A/N: Okay, so this is my first Major Crimes fic so I'm a little nervous about it. Please bear in mind that I'm not American so there may be some spelling irregularities and despite my research, I'm forseeing some mistakes with regard to American geography/laws/culture etc. Can we maybe call it artistic license?
Chapter 1
As the silver Mercedes cruised along Mulholland Drive, the passenger reached over and clasped the driver's hand in his as it rested on the gear lever. She turned to him and flashed him a smile. They had had a wonderful evening, he'd surprised her with dinner and then taken her dancing. They didn't get to go out that often, with work schedules and domestic commitments, and this had been a much overdue chance to reconnect.
"Thank you for tonight," she said, before turning her attention back to the road. "I felt like I was nineteen again and on a first date."
"You remember what else nineteen year olds do on dates, right?" he asked, wiggling his eyebrows. "I'll give you a hint, it involves dirt tracks and backseats of cars."
She laughed, letting his hand drop to have both hands on the wheel as she negotiated a bend. "Not me, I was a good girl."
"So you never felt like you missed out? Never wanted to be a bad girl?" She shot him a look. "I only ask, because there's a turn off not too far from here where we could…y'know." His now free hand had found its way to her knee and was trailing it's way slowly up her thigh. "That is, if you wanted to take that rebellious streak that I know you have out for a spin?" His voice had taken on that low, seductive tone she couldn't resist.
"Mmmm. Where do I turn?"
"It's just a bit further up her on the- Shit! Watch out!"
Suddenly there was an almighty bang; the sound of screeching brakes and breaking glass filling the air. The air bags deployed with a pop and the car spun towards the edge. Where it tipped and began rolling. The noise was deafening, like the roar of an airplane at take-off. Then there was nothing. No spinning, no noise. Nothing. Just the creeping darkness.
"What have we got?" asked Detective Phillips as he ducked under the crime scene tape.
"Car came off the road up there," the patrol officer reported, pointing up to the higher section of the highway. Phillips shielded his eyes from the glare of the work lights and looked up. "Took a hit to the driver's side, spun towards the edge and rolled down here, where it narrowly missed another car. The driver of that car, Mr Lewis, was the one who called it in – he's giving his statement now sir."
"That's one heck of a fall." Detective Phillips looked over the mangled remains of the car and grimaced; it was not a pretty sight. The driver's side door was crushed in, bending the car into almost a v shape. The roof was dented and scratched from where it had rolled down the rocky terrain and all the windows were smashed. Paramedics and firemen were on scene, attempting to extract the victims. "And the other vehicle involved in the collision?"
"Not here sir. We've sent a couple of back up units to search further up and down the route sir, but nothing yet."
"What do we know about the occupants?"
"One female, the driver and a male passenger, unconscious when patrol arrived. We have their licenses. We're running their names now, looking for next of kin," he informed, waving his hand at the officer who was searching the databases.
Phillips winced at the eerie sound of the gas operated saw as it began cutting through the metal of the front pillars to remove the roof.
"Detective, I think you should see this." The officer who was running the names ran over with his iPad. He handed it to Detective Phillips.
Scanning the details on the screen, Phillips' face fell. "Oh hell."
He looked once more at the scene of devastation in front of him. "Listen up everyone!" he called, trying to make himself heard over the whirring and grinding of the machinery. "Everything here needs to be done by the book. He held the iPad screen up to the crowd. "This involves one of our own."
The assembled officers nodded sombrely and returned to their tasks as Detective Phillips turned back to the patrol officer. "When the victims are clear of the vehicle I want SID to go over both it, and the crime scene with a fine tooth comb. We cannot afford to miss anything here. Do I make myself clear?
His piece said, Phillips made his way back behind the crime scene tape to make some phone calls in the relative quietness of his car.
The shrill ringing of her cell relentlessly permeated Sharon's deep sleep. Groaning, she rolled over and reached out blindly for her phone, unable for several moments to force her eyes open. Limbs weighted and dull, she pushed herself up onto her elbows and glanced at the caller ID. Her eyes took a few moments to focus on the brightness of the display against the darkness of her bedroom.
"Lieutenant Provenza?"
"I'm sorry to wake you Captain, but we have a situation," he said gravely.
The tone in his voice made Sharon sit up. "What kind of situation?"
"A silver Mercedes came off of Mulholland Drive near Coldwater Canyon just after eleven thirty."
"Traffic accidents aren't usually a major crime Lieutenant. What makes this one so special?"
"Oh no. It's not... Sorry captain, I'm not explaining myself very well. We haven't caught this case."
"Then why are you ringing me at…" She looked at the clock. "1.21am?" She'd been asleep less than three hours which would normally make this kind of rude awakening a mere inconvenience, but the fact that she and the rest of her division had just come off an almost 48-hour shift meant that it was more a downright annoyance.
Provenza sighed. "Because of the identity of the driver."
The gravity of his tone made her anxious. "Who is it?" There was a deafening silence on the other end. "Lieutenant, who was driving the car?" Sharon pressed, the feeling of dread in her stomach growing by the second.
"It was Flynn's daughter."
