The Girl In the Morgue

by D. D. VanDyke

  Cal put the car into gear, drove out of the Tenderloin. Instead of heading home, she made her way to highway 101 north across the Golden Gate Bridge. Once she was on it, she savored pressing the gas to the floor and feeling Madge respond. The engine roared, and despite her pounding head and fatigue, the weight on her shoulders lightened and her heart thrummed with joy. Why again hadn’t she stuck with racing? She was good enough to make a living at it, she’d been told. She roared across the bridge counter to the rush hour traffic, pushed back into her seat by the acceleration. She held her breath, savoring it.

  “Something’s wrong.”

  Cal flinched, but didn’t swerve. She glanced quickly to the side, seeing her father in her mind even before catching a view of him peripherally, sitting in the seat next to her. “Well, hello, Dad. I expected you at the hospital.”

  “I didn’t need to be there,” he said unhelpfully. “Cal. Gale. You need to slow down.”

  He only used her middle name when he was really earnest, so she eased off the gas pedal, stifling her usual rebel urge. “I’m not going that fast.”

  “Too fast for your condition. Listen to me, Callie. Please. Unless you want to join me before your time.”

  Cal looked at the fuzzbuster, but there was no sign of radar up ahead. Conditions were good. Dry roads, light traffic, and a highway that she knew like her own back yard, the Marin hills and Mount Tamalpais rising to the left. The only risk factor was her injuries. “Thanks anyway, but I’m okay.”

  “No. Slow down.”

  Was she going to sit there and argue with her unconscious self? If her mind was telling her something was wrong, maybe she should listen. Cal sighed and tapped the brake to slow down.

  There was no resistance. The car continued to sail along as if nothing had changed.

  She pushed harder. The pedal went right to the floor. Cal pumped it, starting to worry.

  No pressure in the brake lines. She heard the whine of the master cylinder trying to shove fluid through the hydraulics, but it had no effect.

  She swore repeatedly, still pumping. Still no response. Her heart raced, and not in a good way.

  Looking ahead for hazards, she could see traffic slowed to a crawl, a barricade of red brake lights. All lanes blocked. Cal reached down, fumbling. Her heart leapt into her throat. This wasn’t the exhilarated, adrenalized feeling she loved, but pure terror.

  Her bruised heart pounded so hard and painfully she felt like it was going to burst right out of her chest. She slammed the car into third, then second, causing the engine to scream in protest as it redlined, bleeding off speed.

  Her father’s hand guided hers to the emergency brake. Cal grasped it and pulled it up until the rear breaks threatened to lock. That would cause her to lose control, so she pumped it slightly, keeping the wheels turning. She smelled the pads as they rapidly overheated. Without her big front disks doing their job, Madge felt like she was trying to stop by dragging her heels.

  Measuring the distance to the cars ahead against the deceleration, she knew it was too late. Two choices: plow into them, or go off the road.

  That was no choice at all.

  Unfortunately, this stretch featured a Jersey wall, concrete barriers dropped into place to protect work being done on the near side. She steered to the right, trying to guide Madge past the line of cars on the shoulder, as close to the retainer as possible. Please, God, she prayed, let there be no one in the way.

  Apparently the Big Guy Upstairs was looking out for her, or at least Dad was. She sailed past the traffic jam and up a gentle rise in the roadway, which began to slow her—but not fast enough. She had just enough time to see the cause of the slowdown, a broken-down car and a tow truck on the left side, blocking the fast lane, before she shot past.

  “Come on, Madge, baby,” she breathed, steering with her injured hand and still pulling the parking brake with the other. She was decelerating, but her speed was still too high. The Jersey wall disappeared to her right, so she guided the Mustang onto the grassy shoulder and the start of a hillside, trying to bleed off more speed. She fought the pull to the right and used all her rally skills as the car fishtailed and tried to spin.

  Glancing down, she found her speed under forty, so as soon as she got all four wheels on pavement she downshifted to first, praying anew not to tear the small-block 289 or the transmission apart. She eased back to the left again, into the intermittent flow of traffic, still hogging the shoulder.

