Heart of Ice
Page 32
“Will they . . . ?”
“Your hands? The damage looks to be superficial,” the voice said. “They should be okay in a week or so. Your feet, too. You were lucky.”
Louis closed his eyes, a wave of exhaustion washing over him. Slowly, so very slowly, the throbbing in his body began to lessen, and he could feel warmth, wonderful warmth, flooding into his chest. He started to drift off, and he dreamed he was home, the sun hot on his face, the warm Gulf waters flowing over him.
* * *
He swam up from the deep water, resurfaced, and opened his eyes. Warm . . . he was so warm, and it felt so damn good. The sensation seemed to be coming from his gut. With difficulty he raised his head and looked. A tube was sticking out from his stomach, the line snaking up to a plastic bag suspended above his bed.
Louis stared at the bag, at the slow, syrupy drip of the fluid into the tube, at the tube going into his gut, feeding him warmth and life. She was there suddenly. They both were. Joe and Lily. They were there beside him, and he knew suddenly the warmth came from them.
Something liquid boiled up from his chest and pushed its way up his constricting throat and out his eye. He wiped away the tear.
* * *
Noises drifted to him, faint and distant, the ringing of a phone and the rattle of a cart in the hall. And the smell of something yeasty like fresh-baked bread.
Louis opened his eyes.
Someone was sitting in the chair at the foot of his bed. He blinked him into focus.
“Hey, Chief,” Louis whispered.
Flowers rose and came to the edge of the bed. “How you doing?” he asked.
“Okay. At least that’s what they tell me.”
“You’ve got hypothermia.”
Louis nodded. “I’m having trouble remembering some of it. I remember going after Ross and Julie on the ice bridge and falling in. I remember seeing you and Cooper.”
“I was lucky I had the snowmobile,” Flowers said. “I’ve had to pull people out before, so I had my foil blanket and hot packs. We had to cut off your clothes.”
Again Louis nodded. He closed his eyes, fighting back the fatigue.
“I thought you’d want this back, though,” Flowers said.
Louis opened his eyes. Flowers was holding the little souvenir knife Lily had given him. When Louis didn’t move, Flowers added, “I’ll just leave it here on the table.”
“How long have I been here?” Louis asked.
“A little over forty-eight hours.”
“I need to call Joe.”
“I already did it for you.” Flowers hesitated. “Was that okay?”
Louis nodded.
“I told her you were going to be fine. She wanted to come up here, but I asked her to wait until you called her.” Again Flowers hesitated. “Was that okay?”
Louis nodded again. He wanted to sleep but there was too much still cluttering up his head.
“Is Julie okay?” Louis asked.
“She’s fine,” Flowers said. “When she saw you go in the water she tried to come back across the ice, but Clark got to her first.”
“Ross Chapman?”
“It was just me, Clark, and Cooper out there,” Flowers said. “While Clark was getting Julie you went under. Cooper went in after you, and it took two of us to pull you out and keep you breathing.” He paused. “By the time I looked up, Chapman was this speck way out there.”
“On the ice bridge?”
Flowers shook his head. “He was off the bridge heading south toward open water. I wasn’t about to go after him.”
“So he drowned?”
“I radioed the coast guard and they’ve been looking for him for two days. I think he’s dead.”
The memory came back sudden but clear—Chapman in his black overcoat growing smaller and smaller in the whiteness. And his own cries for him to come back echoing in the wind.
The door opened, and an aide came in carrying a tray. “You ready for some food?” she asked Louis with a smile.
Before Louis could shake his head, she hit the button to raise the bed. After propping him up with pillows she wheeled the tray in front of him, smiled again, and disappeared.
Louis stared at the cup of juice, green Jell-O, and the gray plastic cover on the plate. Flowers reached over and removed the cover.
They both grimaced at the sight of the limp cheese sandwich.
“Take it away,” Louis said.
Flowers took the tray away and set a basket on the table in its place.
“What’s that?”
“A present from Maisey.”
When Louis lifted up the heavy linen napkin the smell rose up to him, clean and yeasty. Biscuits.
Louis started to reach for a biscuit but then saw the blisters on his hand.
“I’ll do it,” Flowers said. He got a knife from the tray and spread some butter on a biscuit.
Louis took one bite. It was all he could manage.
“Maybe later,” Flowers said, taking the biscuit from him. He carefully broke the biscuit into small pieces and left it where Louis could reach it.
“Thanks.” Louis sank back into the pillows, closing his eyes. “Thanks for everything, Jack.”
50
The murmur of voices woke him up. It took Louis a moment to realize they were coming from the TV. He reached across his pillow to turn the sound down, but the remote was gone.
“You’re awake.”
Louis dropped his head to his left. Rafsky sat in the bedside chair, comfortably slumped down, ankle on his knee, holding the remote in one hand and a can of Vernors in the other.
“You want it up or down?” Rafsky asked.
“Down.”
Rafsky muted the sound.
“What time it is?” Louis asked, looking to the dark window.
“About six,” Rafsky said. “How you feeling?”
“My feet hurt.”
