of a Mercedes 300E that was wrapped around a tree. Everyone was tense and upset as a
siren screamed, and police had set up a barricade, blocking off the street. Brazil parked
his BMW as close as anyone would let him. He ran towards red and blue lights and
rumbling engines.
West arrived, and cops moved saw horses to let her through. She spotted Brazil taking
notes. He was dazed by horror as Raines and other paramedics lifted another bloody
dead body out of the Mercedes and zipped it inside a pouch. Rescuers lowered a victim
next to three others on pavement stained with spilled oil and blood. West stared at the
totaled Charlotte cruiser with its hornet’s nest emblem on the doors. She turned her
attention to another cruiser not far away, where Officer Michelle Johnson was collapsed
in the back seat, holding a bloodstained handkerchief to her devastated face as she
trembled and shook. West swiftly walked that way. She opened the cruiser’s back door
and climbed in next to the distraught officer.
“It’s going to be okay,” West said, putting an arm around a young woman who could not
comprehend what had just happened to her.
“We need to get you to the hospital,” West told her.
“No! No!” Johnson screamed, covering her head with her hands, as if her plane were going down.
“I didn’t see him until he was through the light. Mine was green! I was responding to the ten-thirty-three, but my light was green. I swear. Oh God! No, no. Please. No. Please,
please, please.”