Then he saw it. A long, black hearse shot past him in the left lane, moving far too fast for a vehicle that should symbolize slowness, dignity, and silence. The speed radar flashed: 120 km/h.Marc frowned. Hearses didn’t drive like that. Not with a casket in the back. Not without an escort. Not on a quiet stretch of road with no funeral procession in sight.Something was wrong. He pressed the button for his lights and siren.
“Unit 14 to dispatch,” he said into the radio, his voice calm but alert. “I’ve got a suspicious hearse on Route 7, heading north, excessive speed. Attempting a stop.” As soon as the siren wailed, the hearse didn’t slow down. It accelerated. Marc’s jaw tightened. He increased his speed, carefully keeping distance as the black vehicle began to weave through the light traffic, cutting corners, tires nipping dangerously close to the edge of the asphalt.