Left You Dead

40

‘You’re not serious?’ Larry Olson asked, standing shocked and bewildered among the mass of emergency service vehicles. His customer, having thrown up on the road, was now sitting in the back of a police car. Nearby, a shocked-looking woman was talking to an officer with a body-worn camera. She looked like she was giving an account of some kind.

It was a single vehicle accident with one pedestrian casualty. The Forensic Collision Unit Team were busy measuring and taking photographs to secure evidence, including a drone to obtain a perspective of the scene. The prime objective was to collect the evidence quickly and efficiently because, with the location being right outside the school, they wanted to clear the area before parents and children started to gather, mid-afternoon.

There were police cars and motorbikes everywhere, a fire engine, a Collision Investigation Unit van and a cordon of blue-and-white tape all around, with a large bunch of rubber-necking public outside it, phone cameras held aloft. It felt like being in the VIP area of an event he really did not want to be attending. Olson noticed a local news reporter talking to bystanders and taking photographs of the police activity.

The Road Policing Unit officer, who had introduced himself as Inspector James Biggs, said, ‘I’m afraid it’s standard procedure, sir.’

‘You’re impounding my car?’

‘We are, sir. It’s what happens to any vehicle involved in a potentially fatal accident.’

‘I... I need it... I need it for my business to survive. When... when do I get it back?’

‘I can’t tell you that at the moment. It will be a month or so at best — maybe two — until we have completed our enquiries.’

‘Two months?’ Olson’s voice rose several octaves in desperation. ‘Two months? My customer wasn’t to blame, two witnesses said he was driving within the limit — the little boy just stepped out in front of us — he was looking at his damn phone. I was in the car. My customer was driving sensibly, keeping strictly to the 30 mph limit. There wasn’t anything he could do.’

‘I’m sorry, sir,’ Inspector Biggs said. ‘I can’t comment on any witness accounts.’

‘Why on earth would you need the car for that long?’

‘We may have to release it to the insurance company. There’s quite a bit of damage on the vehicle. They will probably make a decision on whether to repair it or write it off.’

‘Write it off?’ Olson calculated the poor value he would get from an insurance company. No way. ‘I can get that fixed at a local body shop.’

‘That will have to be a discussion with you and the insurers, sir.’

Olson stared around, bewildered. A police officer with a broom was sweeping broken glass into a dustpan. Two other officers were taking measurements with a laser device.

‘We will do what we can to get the car released as quickly as possible, sir, but I’m afraid we’re going to need to establish whether there was anything defective such as the vehicle’s brakes or steering,’ Biggs said.

Olson shook his head. ‘This is ridiculous. The car was in perfect condition — all my cars are fully checked out before we put them on the forecourt. I can’t afford for you to have this car for two months.’

‘That’s not really the issue here, sir,’ the Inspector said patiently. ‘There’s a human life involved. A child. At this moment, he’s my primary concern.’

‘Yes, I understand that, but I still have to keep my business alive.’

‘Frankly, sir,’ James Biggs said, ‘right now all I care about is doing my best to establish what happened. A small boy has been airlifted to hospital on life support. Forgive me for borrowing your terminology, sir, but we are concentrating very hard on keeping him alive.’