Officers believed the truck driver did not realize he had struck and killed someone.
“I always carry my ID now. Ever since that jogger was hit by the bus last month, I...well, just in case, ya know?” This from a bystander speaking to the local media. Other residents roused from slumber by the commotion came outside hoping to be on the morning news programs. They shook their heads and complained that they just knew this would happen again.
“We've demanded the city install a traffic light at this intersection,” one woman said. “But they ignore us.”
The police did not have much information to pass along to television viewers. Just a description of a white female approximately in her thirties, wearing dark exercise clothes, brightly colored sneakers with violet laces, and three crystal filigree bracelets on her right arm.
Apparently, she was listening to music as she ran—the earphones a possible explanation of why she may not have heard the vehicle turning onto her path.
Across town, a woman drinking a last cup of coffee before leaving for the office saw the televised appeal for any information, and gasped as she thought she recognized the jewelry displayed on camera. It reminded her of the ones her work colleague wore every day.
Half an hour later, news readers reported that, “Police have identified the victim but are withholding her name until the family is notified.”
The officers parked the cruiser in front of a darkened house a few blocks from the site of the accident. One of them checked the address and nodded to his partner. They walked the short path to the door, rang the bell, and waited.
Inside the house, a man was turning on the kitchen light and opening the back door to let out the dog when he heard the doorbell — followed by sharp knocking — at the front of the house. He looked at the shelf under the clock and saw his wife's keys hanging on its special hook. She's locked herself out again, he thought.
“Okay, be right there!” he called out when the bell buzzed once more. He walked to the hall.
“Is mommy back?” The little boy stood yawning at the top of the stairs on the second floor.
“Yes,” his dad said. “Come down and give her a good morning kiss.”
He turned and opened the door.