by P J Parrish
A girl, for crissakes, a girl who should have been going to a prom, but was holed up in a cabin with a gun shooting at cops.
Louis looked at the clock. It was eight, straight up. He redialed the Department of Corrections. For a second, he hoped no one would answer.
“Department of Corrections, Ms. Meyers speaking.”
Louis explained what he needed.
“It’ll take me a few minutes, officer,” she said, “the computer this morning is — ”
“No,” Louis interrupted. “No computer. I need you to pull the hard copy.”
“Well, that’s not really necessary — ”
“Yes, it is,” Louis said. “It is very important that I verify this information. Please.”
The woman sighed. “This will take a while. Why don’t you give me your — ”
“I’ll hold.”
While he waited, Louis sifted through the other reports. First Jesse’s, then Ollie’s, then Lovejoy’s, but they offered no new information. He went back to the photos.
The first dozen were routine crime-scene photos. Bloodstained snow, broken windows, tear gas canisters and Pryce’s patrol car. There were two photos of Johnny Lacey. One was a mug shot showing him as a handsome kid with chopped blond hair and an arrogant smirk. The second was a close-up of him after he had been shot. The entire left cheekbone area of his face was gone, leaving a gaping dark hole.
“Officer Kincaid? Are you still there?”
“Yes, I am,” Louis said, shifting the phone.
“The file says this man was released November 10, 1984, on the governor’s early release program.”
“November? Are you sure?” Louis asked.
“That’s what I said.”
Louis hung up and for several seconds couldn’t move. November 10, not December 10. Double-check. Double-check. How could he have been so careless? How could his instincts have been that bad? He had fucked up. But so had they, all of them, every man in the damn department who knew about the raid and didn’t talk about it.
“Louis, you okay?” Dale asked.
“Why didn’t someone tell me about this case?” Louis asked tightly.
Dale hesitated, seeming to measure his thoughts carefully. “It was a bad time around here,” he said quietly. “Jesse took it really bad.”
Louis wasn’t listening. His anger wouldn’t let him. He glanced at his watch. Jesse and the chief were both due in soon.
“I was here when Jesse came back in after,” Dale said. “He still had…he had blood in his hair, you know? He was in bad shape. He wouldn’t talk about it.”
Louis shook his head in disgust. He was tired of everyone making excuses for Jesse. Jesse had withheld information about the raid because he couldn’t bring himself to talk about it?
“Louis,” Dale said, “it doesn’t matter. I mean, this Lacey guy was still — ”
“Dale,” Louis said sharply, “Lacey was out in November. He was an early release. The printout had a typo. A fucking typo.”
For several seconds Dale just stared at him. Then he turned and walked slowly back to his desk. The silence was broken by the squeak of Dale’s chair. Louis looked over at him. Dale was pale, his eyes locked on Pryce’s and Lovejoy’s photographs hanging on the wall.
Louis closed the file. “Dale, make me a copy of this, will you?”
Dale nodded slowly, taking the file.
Gibralter’s voice broke the silence as it came over the radio. “Loon-1 to Central,” Gibralter said, “I’m going to be 10-6 for a while. Hold the briefing until I arrive.”
Dale didn’t move.
“Dale,” Louis called out. “The radio.”
Dale grabbed the mike and acknowledged.
“Tell him I need to talk to him, that it’s important,” Louis said.
Dale nodded and relayed the message. Louis heard Gibralter come back that he’d see him after briefing.
“No,” Louis said sharply. “Tell him it can’t wait.”
CHAPTER 19
Louis glanced again at his watch. Eight-twenty. Where the hell was Gibralter? The man was never late for briefing.
Louis’s eyes went to Jesse, sitting across the room. He felt a new spurt of anger but forced it back. When Jesse had come in, he had wanted to confront him right there with the raid file, throw the damn thing in his face. But he knew he had to keep a calm head right now when he talked to Gibralter.
A blast of cold air filled the room. Louis turned to see Gibralter come in. He quickly turned away to avoid eye contact.
