Free Chained Guilt (Hidden Guilt (Detective Series) Book 1) by Terry Keys

scene as we talked, measuring the length of the skid marks leading toward the railing. I glared at those telltale black marks. What had made Miranda lose control? They had already searched her car, looking for anything that might have fallen from her hands and caused her to take her eyes off the road. They’d found nothing.
                  As I turned my attention back to the captain, an officer approached us.
                  “David, we have reason to believe there may have been another car here. We’ve spotted a second set of fresh skid marks about twenty feet down the road. Maybe somebody stopped to help and then left. Maybe they took Miranda to a hospital or something. So far, we’ve not located any Jane Does at nearby hospitals, but we’re still checking.”
                  “Cap, you know what I need right now,” I said. “Get these guys back so I can work.”
                  A few minutes later, Wilcrest and I stood alone on the scene, just as I liked and needed. I turned to the captain.  “Let’s do it.”
                  “David, are you sure?”
                  Without validating his question, I began. “Tire skids indicate the vehicle came in fast after the crash. Anticipatory. Small car, probably a four-door. The rain has washed away the tire tracks, or I’d be able to tell you what kind. I don’t know how this asshole planned it so perfectly, but the rain has effectively obliterated most of the evidence.”
                  Minutes turned into hours. With each second, I grew increasingly impatient and less hopeful of finding Miranda alive somewhere below the crash site. People had survived this kind of thing before, but the condition of Miranda’s car meant she had been traveling at a high rate of speed. Probably hurrying home to see me after the late night at work. I’d made her feel guilty by saying I might fall asleep waiting for her. Now, as fate would have it, I was wide awake, still waiting for her arrival.
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    10
     
     
     
     
    As daylight approached, additional officers flooded the scene in an increased effort to find my wife. She was well liked and respected by my colleagues. Several had left for the night, but once word got around, they returned. I could tell they were pouring everything they had into finding Miranda.
                  I sat down on a rock, took my cell phone from my pocket, and decided to call my daughters to reassure them that the entire force was out looking for their mother. The house phone rang and rang—a hundred times, it seemed—before my youngest daughter answered the phone.
                  “Karen?”
                  “Daddy, did you find Mommy yet?”
                  “No, sugar, not yet. Daddy is still looking. I just wanted to check in on you guys.” 
                  A long silence ensued. Then I heard a dull thud as the receiver dropped to the hardwood floor. I listened to the heart-wrenching sounds of my daughter’s sobs. I had never felt so helpless in my entire life. I could do nothing but listen to her cries and wait until she’d recovered enough to pick up the phone again. My heart pounded in my chest as I waited. Finally, I heard her scratchy voice.
                  “Daddy . . . are you still there, Daddy?”
                  Swallowing hard, I choked back my emotions and forced myself to sound calm. “Karen, honey, please tell your sister I called. Don’t give up. I promised you I would find Mommy and I will. I love you.”
                  “I love you too, Daddy,” she whispered. She sounded like she was about to cry again.
                  “I have to go back to work now, honey. You be a good girl for Daddy, okay?”
                  “Yes, Daddy. You go look for