Jevanna Waters,” he started. Wells hadn’t seen the girl yet but stayed attentive to officials snapping photographs in squatted positions over shards of glass and smashed metal to capture every needed angle of gory detail.
Jake detailed the information they had so far, pointing up the hill where the sharp curve in the road started. “Looks like she took the curve too fast, at least 20 mph over the speed limit.” Jake moved his hand down the street towards where they were standing. “We believe she hydroplaned there, and when tires made contact again, we see a yaw mark in the road where the driver began to lose control; there was too much momentum; she fishtailed to the right; and the vehicle rolled at the collision mark there,” he pointed in front of them, “and then she collided into the tree.”
“Were there any witnesses?” Ted asked.
“Nobody reported the accident. Officer Brad Stowes was investigating calls about a disturbance in the cemetery and happened upon the scene at 2:12 am.”
Wells played the scene in his mind, looking for gaps or facts that hadn’t been addressed by evidence gathered. “Are there any other tracks on the road?” he asked, inspecting the roadway even though it was nearly impossible to see anything through the downpour.
“None that we can tell just yet. There’s a tread in the mud over there, but we don’t think it is related to the actions of this car.”
Wells noticed one of the forensic specialists walking in their direction. His name was Anthony Cain and he was one of the best forensic analysts in the city, having led the investigation of a nine-car pile-up three years ago on the Sunset Highway. It made national news and got Cain a promotion.
“You look like you’ve got news, Cain?” Wells said to him as he approached. He was short and stocky, with elbows jutting out from muscle plumped by hours of weight lifting.
Cain nodded with a familiar squint in his eye. “Cigarette filters. One of them crushed, the other burnt out, both fairly dry. We’ll run some tests and see if we can’t get a fingerprint or saliva analysis to compare with the victim.”
“Dry?” It had been raining heavily for the last two hours. “I doubt she smoked a cigarette in her condition.” Cain nodded his head, as if knowing the direction of his thoughts. “So someone must have come upon the scene, smoked a few cigarettes, wondering what to do, and left,” Wells added.
“Happens too often,” Ted commented, shaking his head. As tough as Ted looked with his crew cut and towering frame, he had a deep reservoir of genuine compassion.
“People don’t want to have to be inconvenienced from their daily schedule,” Cain replied.
“Why don’t you fax me the reports when you get the results in,” Wells asked Cain before he headed back to the van, the back of it opened up to a mini crime lab for tagging, cataloging, and examining the evidence.
Wells waited for a Honda Accord to drive by, the driver gawking at the carnage of twisted metal. Once they passed, he walked over to a skid mark on the road. He played the scene again, like a slow-motion movie clip. At the time of the accident, the rain was probably just starting to come down, creating a slippery film from the grime on the road. He imagined the girl sped around the corner, underestimating the sharpness of the turn or the uselessness of the brakes on the wet pavement, hydroplaned, skidded, overcorrected, rolled, and ended her journey at the base of a sixty-year-old pine. The clip played out nicely according to Ted’s analysis, but one thing Wells still couldn’t understand was why the girl was speeding in the first place.
He stuck another piece of gum in his mouth and then approached the twisted mass of metal and glass, waiting for forensic photographers to permit him access to the wreckage. The girl lay hunched over with her head tilted into the passenger seat. Blood caked the side of her head and seeped from her nose. She