
"Thanks, Artie, Delicious as usual. How's Bill?" A hot latte was not only delicious, but it felt as if it was thawing her bones.
"He should be able to come home tomorrow. As long as the winter storm holds off for one more day." Artie, the middle-aged owner of the coffee shop and the best barista available, beamed his best smile toward her. He had a neatly trimmed salt and pepper beard and a pair of dark-framed glasses that always looked a little low on his nose. His rugged look would have been at home with the miners that found their town more than a century ago.
"That's fantastic." She lit up with an honest smile. Bill and Artie were two of her closest friends in town.
"He's still going to be moving slow for a while, but my hubby will heal. I'll bet he will be running laps around me again by summer. It'll give him an excuse to be lazy for a few weeks. Lord knows he needs it." Artie didn't stop moving, even if Emily was the only customer in the shop.
"It'll be nice to have him home for Christmas."
"I don't think he's too thrilled about it being my family's turn to come down for a holiday. It'll be nice to have my sister to help with the cooking since he can't, though."
"Sergeant Parker." The radio on her shoulder squawked.
"Yes, Christine?" Emily couldn't help a minor annoyance leaking out in her words; she had been planning on heading back to the station, a warm decaf latte in hand, to finish up some paperwork before her weekend started.
"Hate to put you back out in the cold, but we have a semi on unoccupied vehicle accident coming down the mountain. Fire rescue is on the scene, but we need someone to take statements. Fred's daughter broke her arm; he's with her." She added as an explanation for why their traffic specialist couldn't run the call.
"10-4, I am on my way." She managed to hold an exasperated sigh until after she got off the radio. "Thanks for the latte, Artie!" Emily quickly threw a couple of bucks in the tip jar and sped out of the coffee shop. It was bright and sunny outside, but the air was bitingly cold. The blanket of white snow was near-perpetual this time of year up in the mid-sized mountain town in northern Colorado. It would be blinding if not for her sunglasses that were instinctually on as she walked out of the shop.
The dispatcher didn't have to tell her exactly where the accident was; only one road came down the mountain from a pass. At the crest of the peak, a couple of fire trucks and a wrecker had the road cut down to a single lane. A large red and green semi-trailer was adorned with what looked to be Christmas lights and in the wrong lane. The wrecker crew was working on a flat tire on the dark brown truck cab; the exhaust stacks looked to be the color of antlers. The front grill of the truck looked to have a bright red nose of glowing Christmas lights. In script on the cab was written: "Rudolph," complete with quotes in what looked like a string of hand-painted Christmas lights. She couldn't help the slightest smile at the festive truck.
Emily turned on her lights and climbed out of the SUV that served as her police cruiser. Speaking to the firefighter at the front of the cab was a rotund gentleman in a bright red parka. White hair poked out from under a dark red beanie. He had an immaculate white beard and rosy cheeks, likely caused by the cold wind.
"Sergeant Parker." The local fire chief gave her a nod as she walked up, clipboard in hand, to take statements from both parties. "Mr. Calvin here lost a tire as he was coming over the pass. He couldn't stop his truck when that was coupled with an icy spot.
"Fortunate, for him at least, an SUV stopped the rig before it plunged off the cliff. The unoccupied vehicle went over the cliff but prevented the semi from going through the guardrail. Witnesses coming up the pass said that the other vehicle rolled a few times before coming to a stop. A couple of my men climbed down to check that the SUV was empty. Washington tags on the truck; my guys have photos of the tags and VIN. Do you need more?"
"No, that should help us ID the owner. Do we know if the car has been parked here long or if it is recent?"
"Lou didn't see it this morning on his way into work, if that helps."
"It does; how far down is it?"
"Forty feet or so, perched between a couple of trees."
"Is it a risk to fall further down?"
"My guys don't think so. There is a third tree to the front a few feet; it should stop any other sliding. The wreckers aren't optimistic they can get it back up anytime soon, certainly not until it thaws in the spring."
"Don't risk anyone unnecessarily." Some of the fire chief's men liked to repel down cliffs a little more than necessary, even in the cold.
"My men are well aware, ma'am."
Emily gave him a nod. "Let me walk around and take a look. Mr. Calvin, was it?" The older gentleman gave her a nod. "I'll need a statement from you in just a minute." She turned to the fire chief. "How long is it going to take to clear the roadway?"
"The wreckers said it is going to be a little while; they need to get that tire changed before we can get him moved to the parking area."
"Thanks, Chief. Once your men get back up here, have a good weekend."
The trickle of cars and trucks over the pass was not too bad considering the time of day and officers directing traffic around the accident. She quickly found a gouge in the asphalt where the steel rim bit into the road and jerked the rig across a traffic lane and into a parking area. There was a lovely overlook of her town that was quite a popular scenic opportunity. The truck did not appear to be the worse for wear, even with a missing front tire. The guardrail would need to be fixed as soon as possible; she didn't need more cars rolling into town from the mountain.
"What happened to my car?" A man looking to be in his early thirties emerged from a small path that meandered about half a mile to an even more impressive vista. He was well provisioned for a snowy hike, a large camera slung over one shoulder and a backpack affixed to his back. A neatly trimmed goatee was visible with a look of shock on his dark features.
"There has been an accident. Are you the owner of an SUV with Washington tags?" Emily walked across the highway in a break between the oscillating one-way traffic.
"Yes, officer."
"Sergeant Parker. I am sorry about your truck." She extended a gloved hand to shake his; he took hers with a warm smile that showed through for just a moment.
"Damn, I thought it would be my winter driving that was going to be risky. Not taking pictures." He turned back to the torn guardrail.
"Your name, Sir?" Emily pulled out the pen on her smartphone to take notes.
"Devon Rogers. Where are my manners? A little distracted about the missing car."
"Understandable, sir. Fire rescue says that the car has Washington tags. Are you on your way somewhere for the holidays?"
"Sort of; I was very slowly driving back home to Kansas City. I was taking my truck back with the three weeks of vacation. I guess I don't need to worry about that now. Where is it?"
