And the fact that somebody else might have been driving a cheap car would not make it less serious either.
Lieutenant Brooks approached again.
"We're arranging for a secure, documented examination of the vehicle with your agency's assistance. The tow driver has been instructed to leave."
I nodded.
"Thank you."
She glanced toward the black pickup.
It was finally turning around.
Then she looked back at me.
"One more thing."
"Yes?"
"The driver says he received a request to collect a black Rolls-Royce before we arrived."
I felt my stomach tighten.
"From whom?"
Brooks's expression was grim.
"That's what we're going to find out."
By the time I reached the hospital, my father was calling again.
I had borrowed a phone from one of the paramedics after my own belongings were accounted for. My father had received a brief message that I had been involved in an incident, and he was trying to determine whether I was safe.
I answered.
"Dad."
He didn't speak for a moment.
Then I heard him exhale.
"Renata?"
"I'm here."
"Where are you?"
"At a hospital. I'm being examined."
His voice changed.
"What happened?"
I looked toward the emergency department ceiling.
The fluorescent lights were painfully bright.
"An officer stopped me. Things got out of control."
There was a silence.
Then my father spoke very quietly.
"Did he hurt you?"
I swallowed.
"Yes."
"Badly?"
"I'm conscious. I'm talking. The doctors are checking me."
I heard a chair scrape at the other end.
My father had always been a calm man.
But I recognized the sound of his breathing.
He was frightened.
"Tell me where you are."
I gave him the hospital name.
He said he was coming.
I tried to tell him not to drive too fast.
He ignored me.
"Renata, listen to me."
I closed my eyes.
"Yes, Dad?"
"Whatever happened, you don't have to handle it by yourself."
The words broke something inside me.
I had spent years being the person other people called when they needed help.
The investigator.
The professional.
The woman who remained calm while everyone else panicked.
Now I was lying on a hospital bed with bruised wrists, an aching back, and the memory of a deputy threatening to shoot a woman who tried to defend me.
For the first time that afternoon, I allowed myself to cry.
"I know, Dad."
He was quiet.
Then he said, "Your mother would be furious."
I laughed through tears.
"She would."
"She'd already be on the phone."
"With everybody."
"Everybody," he repeated.
For a moment, we both laughed.
Then he said, "I'm coming, sweetheart."
I looked toward the doorway.
"Okay."
When the call ended, I lay quietly for several minutes.
I was exhausted.
But my mind would not stop working.