Rafsky took a drink of the ginger ale. “I would have been out there with you on the lake, but some dumb shit sent me on a wild-goose chase to the airport.”
Louis hit the button to raise the bed. “Any sign of Ross yet?”
“He’s disappeared,” Rafsky said.
Louis was silent, looking at the television. The screen was full of men and microphones. The crawl identified the tall man with a shock of white hair as the Mackinac County district attorney Greg Thom. Behind him were two men Louis didn’t recognize and one he almost didn’t. It was Chief Flowers wearing a blue dress uniform.
“Turn that up,” Louis said.
The sound came up just as Flowers stepped to the microphone. His face was serious, his mondo-grass hair gelled back.
The reporters’ questions came in a salvo, and for a second Flowers looked flustered. Then he launched into a smooth recap of the investigation and a credible explanation of why Julie’s existence was kept secret.
“It was a carefully calculated decision designed to protect not only the suspect Julie Chapman but also Senator Ross Chapman from a media onslaught until we were able to get a clean and complete statement,” Flowers said. “There was never an attempt to cover anything up. We were in control the entire time.”
“He learns fast,” Rafsky said.
“Who’s that bald guy behind him?” Louis asked.
“My boss, Captain Leathers,” Rafsky said.
As if on cue Leathers stepped to the microphone and, after heaping more praise on Flowers, he gave a short speech about how diligently the police had worked to solve a very difficult case. Rafsky was mentioned in passing. Louis was not.
Louis looked back at Rafsky. “How come you’re not there?”
“I told them I had to visit a sick friend.”
“Norm, this was your case,” Louis said.
Rafsky muted the sound on the TV. “Flowers needed to lead the parade, not me,” he said.
“You get anything at all out of this?” Louis asked.
Rafsky took a moment to answer. “I got a bump in rank to ca
ptain. And they offered me a high-level administrative position at the training center in Lansing.”
“That’s great.”
“I’m not going to take it.”
“Why not?” Louis asked. “I thought you were getting tired of the field. That’s why you were putting in your papers, right?”
“I asked to stay in the Marquette post,” Rafsky said.
Louis understood. “Chloe and Ryan will like that,” he said.
Rafsky didn’t comment. The press conference ended, and the station switched to the weather.
“Has the DA made a decision yet on whether to charge Julie?” Louis asked.
Rafsky turned off the TV and leaned forward on his knees. “He’s looking at manslaughter.”
“Seems a little harsh.”
“You don’t think she deserves some sort of punishment?”
“I don’t know.”
“Look at it this way,” Rafsky said. “After she hit Rhonda Grasso with that stone she had two choices. Sit there and let her bleed out or try to get help.”
Rafsky was right. Julie could have gone to town to get help for Rhonda, but the truth was, she never considered it. She had covered up her crime and gone upstairs to wait for Cooper. And then there was Chester Grasso. Didn’t he—and his daughter—deserve some kind of justice?
“You think she’ll be found guilty?” Louis asked.
“I don’t know, and I don’t care,” Rafsky said. “Our job ends when they close the cell door. After that it’s all up to the lawyers.”
Rafsky finished his Vernors and tossed the can across the room, making a nice swish into the trash can.
He stood up. “I have to get going.”
Rafsky started to hold out his hand, then drew it back when he remembered Louis’s sore fingers. Instead, he picked up his coat and laid it over his arm.
“You take care of yourself,” Rafsky said.
“You, too.”
Rafsky turned to leave. Louis watched him, thinking about staying here all night, watching the one TV station, and eating the bland food. Joe wasn’t going to get here until tomorrow, and damn it, he wanted some company. He didn’t mind at all if it was Rafsky.
“You know,” Louis said, “you could hang around and bring me a burger later from the Mustang.”
“Can’t,” Rafsky said. “I have a fresh body waiting for me in Newberry.”
“A new case already?”
Rafsky paused at the door to give Louis a small smile. “The dead keep us alive, right?”
And then he was gone.
51
Louis rubbed his fingers and picked up the pen again. Eight days, and although the blisters had gone down, he still had a burning sensation. The doctor assured him he would get feeling back, but some mornings it was so bad he had to have Joe button his shirt. Still, some things he had to do for himself.
He stared at the picture on the front of the postcard—Mackinac Island’s Arch Rock—turned it over, and began to write.
Dear Lily,
My job here is finished. You’ll be happy to know that the girl’s bones went home today. Chief Flowers was on TV like a big star. He said to say hi. I’ll be going home soon and
He felt Joe’s hand on his shoulder and looked up at her. She read what he had written and smiled.
“You want a beer?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Something warm.”
She ran a light hand over his hair and moved away. He watched her as she pulled the coffee can from the cupboard, then he went back to writing the postcard. When he was done he opened the desk drawer, looking for a stamp. His eye caught the spot of black fur at his feet.
“What do you want?” he asked.
The little black dog was sitting there looking up at him.
“Joe!”
“What?”
“It’s staring at me again.”
“Just ignore her.”
Louis gave the dog a gentle push of his socked foot.