“Kincaid, in my office,” Gibralter said, handing his parka to Dale.
Jesse looked up questioningly. Louis didn’t look at him as he passed.
“Shut the door.”
Louis closed the door and turned to face Gibralter.
“Now what was so damn important?” Gibralter demanded.
“We picked up a suspect yesterday,” Louis began.
“Duane Lacey,” Gibralter said.
Louis nodded. “He looked good but his sheet said he was in prison until December 10. So I cut him loose.”
“And?” Gibralter said.
“The release date was wrong. It was a typo,” Louis said. “I called the DOC this morning. Lacey was released November 10.”
Gibralter didn’t move, not a muscle, not an eyebrow, nothing. From outside came the sounds of the other day-shift men waiting for briefing. Louis realized he was holding his breath and let it out. The red carpet beneath his feet seemed to be moving, undulating.
Gibralter turned away, going to the window.
“Why didn’t you tell me about his dead kids?” Louis asked.
“Lacey wasn’t a suspect. He was in prison.”
“You should have checked,” Louis said.
Gibralter turned to face him. “We did, Kincaid. I assigned it to Jesse.”
Louis’s gaze dropped to the carpet again. Jesse had relied on the written record instead of calling, just like he had.
“Jesse fucked up,” Gibralter said. “But that doesn’t make what you did any less stupid. You had a description of the truck and you had Lacey in custody. You should have held him.”
“On what?” Louis shot back.
“Anything,” Gibralter said, raising his voice. “You had him, Kincaid, and you shouldn’t have let him go.”
Louis bit back the angry words forming in his head. Lacey was on the loose to kill again. He himself was willing to take some of the blame but he wasn’t going to let Gibralter crucify him alone.
“Am I dismissed, sir?” he asked, the last word taking on an edge.
“Yes. But before you show your face at briefing I want an APB put out.”
Louis nodded, turned and left. The outer office was deserted, the other men waiting in the briefing room. Louis went quickly to the dispatch desk.
“Flo, put this out, ASAP, please,” Louis said.
She took the paper and read it, her eyes widening. Louis could hear her soft voice going out over the airwaves as he headed to the briefing room.
He paused outside the door to take a calming breath then went in. Gibralter was standing in his usual place behind the lectern. Five officers sat in folding chairs, including Dale. There were no other chairs, so Louis stood at the back of the room. Gibralter was staring at him. Suddenly, he knew what was going to happen. He was going to get lectured, right in front of everyone.
“Stay where you are, and introduce yourself, officer.”
Louis forced himself to look at Gibralter. He focused on a small white mark on his jaw, the white smudge of a styptic pencil.
“Let me help you,” Gibralter said, moving around in front of the lectern. “My name is Kincaid and I am a bleeding heart pussy who feels sorry for cop killers and I have no concept of what it means to wear a badge like the rest of these fine men.”
Louis felt his body go tight. The room was dead silent and the five faces became a blur.
“Explain to your fellow officers why you let a cop kil
ler go.”
Louis kept his eyes on Gibralter. “The computer report said Lacey was still in prison. We didn’t — ”
Gibralter cut in sharply. “Take responsibility for your own actions, officer. There is no we in this scenario.”
Louis glanced at Jesse but he wouldn’t look at him. “I had no reason to hold him,” Louis said.
Gibralter picked something up off the lectern and held it up to the room. It was a photograph of Thomas Pryce, spread-eagled on his staircase, his pajamas covered with his blood.
“Is this not a good enough reason, officer?”
Louis felt his face grow hot.
“What about this?” Gibralter asked, holding up another photograph. It was a close-up of Lovejoy’s face, his eyes open, his hair forming a halo of icicle spikes around his face.
“I made a mistake,” Louis said stiffly. “But I put out the APB, we can still find him — ”
“He’s gone!” Gibralter yelled. “He’s fucking gone! Do you think he’s as stupid as you are?”