  Around her, cars were honking. She didn’t know if they realized she was in trouble or thought she was just an incredibly reckless driver. Up ahead, she could see the Jersey wall started again, this time so close there was no true shoulder. She had to stop before she got that far, or she might end up rear-ending someone, or having to jam Madge into the concrete as a last resort. Cal edged right again, trying to use the rough, grassy terrain to slow down without losing control.

  “Easy, Cal,” her father murmured. “Nice and easy.”

  Cal was staring at the edge-on barrier ahead as it got closer and closer. Leftward was a slowed econobox, a child loose and gazing out the back window. No way she was going there. Rightward was a rapidly steepening hillside, bushes mingled with rocks and boulders.

  Steering right, she left the highway completely and felt the car swerve sideways on the hill as she used every trick to control her slide. Madge hit rocks and roots, and came up on her two left wheels. Cal screamed, no, no, no as she leaned instinctively against the tilt, trying to use her weight to counterbalance it, though it would make no difference.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Madge stayed up on two wheels for what seemed like an hour, but could only have been seconds, before falling to bounce and rest on her fat road tires, nose still pointing up the hill. Cal sat frozen, not quite believing it. She hadn’t rolled and destroyed Dad’s car. She hadn’t hurt anyone.

  She felt precarious perched on the hill, like a spider on a wall, as if she didn’t dare move a muscle, even though her mind knew she was stopped and more or less safe. Compared to the last few minutes, jouncing backward fifty feet over some rocks would be a cakewalk.

  For a long time she didn’t even turn her head. Then she finally managed to steel herself and look in the rear view mirrors at the highway below her.

  Several vehicles had pulled off the highway and people were staring up at her. Fortunately, no one had been stupid enough to park or stand below her, in the path of the car should it decide to roll down. They stood around talking and motioning, but no one approached. Maybe they thought she was dangerous.

  She snorted a rueful chuckle. She was, just not in the way they thought. Mostly she was a danger to herself, it seemed. She suppressed the urge to giggle maniacally and fall apart.

  Sirens approached, much quicker than she expected. Perhaps she’d been sitting there for longer than she thought. Police cars and fire trucks arrived, also staying carefully out of Madge’s path. More talking and motioning. Cal sat, completely alone. Even her father had gone back to the ether. Good thing, too. How would she explain him sitting there?

  She closed her eyes and used the headrest for its intended purpose, drifting in and out of consciousness. When she opened her eyes and looked in the rear view mirror, she saw a cop and two firemen toiling up the hill. Behind them, a TV station van with its distinctive dish antenna and camera boom mounted atop it pulled up. Cal hoped her mother wouldn’t see her on the news. The lime green classic Mustang would be immediately recognizable to anyone who knew her.

  “Miss? Are you all right?” The voice sounded muffled through the convertible top.

  She wasn’t sure if that was the cop or one of the rescue firemen. Cal laboriously rolled down her window and waved weakly. “Think so. Just don’t want to move right now.”

  “Did you hit your head?”

  Cal laughed. “Not today, I didn’t.” Now that the excitement was finished, her body ached all over. She really should have stayed at the hospital. What had been the hurry
? She could have waited a day or two to talk to Sergei.

  Sergei…vodka…oh, shit. She wondered if the alcohol had left her bloodstream yet. Had she been drunk? Why hadn’t she gone home? Was it the concussion still, affecting her judgment? She never drove drunk, ever. She took deep lungs-full of air, trying to smell her own breath, but she couldn’t.

  The voice kept talking to her and she replied as well as she could, but she felt as if she were watching someone else sit there and speak on her behalf, robot-like.

  An unknown, dazed while later, she saw they’d gotten a crane to stabilize the car against the possibility of rolling.

  The crane’s long arm moved up past the car, stopping above her somewhere. Cal couldn’t see what her rescuers were doing. Noises jarred her ears as they braced, anchored, or chained the car. A few times, it rocked and Cal hung onto the steering wheel.

