The Recovery Assignment

by Alison Roberts

  ‘Boy racers,’ Hawk informed her.

  Charlotte grinned. ‘So that sixty-year-old woman who’s in Intensive Care now was out for a Friday night with a difference?’

  ‘She was in the wrong place at the wrong time.’ Hawk shook his can of paint and the ball rattled like a drum roll. ‘This is her braking mark.’

  Hawk’s tone was only mildly challenging. He fully expected to have his opinions questioned now and Charlotte had a wealth of ammunition she could muster. The marks he had chosen were criss-crossed with other marks, the ages of which were all debatable. He was looking forward to countering the arguments with his observations on tyre width, tread pattern and tyre inflation levels.

  ‘I think you’re right,’ Charlotte said instead. ‘I’ll mark the debris pattern before all this glass gets swept up, shall I?’

  Hawk found himself re-examining the other tyre marks to provide the arguments he had been sure would be forthcoming from his partner. Still confident his conclusion was correct, he sprayed paint lines to isolate the marks but the whole business felt mechanical somehow. Unsatisfying.

  A brisk mental shake was in order here. He and Cam had never indulged in heated debates on scene about the relevance of evidence. He should be appreciating the fact that Charlotte had finally decided his opinion was justified and there was no point in challenging him. Instead, Hawk found himself watching Charlotte as she set up the theodolite and his dissatisfaction grew. The sparring over the last month had been a pain. Charlotte had a tendency to remember everything he said and didn’t hesitate to throw it back at him. He was still getting jibes about her prerogative to change her mind or references to ‘fluffing around’ on scene. And she seemed to take pleasure in challenging everything.

  Even basics like weather and light conditions. Only last week she had been delighted to pounce on a sentence in a report he’d completed.

  ‘It was overcast,’ Hawk had responded defensively. ‘The light was poor due to the heavy cloud cover.’

  ‘That was an hour after the crash.’

  ‘It had been cloudy for hours. It started to rain while we were there. Heavily. Have you forgotten the problem we had with evidence getting washed away? Or that I went and found you a coat?’

  ‘Of course not.’ A quick smile had lifted the corners of Charlotte’s mouth. ‘I appreciated the coat. But you know how fast a southerly front can sweep in. Cloud cover prior to that was patchy. If there had been a break in the clouds at that time of day, then the angle of sun would have been in a line that could have caused enough glare to blind the driver to the colour of the traffic lights. See? I’ve drawn the angle in…here.’

  ‘Other cars managed to stop.’

  ‘Maybe they had their visors in the right position. Or they were wearing sunglasses.’

  ‘It’s not going to make any difference to the outcome of this investigation.’

  ‘It’s a factor that shouldn’t be ignored.’

  ‘If we spent our time investigating every remote possibility, we’d never cope with our workload. What are you suggesting? That we chase down witnesses and visit the meteorological office to find out whether there might have been a break in cloud cover at that particular time?’

  ‘No. I just think we should consider anything that might be relevant and that details in a written report should be as accurate as possible.’

  ‘Fine,’ Hawk had growled. ‘Give it back and I’ll change the wording in the damn report.’

  Witness interviews provided ample grounds for differences of opinion as well. Charlotte had an uncanny ability to detect whether someone was telling the truth.

  ‘Of course he was lying. Didn’t you notice how often he licked his lips? And the way you could see his heart rate increase by his carotid pulse?’

  Hawk hadn’t noticed. The statement had been delivered calmly and had been plausible enough to fit the evidence. The uncomfortable question of just how well he’d been doing his job before Charlotte had come along wasn’t worth worrying about. Nobody had ever made a complaint. But would he have discovered those text messages and changed someone’s life from a picture of devastation as Charlotte had done for Steve Poulsen? Possibly not. And while Hawk was confident enough that his analysis of today’s scene was accurate, he wanted to get tested, dammit. It was much more satisfying to be sure of something by arguing away any other possibilities.

