Dead of Winter lk-2

by P J Parrish

  Louis could feel Cole’s breath on his face and could see something in the kid’s eyes. The kid knew where Lacey was. He knew, damn it.

  “You gonna hit me?” Cole said, trying to smile.

  Louis grabbed Cole’s chin. “Look, you little prick. You like it here? You like this place? Five years is a long time. How’d you like to make it two?”

  “What?” Cole croaked.

  “You tell us where your old man is and you walk out of here on your eighteenth birthday.”

  Cole’s eyes flicked form Louis to Jesse and back to Louis. Louis could almost see the wheels turning in the kid’s brain. Cole pulled his face away, rubbing his chin.

  Louis took a step back, folding his arms over his chest. “Offer expires in ten seconds,” he said. He had no authority to make such a deal but Cole didn’t know that.

  “Why should I tell you anything?” Cole said.

  “Five seconds.”

  “I ain’t giving you my old man.”

  “You’re stupid, Cole,” Louis said.

  A slow grin came over Cole’s face. “Yeah? Who’s stupid, man? You had him and let him go.”

  Louis lunged, grabbing Cole’s shirt. He jerked him from the chair, shoved him backward and slammed him against the wall. Cole threw up his hands, a mixture of fear and anger glazing his eyes. “You fucking pig!” he squealed. “Get your hands off me!”

  Louis’s hand tightened around Cole’s throat. “Talk to me!”

  Cole glared, his nostrils flaring. “Fuck you!”

  Louis drew back a fist. His eyes flicked back to Jesse, who had moved forward, his face tight with shock. Louis looked back at Cole then at his hand, inches from Cole’s face.

  A tear had squeezed out of Cole’s eye. “Go ahead,” he whimpered. “I don’t care. I don’t fucking care.”

  Louis’s hand began to tremble. For a moment, no one moved. Then with a violent shove Louis sent Cole reeling back into the chair. It folded with a loud clang, sending Cole sprawling to the floor. Cole’s legs pedaled against the linoleum until he had pushed himself back against the wall. He had bitten his lip and a trickle of blood appeared at the corner of his mouth. He ignored it, wiping angrily at the tear on his cheek.

  Louis stared at the boy. Then slowly his eyes dropped to his hand, still curled into a fist. His heart was pounding and he suddenly felt very hot. He walked woodenly to the wall. He leaned heavily against it, wiping a hand over his brow.

  Jesus, what am I doing?

  Louis glanced at Jesse as if suddenly aware he was in the room. Jesse was rooted by the door, his face clouded with confusion and something else, something that Louis recognized, with a sick feeling, as approval.

  Louis moved to the door and banged on it. Haynes appeared, his eyes moving from Louis to Cole and back. “He give you trouble, officer?” he asked, his hand moving to his baton.

  Cole stood up slowly, his eyes flashing new confidence in the presence of Haynes. “Always my fucking fault, isn’t it, Haynes?” he said.

  “Watch your mouth, Lacey.”

  Haynes reached out and grabbed Cole by the neck of his shirt. “Let’s go,” he said, shoving him toward the door.

  At the door, Cole twisted to look back at Louis.

  “You are dead, man,” Cole said softly. His hard eyes took in Jesse. “You’re both dead motherfuckers.”

  They stepped out into the cold sleet, pausing to zip their jackets.

  “Give me the keys,” Jesse said.

  “No,” Louis said.

  “Give me the fucking keys.”

  Louis dug them out and almost threw them at Jesse. He walked briskly to the cruiser, jerked open the passenger door and got in. Jesse got in but made no move to start the car. Louis stared out at the windshield. Finally he looked over at Jesse.

  “You going to start this thing?”

  “Not until you tell me what that was all about.”

  “Just start the damn car.”

  Jesse rubbed the orange rabbit’s foot. “Look, Louis, I need to know. What the hell happened back there?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Don’t tell me ‘nothing.’ The man I saw in there is not the same man I know.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Jesse shrugged. “It’s just not you. I mean, it’s not bad but it’s just not you.”

  “Start the car, Jess.”