Except for its tail swishing on the floor, the dog didn’t move. The thing hadn’t been here when Louis visited over the holidays. Joe told him one of her men found the dog when he went to check up on an elderly woman who didn’t show up for her job as a crossing guard. He found the lady dead in her bed of natural causes, the dog lying across her feet. Joe had agreed to take it in until someone found it a home.
Louis had laughed the first time he saw it and called it a purse dog. Joe had to remind him that her last dog was a big yellow stray named Chips who had survived a knife attack. And besides, she told him, I get lonely sometimes out here by myself.
The dog—no name yet—was still looking up at him.
“Go away,” he whispered.
It didn’t move. With a sigh Louis went back to looking for a stamp. Finally he gave up and rose, going to the window.
The snow was heaped high in the front yard of Joe’s cabin. This morning she had gone out and shoveled a path to her police SUV and the mailbox out by the road, but it was still coming down. It was probably worse over on the island.
Louis reached into his pocket and pulled out the get-well card that had come in the morning’s mail. It was from Chief Flowers, though Louis was sure Carol had had something to do with it. He suspected the chief didn’t even know she had included a short letter. In it she thanked him for saving her husband’s life and told him that they were working on trying to get back together.
Louis pushed his glasses up his nose and read the rest.
Jack’s changed. We both have. I guess that’s what getting older does to you, makes you look at things different. Jack says you and your lady manage a long-distance relationship. Maybe we can do it, too. We want to try at least.
Louis took off his glasses and slipped them into his shirt pocket along with the card. The second time Flowers had visited him in the hospital he hadn’t mentioned anything about reconciling with Carol. But he had said that he wanted to stay on as the island’s police chief. It was where he belonged, he said. Besides, he had made a promise to Danny Dancer.
Dancer was now in a hospital in Escanaba, thanks to a plea agreement initiated by Flowers. With some time and medication there was a good chance Dancer might return to his cabin, and Flowers had promised him that it—and all his animal skulls—would be there when he got back.
The cottage was filling up with the smell of coffee. And bacon frying. Omelets for lunch again. It was the only thing Joe could make with any reliability.
The phone rang in the kitchen, and he heard Joe answer. A moment later, she came into the living room.
“It’s for you,” she said.
“Who is it?”
“Mark Steele.”
Louis just stood there, his brain tumbling with questions. Rafsky, he thought, Rafsky had set this up.
“You going to take it?” Joe asked softly.
Louis went into the kitchen and picked up the receiver from the counter.
“This is Kincaid.”
Joe was standing in the kitchen doorway, watching him. He kept his eyes on her face as he listened to Mark Steele. He said little, offering an occasional yes or no. Finally he hung up.
“What did he want?” Joe asked.
“He said he’s taking the red flag off my file,” Louis said. “I’m free to work in Michigan if someone makes me an offer.”
Joe raised an eyebrow.
“Rafsky must have talked to him,” Louis said.
Joe hesitated. “Do you want to work here again?”
Louis held her eyes for a moment, then went to the coffeemaker on the counter. He poured himself a cup and spent a long time stirring in three packs of sugar. He couldn’t get his fingers through the mug handle, so he gripped it with both hands.
“Louis?”
He turned to the window over the sink and looked out. The snow was deep and wide. Nothing but a clean white canvas stretching as far as he could see.
“Louis,” Joe said. “Don’t you have anything to say?”
P. J. PARRISH is actually two sisters—Kristy Montee and Kelly Nichols—who pooled their writing talents to create the character of South Florida detective Louis Kincaid, featured in their New York Times and USA Today bestsellers The Little Death, South of Hell (nominated for a 2009 Anthony Award for Best Novel), A Thousand Bones, An Unquiet Grave (winner of the Shamus Award and the International Thriller Writers Award), A Killing Rain, Island of Bones, Thicker Than Water, Paint It Black, Dead of Winter, and Dark of the Moon. They are also the authors of a critically acclaimed stand-alone thriller, The Killing Song.
They contributed to the collaborative audio serial novellas The Chopin Manuscript and The Copper Bracelet, a project spearheaded by Jeffery Deaver and the International Thriller Writers. The novellas have been anthologized in a paperback edition, Watchlist, available now.
The sisters were born and raised in Detroit, Michigan. Kristy graduated from Eastern Michigan University and worked as a journalist for twenty-five years as a police reporter, editor, and dance critic. She lives in Fort Lauderdale with her husband and two dogs, Phoebe and Bailey. Kelly attended Northern Michigan University, and worked in the gaming industry for twenty years as a blackjack dealer, bartender, and human resources specialist at a Native-American casino. She has two daughters, a son, and four grandchildren, and she lives in a cabin in Elk Rapids, Michigan, with her dog, Pearl.
For more information, visit www.pjparrish.com.
http://authors.simonandschuster.com/P-J-Parrish/
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Also by P. J. Parrish
The Killing Song*
The Little Death*
South of Hell*
A Thousand Bones*
An Unquiet Grave
A Killing Rain
Island of Bones
Thicker Than Water
Paint It Black
Dead of Winter
Dark of the Moon