  Then a hunky young firefighter in a harness stood on the other side of her door, just below her. His safety line ran up to the crane arm, securing him against the steep hillside. He smiled at her and waved.

  Cal fluttered her left-hand fingers and smiled awkwardly. “Hi.”

  “Hi,” the firefighter replied.

  “Lovely day.” Cal’s voice came out in a squeak.

  “Sure is. I’m Bob.”

  “Hi, Bob. I’m Cal. Short for California, which is ironic, considering where I am and where we are.” Stop babbling, Cal.

  “You got yourself into quite the predicament. You ready to get out of there, Cal-short-for-California?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Great. I’m all ready for you. You got your seatbelt on? Why don’t you take that off first?”

  Cal moved slowly. With the seatbelt on, if the car rolled, she at least wouldn’t be thrown out of the car and crushed. She wasn’t so sure she was ready to take it off.

  “What if…?”

  “Your car isn’t going to fall. We have it all anchored into place. Once you’re out, we’re going to lift it down from there. But we’d like to get you out of it first.”

  “Okay.”

  It was still a few more minutes before she could bring herself to click the button to release her seatbelt.

  “Now what?”

  “Are you hurt? How are your back and your neck?”

  “Um…they’re okay. But I just got out of the hospital today. Signed myself out. Probably not such a good idea.” Shut up, Cal. Too much information.

  The cheerful fireman raised an eyebrow. He leaned into his harness like a kid sitting on a swing. “Oh? What were you in hospital for?”

  “I had a concussion. And chest contusions. And some broken fingers…” She raised her splinted right hand.

  “I see.” Ignoring her, he clicked on his walkie-talkie to talk to the other firefighters involved in the rescue. They talked about the details of getting her out, harnesses and backboards and things with names she didn’t recognize. After a few more opinions were given and discussed, he seemed ready to take action.

  “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. I want you to turn yourself around so that your back is to the window. Then I’m going to put a harness under your armpits and around your chest. Because of your chest injury, we’re not going to take your weight with that one. We’re just going to use it to stabilize you and use as an emergency anchor if you slip. Then we’re going to get a second harness around you that you can sit in, so your weight is properly supported underneath you. Then we’ll lower you down.”

  “Okay.”

  “Just turn your back to the door. I’ll do the rest.”

  It felt good to finally move out of her leaning-uphill position, but Cal was not a big fan of heights. Or of falling down them. Turning her back to the window felt dangerous, even with the car anchored. Even with a fireman outside the window to grab her if she slipped.

  Once she was in position, Bob grabbed the car to pull himself closer and open the door. Cal couldn’t restrain a cry of protest as she felt his weight shift the car, but it stayed where it was.

  Bob went to work, passing a loop under her soaking wet armpits and doing it up. “The other harness is going to be a little more complicated, but if anything happens, this one will hold you.”

  The second harness went underneath her, and sliding it under her was a lot more difficult than it should have been, but eventually, Bob helped her get it into place.

  “Now the easy part,” Bob encouraged. “You’re just going to step-slide out the door. Just like you were getting out at home, but let the harness take the weight. We’ll swing you up and lower you to the ground. Once you’re safe, we’ll do the same for your sweet little Mustang Sally.”

  Cal swallowed. “Madge. Her name is Madge.”

  “Madge, then,” Bob said.

  It didn’t feel like she was safe. She didn’t quite believe that the straps were going to hold and she was going to be lowered safely to the ground. She pictured herself falling, or the car rolling and crashing down the hill. Not pretty.

  Bob’s big, steady hands guided her movements until she sat perched preciously on the edge of the seat, knowing that she had hit the tipping point. One more movement and she would be out of the car. The moment of truth as to whether the harnesses were done up correctly and would hold her.

  Before she had a chance to make the final movement, Bob gripped one of the straps and pulled her free of the car. Cal grunted, swallowing fear as she swung outward.