  And…and he enjoyed arguing with Charlotte. It provided a spark that his camaraderie with Cam had never had. He’d always been wary of smart women. They were too capable of analysing everything and either deciphering an incorrect message and getting upset or staying too many steps ahead, which provided a huge advantage in any plan for manipulation. But that was on a personal level. Hawk had never worked closely with a woman before and Charlotte’s intelligence and capability for lateral thinking complemented his own thought processes perfectly. He could harness it—especially via a heated exchange in which they were both out to prove themselves right—and between them they would make an unbeatable team.

  Hawk shrugged off the notion. There was no point in getting excited at such a possibility when this was a temporary situation. And it was stupid to have the urge to provoke an argument to add some spice to his job. Better that Charlotte kept up this agreeable mood and became less interesting to have around. He suppressed a smile as he dropped the can of spray paint back into its crate. She wouldn’t be able to keep it up for long anyway.

  She was way too feisty for that.

  His colleagues thought it was all very amusing.

  ‘So…what’s the stroppy one been up to this week?’

  ‘Not much,’ Hawk was forced to admit. Mind you, even if Charlotte had provided some annoying interlude he suddenly didn’t feel the least bit inclined to offer it up as lunchtime entertainment for his cronies. He could sense their disappointment as he unwrapped his filled roll. Had his complaints about his new partner become that much of their routine? ‘We’ve been flat out,’ he said casually. ‘Too busy to do anything other than co-operate with total professional harmony.’

  ‘Ha!’ Murphy’s snort said it all. ‘That’ll be the day.’

  ‘So, have you changed your mind about working with a chick, then, Hawk?’

  ‘This particular chick might be an exception,’ Hawk conceded.

  ‘Uh-oh! She’s got under his skin at last.’

  Hawk’s snort was intended to be dismissive and not simply for the benefit of his companions. ‘She’s damned good at her job.’

  ‘Which one?’

  A wry smile acknowledged Hawk’s past complaints about working with a crash investigator who was also a paramedic. They seemed a long time ago now. ‘Both, actually,’ he said. ‘It’s quite helpful occasionally. We wanted information on the condition of someone in ICU yesterday, to gauge whether the job was going to turn into a fatal. I hit a brick wall but Charlie went to some doctor she knows in Emergency and he got all the info we needed in five minutes flat.’

  His mates didn’t seem particularly interested in discussing Charlotte Laing’s virtues. Murphy’s eyes were just about on stalks.

  ‘Check that out.’

  ‘What?’ Young Brent Jackson followed the direction of Murphy’s gaze and whistled softly in appreciation. ‘Whoa! She must be the new girl in the control room.’

  Hawk’s gaze flicked automatically to the queue at the cafeteria counter. The object of virtually every male in the room’s attention was instantly obvious. Very young, very blonde and very, very pretty. Her uniform did little to detract from her curves and the slightly shy, wide-eyed observation of her unfamiliar environment was appealing. There would be no shortage of new colleagues to help her find her way around, that was for sure.

  ‘Just your type, Hawk.’

  He shrugged. The newcomer was just his type. A month ago his heart rate might well have jumped with the potential of a new pursuit and satisfying victory. Right now, he was more interested in eating his lunch. Continued appreciative r
emarks from his colleagues became almost irritating. They were all adult men, weren’t they, not testosterone-laden teenagers? What was so instantly attractive about blondes, anyway? Charlotte had been right. You had to be pretty shallow to get fixated on a hair colour that probably came out of a bottle anyway.

  Hawk picked up his apple and abandoned his coffee. ‘Better head back to the office. Catch you guys later.’

  Irritation had definitely set in by the time he reached his desk. Hair colour was meaningless. Same went for breast size. Murphy had been virtually drooling when he’d caught a closer view of the blonde’s attributes in that department as she’d passed their table. Why the hell wasn’t Cam around? He needed a thrashing on the squash court. Or a session at the rifle range.

