I was working on the other thing, and I may get back to the other thing, but I did 1.2K words of this thing in one setting and I’m not done for the day. I can take a hint.
The guy sent over by the county’s sheriff’s office was stiff as he showed us around the wreckage. We get two types of local cops in this thing of ours: whipped dogs who act like us being there is their fault; and junkyard dogs who think we’re going to try to blame them for what happened. I like the junkyard dogs better, honestly. There’s only two things a whipped dog is good for, and one of them is getting out of my way.
This one was named Jimmy Weathers, and he had definitely started off bristling. He’d been on the scene for an hour before Mary and I showed up, and been barely polite to us when we got there. I wanted to think it was because he didn’t like being out of his bed, or just at the beck and call of Feds, but I knew better.
“Can’t say I know why you still have me out here, Agent Koshi,” he ventured after the three of us had walked the site. “This isn’t really a job for the Cambria County Sheriff’s Office. I don’t think anybody’s gonna walk off with the pieces.”
I looked around, noting unhappily that it was getting to be late afternoon. He had a point; these big wind turbines don’t shred themselves often; but when they do, you end up with crap everywhere. There just wasn’t anything worth stealing, at least to the unobservant eye.
“Deputy Weathers, I know that you’ve been stuck out here for a while, and I’m sorry about that.” Which I was, but not for the reasons he thought.