The room was silent. Gibralter came forward, pausing inches in front of Louis. He reached up suddenly and pulled off Louis’s tie, ripping the collar open. Louis stumbled back then steadied himself, glaring at Gibralter.
Fired. He was being fired. A flash of shame came over him, followed by a wave of relief. Gibralter reached for his shirt again and Louis tightened, expecting Gibralter to rip his badge off his pocket. Gibralter stuffed the two photographs down Louis’s shirt.
Louis went rigid, his jaw clenching in anger.
“Tell them,” Gibralter said softly. “Tell these men how sorry you are.”
Louis kept his eyes locked on Gibralter’s face.
“Tell them!” Gibralter shouted.
Louis pulled the photographs from his shirt and looked at the other men. He saw Cornwall and Evans, their faces charged with contempt. His eyes settled on Jesse, who was staring at his shoes.
“I am sorry,” Louis said.
A phone rang out in the office. Someone coughed. Louis could not stand it any longer and dropped his gaze to the floor.
“All right, listen to me,” Gibralter said, going back to the lectern. “Here is where we are going to begin.”
When Louis looked up he saw that Gibralter had gone to a map that had been put up on the bulletin board. Louis stared at the map. It was nothing but a patchwork of colors and he struggled to bring it into focus, struggled to bring himself back into focus.
He took slow, careful breaths, trying to quell his anger. He wasn’t going to let Gibralter win, not this way. He wasn’t going to let Gibralter humiliate him, blame him, and then drive him out. He would stay until Lacey was caught.
Gibralter was giving assignments for a search and Louis concentrated on the map on the wall. The county was a large square with a grand total of five towns big enough to merit dots. About a third of the county was given over to the Huron National Forest. The rest was sheer wilderness. Thousands of square miles to hide in.
Louis shook his head. Nine men…they would never find Lacey. They would need help from the state police. Why wasn’t Gibralter talking about that?
Finally, Gibralter dismissed the men. They filed past Louis, no one making eye contact. Louis waited. He knew this wasn’t over. Gibralter leaned on the lectern, his eyes locked on Louis. He drew a cigarette out of his pack of Camels and slipped it between his lips. Slowly, he lit the cigarette. It sizzled in the quiet room.
“What do you think I should do with you?” Gibralter said.
“Suspension would be in order,” Louis said.
“No.”
“Am I fired?”
“No.”
“Then what will by my exact assignment during the search?”
“You think I’m going to put you out there with the rest of the men?”
Louis decided not to answer.
“First of all, you don’t deserve to be with them,” Gibralter said, pointing the cigarette. “And second, the way they feel about you right now I wouldn’t put it past someone to take a shot at you.”
Louis felt the knot of anger reforming in his gut.
Gibralter straightened off the lectern and went to the map, his back to Louis. “Right now, if we’re going to find this motherfucker Lacey, I need every man I have. If I didn’t need you, you’d be gone. You understand?”
I understand that we need outside help, damn it, Louis thought.
“But I don’t want you around here right now, Kincaid,” Gibralter said, turning to him. “I don’t want to see your face. You’re going to Dollar Bay.”
“Excuse me?”
“Lacey lives in Dollar Bay. I want you up there to find out anything you can. Take the Bronco unit number three. The keys are in the box. Pack what you have in your locker, get a few personal things from home and get the hell out of here.” Gibralter turned away. “Dismissed.”
Louis stared at Gibralter’s back. He was being exiled. Lacey wasn’t going back to the U.P. now. He was still here, hiding and waiting until he could kill the rest of the men who had been at the raid that night. Lacey was here. And Louis was not going to be allowed in on the real work of finding him.
Louis left the briefing room, closing the door. The outer office was deserted, except for Florence, who gave him a quick look of sympathy then averted her eyes.
He went quickly to his desk, threw some things into a large manila envelope and headed to the locker room. It was empty and as he approached his locker, he slowed. The locker was ajar. He never locked it; no one here did.
He opened it slowly. Hanging from the hook was a used Kotex sanitary napkin with a note that had one word: Pussy.