  ‘That’s what I need,’ Hawk said aloud. The physical jolt of firing a high-powered weapon and the satisfaction of hitting a target was exactly what might do the trick. It took him a minute or two to locate the telephone directory so he could arrange a visit. Annoyingly, but not surprisingly, it turned up in the mess on Charlotte’s desk. Or maybe it wasn’t so annoying. He tucked the complaint away as future ammunition. How could she hope to do her job efficiently when she couldn’t keep her work space tidy? The only clear part of her desk was the corner with the silly bunch of fake flower pens and that photograph of her dead fiancé.

  Hawk eyed the photograph with distaste. The guy was good-looking enough and certainly had the kind of smile that added credence to the legend of his popularity but, from what Hawk had heard, he hadn’t been the saint Charlotte made him out to be. Hawk had asked someone. More than one person, actually. Turned out that Jamie Forrest had been drinking the night of his fatal crash. Not over the limit as it had been then but enough to impair anyone’s judgement. And he’d been in the car with four of his mates. Some kind of extra stag do in the run-up to his wedding. What the hell had he been doing out with mates, anyway? If Hawk was engaged to Charlotte he would have been spending his time with her.

  The telephone directory hit his desk with a resounding slap. Where the hell had that come from?

  Him…engaged?

  To Charlotte Laing?

  The very notion was as disturbing as that acute awareness of her had been the first morning they’d met. When he’d seen her with that patient and had noticed her hands and experienced that bizarre curiosity about what it would feel like to have her touch him. He’d got through that. Dismissed it.

  Hadn’t he?

  The telephone remained untouched and Hawk stared at a page in the listings that was half a book away from the rifle range. A flood of suppressed images played through his mind.

  Charlotte crouched at a roadside, looking up with excitement because she’d found some unexpected piece of evidence.

  The way she smiled…slowly…which made her amusement or just a greeting that much more significant.

  The way she flicked that long rope of hair back over her shoulder, which Hawk had come to learn was a signal that he was in for some kind of confrontation.

  The way those golden-brown eyes could light and change with determination, laughter, thoughtfulness or anger.

  He could only imagine what they would be like, burning with a physical passion. Not that he was about to touch her, of course.

  No way!

  She’d made her views of ‘being hit on’ abundantly clear the first day she’d been here. In this very office. And even if they weren’t working together, what chance would he have had? Zilch. That blasted photograph on her desk advertised that like a neon sign. She was still in love with a ghost and she had no intention of letting any flesh and blood compete.

  What a waste.

  What a damned, stupid waste!

  CHAPTER FIVE

  IT WAS only a matter of time before Charlotte and Hawk had to spend a night together.

  The area covered by the investigative unit was wide and a high-speed crash on a country road was more likely to produce a fatal result than an incident within city limits. Deploying resources to an isolated area more than once was undesirable so the Serious Crash Squad was required to stay as long as it took to collect the evidence they needed from the scene.

  Charlotte rang Laura on receiving news of the callout. ‘I won’t be home tonight,’ she told her flatmate. ‘We’ve got a multiple fatality incident out in the sticks. We’re only going to have an hour or so of daylight by the time we get there so we’ll have to finish the job in the morning.’

  ‘Oh, no! Not tonight of all nights!’

  ‘It’s probably a good thing.’ Charlotte tried to sound positive. ‘I wouldn’t have been very good company.’

  ‘But I was going to drag you out to a movie or something and take your mind off things. I’ve got a bottle of wine in the fridge, too. I thought with you not being on call you could get wasted if you felt like it.’

  ‘We’ll get the job done much quicker if we both go.’

  ‘Where are you going to sleep? In the car?’

  ‘No. It’s only about twenty kilometres out of Masterton so they’ve organised a motel for us.’

  ‘Good grief. A whole night with Hawk. That’s all you need right now.’

  ‘I’m sure they’ve given us separate rooms.’ It was supposed to be a joke but why did it give Charlotte a weird sensation in the pit of her stomach to have even allowed the hint of an alternative option to enter her mind? Admitting, even to herself, that Hawk was an attractive man smacked of disloyalty to Jamie. To allow any notion of sharing a room with him to surface was unthinkable. Especially today.