  “It’s okay,” Bob reassured her, his voice perfectly calm. “Just stay still, and we’ll have you down.”

  The arcs got smaller and smaller, until they were nearly still, suspended in midair a few feet away from Madge. Cal could see that their harnesses were actually held by a fire truck’s extended ladder. While the crane held Madge, Bob and Cal were swung slowly down. Soon, she felt sweet, stable, terra firma. She’d never been so grateful to touch the ground.

  Bob got quickly out of his harness and helped Cal out of hers. Cal’s knees buckled as the supports were removed, but he held onto her and walked her over to an ambulance, where she sat down to be examined.

  “How are you feeling?” a paramedic asked.

  “I’m okay.”

  “I understand you have previous head and chest injuries.”

  Cal nodded slightly, careful not to move her head too far or too fast. No point in fainting in front of her rescuer. She rubbed the back of her neck.

  “Got whiplash?” the medic asked. “Stiff neck?”

  “Actually…” Cal turned her head gingerly, digging her fingers into her neck. “I’ve had a crick in it for about three days…but it’s gone.”

  Bob laughed from his cross-armed stance nearby. “Simple cure. Drive into a hillside. I’ll have to try that next time.”

  Cal gazed up at her poor car. The crane growled and groaned, and everyone watched as Madge was lifted out of place. The spectators were probably hoping for some mishap. That’s what people like to see: wrecks. That amused her. They ought to be staring at her, not the car. A few were.

  Cal held her breath. The chains were padded, but were still going to do a number on her paint job.

  “You want to tell us what happened?” demanded a large, red-faced CHP officer in khakis. Hard face. Foghorn voice. Ready to throw the book at Cal. Old-school, and not in the best way.

  “My brakes went out.” Cal struggled to keep her voice even. “I tried to slow and had no pressure.” She looked at the car dangling overhead. “I keep that baby in perfect condition. There’s no way the brakes just failed. Someone tampered with it.”

  “Who would tamper with your car?”

  “I don’t know. I’m a private investigator. Investigating a homicide. Maybe I made someone nervous.”

  “What homicide?”

  “Jenna Duncan. The initial story was that she was—”

  “Shot by her boyfriend,” the CHP finished.

  Cal was impressed. Jenna Duncan’s death was not a high-profile murder. Even the next day it hadn’t mad
e the front page. A week after the shooting, it was nowhere to be found.

  “Yeah. But she wasn’t.”

  “And you’re trying to figure out who it was.”

  “Yeah.” Cal decided to stop talking about it. That was all the guy needed.

  He looked up at the hill. Then back along the stretch of highway behind him. Back at Cal. “Why didn’t you apply your emergency brake?”

  “I did, and I downshifted, everything I should have. But it wasn’t slowing down fast enough. I didn’t want to hit anyone else. So I tried to slow down off the side of the road. But then there was the barrier, I had to steer up the hill around it. And…”

  They all knew where that had gotten her.

  “Exactly how fast were you going?”

  The gotcha question. She hated to lie, but telling the truth wasn’t going to do her any favors. “Not sure. I was driving with the flow of traffic.”

  “Ballpark. Gimme a number.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Witnesses say you were going like a bat out of hell. You gonna tell me there was a problem with your accelerator too?”

  “I’m sure it looked like I was going faster than I was, since they were in stop-and-go for that vehicle recovery on the left side. You know how it is. When you’re at rest, forty-five looks fast.”

  “You’ve been drinking?”

  Cal answered before thinking. “No.” Yes. Shit. But not enough to matter. That hadn’t affected her.

  He leaned in. “I can smell alcohol. I’m going to need you to blow for me.”

  Cal considered a smart aleck remark, but decided against it. “It’s spilled on me, not ingested. So, fine.”

  The CHP shook his head in disgust, clearly not believing her. He left the paramedic to continue with his examination. Bob stood by, smiling as if nothing had happened.

  “Thank you,” Cal told him.

  “Just doing my job.”

  Cal raised her eyes to where Madge had perched. “Guess I wasn’t doing mine.”