Night Shift: A Mystery Collection

Table of Contents

Shift Night

Leduc

The Priest

Lincoln City Blues

Jules

NIGHT SHIFT

A Mendenhall Mystery short story

By Marcelle Dubé

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Kate hunched over the steering wheel and peered through the windshield, trying to see past the pelting rain into the darkness of the Trans-Canada Highway. The wind howled at her Explorer and she could almost believe that it was a living thing, furious at her for daring to be out on a night like this.

Hands clenched on the wheel, she fought to keep the Explorer on the road. The fan beat warm air against the windshield, a losing battle against the cold and wet pressing to get in. While she saw a few watery headlights coming from the other direction across the wide dividing ditch, they were few and far between.

Dear lord, what had she been thinking? She hoped none of her constables were patrolling in this. But of course, they would be. Cops went out when sane people went in.

The meeting in Winnipeg had gone much later than she’d expected, so that she’d rushed to get her errands done before the stores closed. By the time she pulled out of town heading for Mendenhall and home, night was falling and the first drops were beginning to fall. She’d welcomed the first brush of cool air against her bare arms and her first thought had been, Good. Finally a break from the heat and humidity.

But Winnipeg was still in her rear view mirror when the temperature dropped ten degrees and the first tentative raindrops turned into a downpour that increased in ferocity until the windshield wipers could barely keep up.

She took the turnoff to Mendenhall by instinct, her headlights catching the reflection of the exit sign almost too late for her to make the turn onto the off ramp. As it was, her back wheels threatened to fishtail on the slick layer of water pooling over pavement that had been so hot for so long that it sweated oil.

Power’s out, she realized belatedly, finally noticing that the ramp lights were out. She should have been able to see the lights of Mendenhall, too, less than half a mile away but the storm-lashed prairies were dark as far as she could see.

Well, she had candles. She didn’t care if the electricity didn’t come back on until morning. The moment she got home, she was crawling into bed. She turned west onto Bottom Road and headed for her house on the bluff on the far side of town.

The speed sign flashed by in her headlights, all crumpled and off kilter.

Her mind set on a hot bath, she didn’t realize at first what she had seen. Then when she did, she wanted to ignore it.

Crap.

You’re the police chief, she told herself firmly. You have to check it out.

With a sigh, she pulled the Explorer to a stop and then put it in reverse. She eased back toward the sign, careful not to go off the shoulder. When she came abreast of the sign, she kept going until her headlights could illuminate it fully.

Yep. Someone had hit it. It hadn’t been that way when she left this morning. Or maybe she hadn’t noticed? She had been in the other lane, after all.

Crap, crap, crap. She pulled out her cell phone and dialed the station number.

Mendenhall Police, answered McKell.

Oh great. What the heck was the deputy chief doing there at that hour?

She glanced at her dashboard clock and was surprised to read seven-fifteen on the clock. Not nearly as late as it felt. McKell was normally off at seven o’clock but, like her, he often stayed late.

It’s me, said Kate, knowing he would recognize her. He probably heard her voice in his nightmares.

Ma’am, said McKell formally. Are you back?

Not quite, said Kate grimly. Patrols?

Just finished shift change, he said. Patrols are out. Nothing to report. Trepalli’s checking on Mrs. Simmons. A pre-emptive strike, you might call it.

Good call, thought Kate. Better to check on the old lady and reassure her they were keeping an eye on her than have her call them in a panic at strange noises. Of which, no doubt, there were many in this storm.

Power? she asked.

It’s out from Winnipeg to Brandon, said McKell. Rain drummed on the roof of the Explorer, almost drowning out the DC’s voice. Manitoba Hydro is searching for the break.

So they might be out all night. Anyone report an accident on Bottom Road, just past the ramp? she asked. There’s a speed sign all twisted up.

There was a pause at the other end. Not to me, said McKell finally, but I’ll check. He placed his hand over the mouthpiece as he spoke to someone. Moments later, he came back. It was fine when Boychuk patrolled there, three hours ago.

Kate sighed silently.

Want me to send someone? asked McKell.

Yes. She wanted a constable to come out and check this out while she went on to her nice, cozy, dry house. And wouldn’t McKell just love to have her pull rank on a night like this? She could just imagine the snide remarks behind her back.

I’m here now, she said crisply. I’ll let you know if I find anything.

She cut the connection and sat there for a moment, listening to the fan blow heat on the windshield. Finally she slipped the phone into her uniform shirt’s breast pocket and unbuckled her seat belt.