  ‘I’d sleep in the car otherwise, if I were you.’ At least Laura had found the notion amusing. Her laughter faded quickly, however. ‘Do you need me to drop anything in for you? I’m still at home.’

  ‘No. Thanks anyway but I’m walking into the car park right now. I keep an overnight bag in the car. These sorts of trips happen quite frequently in this game. I’m surprised we haven’t had one before this.’

  ‘Well, I’m just sorry it’s happened today. Will you be OK?’

  ‘Sure.’ Charlotte injected a firm note into her tone. ‘It’s been two years. It’s got to be easier this time.’

  The subdued atmosphere in the squad car was unmistakable.

  ‘Nice afternoon for a trip to the country.’

  ‘Yes, it is.’

  ‘It’s one of the things I love about this job. You never know what’s just around the corner. Where you’re going to be.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Got your toothbrush?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Hawk gave up trying to make conversation. He could guess why Charlotte seemed so withdrawn. She hated the idea of spending a night out of town in his company. He fiddled with the radio until he tuned into a ‘classic hits’ station and something cheerful from Abba filled the silence in the car. He hadn’t been so keen on this development himself. It had had to come, of course. In fact, it was surprising they’d managed to work together for well over a month without it happening, but Hawk couldn’t afford to think of the possibilities it presented.

  And he was completely unable to prevent himself doing so.

  It was a relief to end the ninety-minute car trip and to get stuck into the job at hand. Three people had been killed and two seriously injured from the two vehicles involved so it was a major incident. A family of four had been in the late-model sedan. The driver of the sheep truck had been alone. The wrecks had not been found until a farm worker, who had heard the impact, had taken his trail bike across four paddocks to investigate and the survivors had been unable to give any clues to what had happened.

  The bodies of the victims, including a child, had been removed by the time Hawk and Charlotte arrived, but the wrecks were still largely untouched and the road had been closed by the local police officer to protect the scene.

  ‘It’s no problem,’ he assured the squad members. ‘This road isn’t used that much anyway and it’s easy enough to reroute traffic. The ford on the next road doesn
’t close at this time of year. You guys take all the time you need.’ He shook his head as he took another long glance around them. ‘Bit of a mess, isn’t it?’

  ‘Sure is,’ Hawk agreed. ‘We’ll need a crane to get that sheep truck upright. Just as well it was empty.’

  ‘Yeah. A couple of hundred dead and injured sheep to work around wouldn’t be much fun.’

  It wasn’t much fun anyway. Hawk might be getting used to Charlotte being less argumentative on scene but he’d never seen her in the kind of mood she was in today. He couldn’t put his finger on what was different and it bothered him. Not that she was doing anything wrong.

  ‘This looks like it could be the first contact point. It’s just prior to that puddle of radiator fluid.’

  Hawk wasn’t going to query the nature of the liquid still visible on the surface of the road. The green shine of antifreeze was obvious.

  ‘And there’s the start of the crooks in the skid mark.’

  Hawk took photographs of the sharp bends in the skid marks. Skids were generally straight and even throughout their length because a vehicle tended to slide in a straight line unless deflected by some external force. A swerve was a deviation caused by reasons other than impact with some object. A crook often indicated the end of the pre-collision skid marks and the start of the post-collision marks. They could occur at the same time in more than one skid mark and front crooks could move in one direction while the rear crooks moved in the opposite direction.

  In this case it became more complicated because there was a second set of crook marks in what appeared to be a yaw. The tyre marks from the car ended abruptly at that point.

  ‘Two impact points?’ Charlotte queried. It was unlike her to request an opinion rather than offer one, but Hawk was too focussed to take much notice. Multiple impact points were less likely in a crash involving only two vehicles. Or maybe not in this case.

  ‘We’ve got an unloaded semi-trailer on the other vehicle,’ he said aloud. ‘The braking marks show axle twist which had lifted the trailer body. If the front wheels had locked, the steering ability would have been lost and it could have jackknifed. Maybe the trailer hit the car again with enough force to get it airborne.’