  Jesse sighed. “Gonna be a long ride home.”

  They pulled out of the lot and headed back to the interstate. Louis dropped his head back against the seat. He was glad Jesse had let it go. If he hadn’t he would have probably been forced to admit that he didn’t know what had happened in that room with Cole Lacey.

  He closed his eyes. Jesse was right. That wasn’t him back there. Or was it? He had felt something back there, something foreign and dark, something that had crawled up from deep inside him. Standing there over that stupid kid, giving him shit, making him shake, it had felt…good.

  “What we going to tell the chief about this?” Jesse asked, breaking into his thoughts.

  “Tell him whatever you want,” Louis said.

  He closed his eyes again, letting the hum of the tires take him back down into his thoughts. He could, he knew, rationalize his behavior. Cole knew where Lacey was and they had every right to get that information out of him. He could have made it really hard on the kid. But coerced testimony was illegal and wouldn’t hold up in court. And it was wrong.

  Jesse suggested they stop at the White Castle to pick up lunch but Louis said he wanted to go right back to the station. He wanted to get the report done on Cole. Jesse dropped him off and Louis went right to his desk, pulling a blank report from his drawer.

  He paused, pen over paper. What the hell did he write? Subject uncooperative and belligerent? Interrogation failed due to officer’s lack of control?

  “You get anything out of Cole?” Dale asked.

  “No. The kid’s cold as the damn lake,” Louis answered without looking up.

  After thirty minutes, he sat back and read what he had written. His usually straight handwriting had an unmistakable angry slant to it. He was always careful not to let his emotions color a report but this thing with Cole had pushed him into a different state of mind.

  Louis crumpled the report and tossed it in the trash. No way would Gibralter accept this. He liked his reports ice cold, just like his own damn blood.

  The door opened and Jesse came in. He walked to Louis and dropped a greasy White Castle bag on the desk.

  “I brought you some anyway. No pickles, no onions.”

  Louis mumbled a thank-you. A second later, a door banged against the wall and Louis looked up to see Gibralter emerge from his office, wearing his parka. Louis’s eyes followed Gibralter as he went to Dale and held out a paper.

  “New assignments. Post it. I’m going home,” Gibralter said.

  Louis bent back over the report. The smell of the hamburgers in the bag at his elbow was making him feel sick and he pushed it away.

  He felt someone standing behind him and looked up. Jesse was holding a piece of paper, a pained looked on his face.

  “Now what?” Louis asked.

  “He’s splitting us up,” Jesse said.

  Louis took the paper from Jesse and stared at the new schedule in disbelief. Shit, he was going on swing shift with Ollie.

  CHAPTER 25

  One drink before he went in. The bottle was cold in his hand but the Jack Daniel’s was hot on his tongue. Jesse twisted the cap back on, set the bottle on the seat of the Bronco and stared at the front door to the chief’s house.

  A light went on in the living room. Jesse drew in a deep breath and popped open the car door, knowing that his courage was fading faster than the dying daylight. He had to do it. He had to talk to the man, find out what was going on. Why had the chief split him and Louis up?

  His shoes scrunched on the hardened snow as he moved up the walk. He rang the bell and heard the chimes echo through the house. Th
e door opened, silhouetting the chief’s wife, Jean, in a golden light. She frowned slightly then seemed to recognize him and switched on the porch light.

  “Jess. What are you doing here?”

  “I need to talk to the chief. He here?”

  “Of course. Come in.”

  She stood aside, holding the storm door. Jesse stepped inside, stomping his boots on the throw rug near the door. He glanced at the white carpet and stomped again.

  “You haven’t been over in a long time, Jess,” Jean said, taking his coat and hanging it on the hall coat tree.

  “I know. I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

  “Of course not,” she said with a smile.

  She walked away and Jesse let out a small breath of relief. The woman had always made him nervous but he didn’t know why. Maybe it was just because he had never gotten the chance to get to know her. But how could he? As close as he was to the chief, they never socialized and the chief never talked about his personal life.