Twisting, she reached behind the passenger seat for her emergency kit. Her holster dug into her waist but she ignored it. She kept flares and reflective signs in her kit, a portable marine spotlight, a first aid kit and... yes! A rain poncho.

She pulled the thing over her head and fumbled her way into the slits for the arms. She hated the feel of the rubberized material against her bare skin but at least it would protect her against the worst of the rain. At last she pulled the hood up, opened the driver’s door and stepped out.

At once the wind caught in the poncho and lifted it almost over her head. Within seconds, she was soaked.

Oh, for Pete’s sake! She pulled the poncho down and, shivering, flicked the powerful spotlight on to play it around the sign. Whatever had hit it had been going very fast. Clearly too fast for the conditions of the road. She couldn’t see much past the lip of the ditch, so she walked closer, keeping a hand clamped on her hood to keep it on her head. Not that it seemed to be doing any good. The rain was cold on her bare hands and forearms.

Somewhere under the smell of pummeled grass and wet soil rose the pungent smell of oil.

The ditch was filling with dark water and her nerves pinched a little at the thought of flooding. The storm would surely pass soon. Wouldn’t it?

She walked fifty feet past the sign, playing the spotlight beam over the ditch and as far back into the field of whipping sunflowers as it would go, then turned around and walked a hundred feet the other way. Nothing. Someone had sideswiped the sign in the storm and driven off.

Her shoulders relaxed a little. If that’s all that had happened, everyone had gotten off lucky. She turned back toward the reassuring hulk of the Explorer just as the wind shifted direction, ripping the hood off her head and immediately drenching her hair and face in cold water. She gasped and struggled to catch the whipping poncho and wrap it around herself. While she was flailing around, the beam from the spotlight caught on a dark gouge in the pavement.

Kate bunched the poncho in one fist to keep it from flapping and played the light around Bottom Road. She blinked against the assault of the rain and shivered as a rivulet found a gap in her uniform shirt and trailed an icy finger down her spine.

There. In the other lane. A deep gouge at least five feet long, disappearing into the gravel of the shoulder.

Something metal had made that gouge. And it definitely hadn’t been there when she drove by this morning.

She hurried across the road, playing the light over the flooded ditch, over the flattened wheat growing on this side and finally, over a motorcycle, half in, half out of the ditch, its back wheel invisible beneath the rising water.

Kate’s chest tightened and she stopped walking so as not to miss anything. With both hands on the spotlight, she slowly moved the light away from the motorcycle, searching for the rider. Or riders.

Please don’t let them be in the ditch, she silently prayed. At last, her light caught on something shiny and wet and she moved closer. Thirty feet from where the motorcycle had ended up, a figure sprawled unmoving, face down in the crushed wheat. If not for the buckle on the leather boot catching the beam of light, she would never have thought to search that far.

She started running even before she had pulled her phone out.

* * *

Fifteen minutes after calling the duty desk, she had moved the Explorer closer, fetched the first aid kit and wrapped a blanket around the rider.

She didn’t dare move him except to look for cuts and check for broken bones. He was still face down, so that she had no idea if he was bleeding from the chest or not. He might have broken ribs — heck, he probably had broken ribs — but except for the arm trapped beneath his body, which she couldn’t reach, he didn’t seem to have any other injuries. It was hard to tell with the leather jacket he was wearing. Still, she couldn’t see any blood. He was definitely breathing and his pulse was strong. It was possible he was just knocked out.

She thought she caught a whiff of alcohol on his breath, but the rain stirred up all kinds of scents and it was hard to tell.

The guy was lucky to be alive. He’d clearly hit the sign, skidded across the road and been thrown over thirty feet when the motorcycle hit the ditch. All without a helmet that she could see.

She remembered then that he might not be alone. She picked up the spotlight with both hands, because they were so cold she was afraid she’d drop it, and began sweeping its light over the soaking ground. On the fifth sweep, her light caught a glint and she swept back in to see. It was a helmet, peering out of the stalks of wheat.

The wind pushed against her and she bent into it, her eyes almost shut against the stinging rain. Her heart hammered inside her chest in trepidation, but when she finally reached the helmet, it was empty. She blew out a breath on a gust of relief, which turned into a massive shiver. The helmet had a dent on one side. The visor had been ripped off.

Her cell phone rumbled against her chest and she fumbled under the poncho to pull it out.

Williams, she said loudly, turning her back to the worst of the wind.

They found the power outage, said McKell.

She placed a hand over her free ear to hear him better. This was why he called? Glad to hear it, she said tersely. Where’s my ambulance?

And the other shoe drops, said McKell.

Sarcasm? Now?

Before she could ask what the hell he was talking about, he continued.