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“I think I used up most of my magazine. Do you think Wallace will dock my pay?”
Her comment was so unexpected, so inane, and given in such a detached voice that Plummer looked at her sharply.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked.
She looked through him, then her eyes slowly focused. “I . . . I . . . don’t know.”
Her legs wouldn’t support her, and she plopped straight down on the ground next to the driver. “Is this Umstead?”
“That’s him. Stupid shit. I’ll give good odds those jugs they were unloading are chemicals for a meth operation. Did you happen to get the license plate of the other car?”
She stared at him. “License plate? Car?”
She started shaking.
“Hey! It’s okay. Everyone’s okay.” He put a hand on her shoulder. She covered his smaller hand with her large one.
The shaking subsided as quickly as it had begun.
“It just all happened so fast,” she said. “There wasn’t time to think. I saw him almost run you down and then he was getting away. I couldn’t let him.”
The last words were almost a plea. She looked to him for understanding, which she received.
“Hey, he tried to run me down! You stopped him. What if we’d called it in, and he went on a high-speed chase and ended up killing someone in an accident? You stopped him before he got to 130. I have no problem, and neither will anyone else.”
“I also shot the dog,” Greta said plaintively.
Plummer gave another of those looks. “You were trying to get Umstead out of a crashed vehicle that might have exploded at any moment. You didn’t know how badly he was hurt, so you needed to get to him right away. That’s how I’ll report it, which has the advantage of actually being the truth.”
Umstead chose that moment to start moaning. Plummer looked at him with a grimace.
“I guess he’ll live. I suppose that’s a good thing.” Plummer shook his head and sighed. “We’d better call this in. Help me over to my car, and I’ll do it, unless you want to.”
“Thanks. I guess I’m still a little shaky right now.” She rose and helped support him as they hobbled over to his car. He slid into the driver’s seat and reached for the radio.
“James . . . , ” she said.
He paused with the radio and looked at her.
“James . . . do you always get shaky like this when you have to pull your gun or even fire it?”
“I have no fucking idea,” he said. “I’ve never drawn my gun before, much less fired it, except on the range.”
She stared at him. Did that fact make her feel worse or better? She had no clue.
Plummer called in: an ambulance for Umstead; an all-points bulletin for two men in a 1960s faded, dented Dodge with an Oregon license; a forensics team with a warrant to sweep all buildings for evidence; more officers to carry out a search of the surrounding area; a tow truck for Umstead’s pickup; and someone to drive Plummer and his cruiser back to Tillamook City because he wasn’t sure he could drive with his ankle.
By the time all requested help arrived, it looked like a county fair with an assortment of vehicles at the house and along the driveway most of the way back to 130. The two other men were stopped by Yamhill County sheriff deputies to the east. There were only three escape routes from Umstead’s property, and none were fast. Yamhill took them to their county jail and would interact with Tillamook County to move them to Tillamook City the next day.
Greta and Plummer’s continued presence was discouraged at the crime scene after they gave their initial statements. Plummer suggested that Greta drive him to Tillamook City. One of the other department staff would drive his car back. When she started to say it would take her well out of her way to get back home later, he gave her a hard look and a slight shake of his head.
Plummer started talking before they turned left out of the lane onto 130. They headed east to the Dolph junction to catch 22 north, then 101, and on to Tillamook City.
“Everything is going to be okay. However, these days it doesn’t hurt to be sure we understand what happened here today.”
Greta glanced at him, then back to the road. She knew what he was saying. They needed to have the same stories. He was worried about her. She knew she had been seriously frazzled after the confrontation. She hardly remembered what she’d said in the first hour, but what she remembered made her cringe. Some of it sounded so bizarre.
“I know,” she whispered. “James . . . I’m sorry I kind of fell apart there.”