  Jesse waited in the foyer while Jean Gibralter went to the den to get her husband. He tried to remember the last time he had seen her at any police function. She never went to anything. But then, neither did Julie anymore; she said she hated standing around while the men talked shop.

  A door opened and Gibralter emerged. He came over to Jesse.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “Nothing’s wrong. I…” Jesse looked at Jean, who had curled into a chair near the fireplace with a book on her lap. “I just wanted to talk to you.”

  “About what?”

  “It’s kind of personal,” Jesse said quietly.

  Gibralter motioned for Jesse to follow him into the den. Gibralter closed the door then went to the bar to turn down the scanner.

  “Beer?” he asked, opening a small refrigerator.

  Jesse didn’t want one but he accepted the can of Budweiser Gibralter pressed into his hand. Gibralter moved to a stool at the bar where he had spread out his reloading gear.

  “What’s the problem?” Gibralter asked, hoisting a hip onto a bar stool.

  “I want to know why you split Louis and me up,” Jesse said.

  “I don’t need to explain my actions to you, Jess.” Gibralter picked up a shell casing and carefully poured powder into it.

  “I know. But Louis is my partner.”

  “We don’t have partners in this department, you know that.”

  Jesse came forward and set the beer on the bar. “I know that, too. But you doubled us up — ”

  “That was temporary.”

  “Well, maybe it shouldn’t be.”

  Gibralter leveled his eyes at Jesse.

  “I mean, I like riding with someone,” Jesse said. “I’ve learned shit from Louis. He’s — ”

  “Your friend?” Gibralter said.

  Jesse hesitated. “Well, yeah, I guess he is.”

  Gibralter turned back to his shell loading.

  Jesse stared at Gibralter’s broad back then moved around near the bar so he could see Gibralter’s profile. “Is something wrong with that?”

  Gibralter didn’t look up. “In this job, there must be a blind faith and unbreakable trust, or we can’t function.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Kincaid is a lone wolf. He is a cop without loyalty, without purpose.”

  Jesse shook his head slowly. “I think you’re wrong, Chief. Louis has purpose. His purpose is…well, it’s the law.”

  Gibralter picked up another gold shell casing. “Trust me, Jess.”

  Jesse fell silent, frustrated. Finally, after a moment, he added, “Chief, I need to say something here.”

  “Don’t.”

  “Damn it, I’m going to.” He hesitated then spoke quickly. “It isn’t all Louis’s fault that Lacey was cut loose. If I had told him about the raid then maybe he would’ve made a better call.”

  “It’s more than that.”

  “What? That thing in Mississippi? I don’t — ”

  “It’s more than that too.”

  Gibralter held the newly made bullet between his thumb and forefinger, moving it so it caught the light.

  “See this?” he said softly. “This can take a life or it can save a life. We decide.”

  Jesse waited. He knew there was no point of doing otherwise when the chief was in this kind of mood.

  Gibralter finally looked over at him. “We enforce the law, right? But what is the law?”

  Jesse wondered if Gibralter expected an answer this time. He was relieved when Gibralter put aside the finished bullet and picked up another empty casing.

  “What is the law?” Gibralter repeated. “A bunch of statutes in a courthouse somewhere? A set of old leather books in a lawyer’s office? Nine old men in black robes?” Gibralter shook his head. “People want to see the law as this beautiful clean-running stream. But it’s not like that. It can’t be because there is always someone kicking up the bottom or throwing in shit.”

  Jesse stared at him, uncomprehending.

  “That’s what Kincaid does,” Gibralter said.

  Jesse moved to a chair and sat down.

  “I don’t think he can be trusted.” Gibralter said. “You can trust me. You know that, don’t you, Jess?”

  “Sure,” Jesse bowed his head, running a hand through his hair. When he looked up Gibralter was watching him.

  “You remember that New Year’s Eve you showed up at my house at three a.m. shit-faced?” Gibralter said.

  Jesse nodded slowly.

  Gibralter took a swig of beer. “You were seventeen. You ran away from the halfway house and you showed up on my doorstep, half frozen and drunk from that Boone’s Farm shit you stole from the party store.”

