Raven

Quinn turned on flashers, jumped out of the car, and ran to the figure. “What the hell are you doing?” she demanded. “I could have killed you!” The figure turned to face her. Quinn took a breath, regretting her language. A girl, a teen, thirteen? Fourteen? Tall, taller than Quinn by two or three inches. Wide, brown eyes looked innocent, but glittered with a hint of mischief. She shook her head. “I knew you wouldn’t. I’m not suicidal.” Her tone was soft, her voice pleasing. “What made you so sure? Because I’m a cop? Cops make mistakes.” “Of course. But I knew.” Quinn gave a snort. “Huh. Let’s get out of the street.” She saw a flight of wooden stairs climbing the ivy-covered side of a steep hill toward a house and placed a hand on the girl’s back, guiding her gently to the steps. “Where do you live?” “Up there.” The girl pointed toward the house. A car pulled up behind Quinn’s patrol vehicle. The driver waited, looking impatient. Quinn waved her around. “Wait for me on the staircase,” she told the girl. The girl nodded and sat. Quinn moved her car, parked it, and joined her, sitting on the same step. The steps were narrow. The two were close. “What’s your name?” Quinn asked. “Raven.” Quinn remembered the peculiar bird that had visited her that morning. “Raven what?” “Raven Knight.” “How old are you, Raven?” “Thirteen. Until my birthday. Next month.” “Why were you standing in the street?” “I wanted your attention.” “Well, that certainly isn’t a good way to get it. Now that you have it, what can I help you with?” “Nothing, yet.” “I beg your pardon?” directly “You won’t believe me. Yet.” “Why don’t you try me?” “I will. I wanted to meet you first.” Quinn liked that the girl spoke directly, meeting her eyes, “Me? Or a police officer?” “No. You.” “Why?” Quinn’s curiosity urged her to question Raven more firmly. She controlled her impatience. Something was out of the ordinary here, and not only because of the obnoxious way the girl had got her attention. Quinn couldn’t place it. “Are your parents home?” she asked when Raven didn’t immediately answer. “Mom is. Daddy is at work.” “Is the entrance to your home on the next street over?” She nodded toward the house atop the hill. “Yes, but I don’t think you have time now.” As if her words were prophetic, the radio on Quinn’s shoulder called her number. “233,” she answered, staring at Raven, puzzled. “12-17, Auto-bicycle.” Marga’s voice came clearly, with an edge of excitement. The dispatcher followed with the location of the accident. “Copy, en route,” Quinn responded. Quinn glanced back to apologize to Raven, but the teen was already ten steps up the stairs toward her house. A movement drew her attention to the sky above the girl’s head. A black bird alighted on a tree branch a little higher up the hill from the girl. Quinn shivered. At home, over the car, and now here. But there was no time. 12-17 was an auto accident, ambulance dispatched. Someone was hurt. She hurried to her car and turned on lights and siren as she U-turned in the empty street. As she did, Quinn realized the weird feeling of dread had settled on her again. Quinn believed in the validity of her intuition, but she didn’t believe in paranormal occurrences. But neither could she think of any impending disaster that would explain an unnatural feeling of dread. And why did a raven appear whenever the feeling did? Did it appear before or after the feeling? She couldn’t remember, and she had work to do. Getting out at the scene of the accident, she remembered the shadow that had flitted over her car and looked up. Nothing now. Blue skies and summer sunshine. She mentally shrugged it off. Ten minutes later she arrived at a scene on the south side of town, having skirted traffic all the way, even with lights and siren. A badly mangled bicycle lay half under the front of a Chevrolet super cab pickup. An ambulance was already pulling away from the scene, not a surprise since the ambulance shop was less than three blocks away. Quinn guessed the bicycle wheel was 20 inches: a young rider. She interviewed a woman who had been behind the truck and had called 911. She measured the street and skid marks, took photos, and information from the driver who had struck the cyclist, and let him go. The witness had seen the child enter the intersection without warning and he’d tried to stop, but it was too late. She finished on-scene work and tagged the bike and placed it in the trunk. It was evidence now. At the hospital, she interviewed an intake nurse who said the child, a ten-year-old girl, was unconscious. She had carried a student ID card in her pocket, so her parents were notified and en route. The prognosis appeared good; she had a concussion and a broken arm, lots of scrapes and bruises, but she’d recover. Quinn cleared the accident scene to accept another call for a shoplifter at a convenience store, followed by a domestic disturbance in a low-income apartment building. The rest of the early half of the shift left her no time to contemplate the odd girl she had encountered that afternoon. She had coffee in town with Acosta, who explained the requirements of the dog training program to her. The busy day continued. At home at midnight-thirty, end of shift, she responded happily to Grover when he raced out through the open barn door to meet her. She thought about the bear and the wisdom of leaving the barn door open but knew Grover would have raised the roof with his barking if it appeared on the property. And Hawk would have heard. She stopped to make sure the trash can was closed securely and inside the barn. Grover followed her into the house. At last she sank into a chair with a cup of the coffee Tess had left hot in the kitchen before going to work on the graveyard shift. Quinn had been too tired to join the officers headed to Miles’ Diner at midnight. Hawk had heard her come in. He joined her, barefoot in pajama bottoms. “I didn’t mean to wake you,” she said as he bent to kiss her. “You didn’t. I waited.” “Busy day,” she added. “Figured that when you didn’t show up for dinner. Have you eaten?” “No, but I’m too tired to care. I need a shower and a bed.” “I’ll make it up to you at breakfast,” he said. “Grover and I are going to Ashland for training next week.” “Oh, no kidding. Cool. The city finally got its act together, huh?” “Yes. Have you heard any gossip about what they’re doing about Spike?” Spike had been Cody Miller’s canine partner, until he went to jail for assaulting Tess. He shook his head. “Well come on. I’ll give you a back rub guaranteed to help you sleep.” “I’ll just bet you will,” she said, laughing.