CHAPTER 20
There was too much empty road and too much time to think on the way to Dollar Bay.
About Pryce, Lovejoy and Lacey. About watches that ran in cold water, serial numbers on meaningless guns. About dead teenage girls and Jesse’s hair-trigger temper. About Gibralter. About Zoe. About himself.
Keeping his left hand on the wheel, Louis used his thumb of his bandaged right hand to ease the lid off the Styrofoam cup. He took a sip of the hot coffee and carefully set it back in the cup holder. His stomach was sending up groans of hunger, despite the greasy 7-Eleven muffin he had already downed. He glanced at his watch. Back at the 7-Eleven he had called Dollar Bay and was told Sheriff Bjork would meet him at twelve-thirty at a local tavern. He was running late and he pressed the gas pedal, easing up over the speed limit. No matter. The road was empty. It pretty much had been that way since he crossed the Mackinac Bridge about an hour back.
The stunning scenery flew by but he didn’t really notice it. It occurred to him that he was becoming immune to the vistas of pristine snow with their black-green frames of pine forest. He no longer saw the beauty in it, no longer found anything of charm in the stark serenity of the Michigan wilderness. Now, it all looked just…lonely. So incredibly, terribly lonely.
He passed through a tiny town, some speck called Little Bear, and didn’t slow down. It was like the countless others he had seen as he made his way north up the peninsula. Not a human being in sight. He pressed on.
A half hour later, he came to a sign announcing the city of Houghton. He glanced down at the map open on the passenger seat. Dollar Bay was just beyond.
He had half expected Houghton to be like some Siberian tin-shack outpost but it turned out to be a pretty town, handsome red brick buildings built on snowy bluffs overlooking the river below. The streets were freshly plowed, lined with towering drifts. As he drove along the river, he passed the modern buildings of Michigan Tech. On the other side of the river, he could see the colorful parkas of skiers racing down a steep hill. The town had the cozy bustle of any college town and it reminded him a little of an arctic version of Ann Arbor.
He headed the Bronco to the center of town, slowing to look for King’s Tavern, where Bjork said he would meet him for lunch. He would have preferred to conduct business at the sheriff’s department but
he knew how these small-town sheriffs could be. Long on down-home wisdom but short on the kind of technical know-how that solved murder cases.
King’s Tavern was a small log building set down between an antique shop and a bookstore. Louis parked, fed a couple quarters into the meter and went in.
It took him a few minutes to adjust to the dim light within, but he soon picked out the requisite mahogany bar, jukebox, pool table and booths. It looked like Jo-Jo’s, but cleaner with a pleasing hickory smell coming from a black potbellied stove. His nose also picked up a delicious meaty smell.
His eyes swept the flannel-clad patrons. Great, so where was Dudley Do-Right already?
“Kincaid?”
Louis turned at the sound of the soft voice. A woman’s face poked out from the last booth. She was wearing a brown shirt. Louis stared. There was a badge pinned to it.
“Over here.” She waved him over.
He went slowly to the booth, taking off his hat. She stuck out her hand.
“Sheriff Bjork,” she said.
He stared at her.
“Sit down, please,” she said.
Louis slid across from her. She was about forty, with a strong square-jawed, sun-freckled face. Lines fanned out from her lively blue eyes, framed by sprigs of red hair that sprouted from her heavy braid. Christ, a woman sheriff. Louis could almost feel the gears shifting as his brain tried to digest this.
A small smile played on her lips. She was enjoying his confusion and wasn’t going to give him an easy entree into conversation by apologizing for her gender.
“I hope you don’t mind but I went ahead and ordered for us,” she said.
“That’s fine,” Louis said.
“What’ll ya have to drink?”
“Ah, Dr Pepper, if they’ve got it.”
“Dave!” Sheriff Bjork yelled out.
“Yeah, Liddie?”
“You got Dr Pepper back there?”
“Got Coke, Vernors, Faygo Rock and Rye. That’s it for pop.”