  Jesse nodded again, his gaze going to the floor.

  “You sat on Jeannie’s new white sofa, dripping on her new carpet. You were trying so damn hard to look tough. You said your girlfriend dumped you. What was her name?”

  “Dee Dee,” Jesse whispered.

  “You said you had called your father.” Gibralter paused. “You remember what he told you? He told you that your running away was the best thing that ever happened to your family. He told you not to call back. You remember that, Jess?”

  Jesse said nothing.

  Gibralter came over to stand at his side. “You asked me for a glass of water. I went into the kitchen and you picked up my service revolver off the bar.”

  “You saw that?”

  Gibralter nodded. “I knew what you were thinking of doing.”

  “You would have let me do it?”

  Gibralter put a hand on Jesse’s shoulder, cupping the knotty muscle. “Jess, the gun was empty.”

  “Jesus,” Jesse breathed, looking away. He rose, going to the window.

  “But I knew you wouldn’t do it,” Gibralter said. “You didn’t let me down then and you never have since. And I know you never will.”

  “I still don’t get it,” Jesse said after a moment.

  “Get what?”

  He turned to look at Gibralter. “Why’d you split us up?”

  Gibralter’s eyes softened. “Sit down, Jess. I’ll tell you,” he said.

  CHAPTER 26

  The blackness stretched before them, a tunnel of trees, asphalt and night sky. The snow, caught in a glare of the cruiser’s headlights, rushed toward them out of the dark void.

  “Looks kind of like the Enterprise at warp speed,” Ollie said.

  Louis didn’t reply. He sat back in the passenger seat, adjusting his body to get the gun butt out of his ribs. He was tired, beyond tired and moving fast toward exhaustion. All his life he had been a light sleeper and had learned to function on five hours of fitful sleep. But the churning wake of the week’s events had left him storm tossed, with the burning eyes, heavy limbs and dulled brain of a drowning man. And now he was riding night shift.

  Louis closed his eyes and leaned his temple against the cold window. He wasn’t going to make it through the shift awake.
New Year’s Eve. The drunks would be out in force soon.

  “You haven’t said a word for two hours, Kincaid,” Ollie said.

  Reluctantly, Louis opened his eyes and looked over. Ollie Wickshaw was tall and thin, all angles, elbows and eggshell skin. He had a weird mechanical way of moving, as though he were built from Erector set parts. Louis had watched him earlier that night as he got into the cruiser, folding his body down into the seat like one of those old-fashioned wooden carpenter rulers.

  Louis focused on Ollie’s hands gripping the wheel. His fingers had the pale brown tint of a chain smoker. Ollie reached up on the dash for his pack of Kools and with a few snaps of movement had the cigarette lit and in his mouth.

  “They say I’m the man of few words around here,” Ollie said.

  Louis cracked the window. “It’s not personal.”

  “I know.”

  They rode another mile and Louis looked at his watch. It was almost 1 a.m. and he hadn’t eaten. They hadn’t had a call in an hour.

  “Is there someplace open to get something to eat?” Louis asked.

  “On New Year’s? Jo-Jo’s about it.” Ollie pushed a brown bag toward Louis on the seat. “You can share my dinner. Got some carrots and celery sticks in there and a soy burger. You ever tried soy?”

  Louis sank deeper into the seat. “No.”

  “Tastes just like hamburger but you have to know how to work it, you know, seasonings. Cumin is good. And there’s this Cajun spice stuff I get over at Grayling. I buy it by the case. I’m a vegetarian. Gave up meat eight years ago. The other guys think I’m a little strange but meat’s bad for the arteries. You ever seen a picture of an artery coated with plaque?”

  “Nope,” Louis said. “You ever seen a picture of a smoker’s lungs?”

  Ollie glanced at him, blinked twice, and looked back out at the road.

  Louis sighed, resting his head back against the seat. Wickshaw didn’t deserve this. It wasn’t his fault Gibralter was such a prick. He had just decided to apologize when Ollie spoke.

  “You have to know him.”

  “Who?” Louis asked.