Dead of Winter lk-2

by P J Parrish

  Louis turned quickly. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me sooner?” he demanded.

  “I just found out,” Jesse said slowly.

  “How?”

  “He told me. The other night, before Ollie was killed. I went over to his house to talk to him about splitting us up and he told me.”

  Louis started to say something then just shook his head. He turned away again, unable to face Jesse. The only sound in the cabin was the dripping of the kitchen faucet and Louis’s breathing.

  “I couldn’t believe it,” Jesse said softly. “I mean, I always thought she was strange but when he told me about her cabin and all the weird shit — ”

  “How long?” Louis demanded.

  “What?”

  “How long has he known?”

  Jesse looked uncomfortable. “About a week. He told me he suspected something and went to her cabin one morning to talk to her. That morning he was late for briefing?”

  Louis was staring at him vacantly, as though he wasn’t really hearing Jesse’s voice.

  “He said he saw a drawing of you, something she did,” Jesse said quietly. “That’s when he knew.”

  Louis hung his head.

  Jesse glanced at the fireplace then back at Louis. “It’s not like it’s all your fault,” he said. “I mean, she lied to you, man.”

  Louis couldn’t move. The anger was building fast and it was taking every ounce of strength he had to keep from hitting something.

  “Louis, the woman is strange,” Jesse went on. “From what the chief told me it’s like she’s leading two lives, like she got some multiple personality dis — ”

  “Shut up!”

  “Sorry.”

  Again, silence. Finally Louis turned to face him. “Why are you telling me this?”

  Jesse didn’t answer.

  “I thought he was your friend, your great fucking mentor or something. Why are you telling me?”

  “I wasn’t going to,” Jesse said. “I mean, he is my friend and he is the chief. But he’s riding you because of this, not because of Lacey, and he wants you out.”

  “So why doesn’t he fire me?”

  “I asked him. He said he doesn’t want her to feel sorry for you. He said if he fires you, it’ll make you a martyr in her eyes.”

  Louis shook his head.

  It was quiet again. “Louis…”

  “Go home, Jess,” Louis said, not looking at him.

  “Look, I know — ”

  “Go home, please.”

  Jesse pulled on his parka and started toward the door. As he passed the counter, he touched Louis’s shoulder. Louis pulled away.

  Jesse left, closing the door softly behind him. Louis stood, head bowed, hands braced against the kitchen counter. Finally, he looked up, scanning the room for his coat. He scooped it off the chair and was out the door. It was dark but a waning moon bathed the lake in a spare gray light. He squinted, picking out a light on the far side of the lake. He got into the Mustang and started it.

  It took only fifteen minutes to reach her cabin. It was dark. He hurried up the steps, flung open the screen and pounded on the door. There was no sound from within. He pounded again. He saw a curtain move and looked to the small window. The black cat stared at him with calm wide eyes.

  “Zoe!” he yelled. “Zoe!”

  His voice caromed through the pines, her name echoing back to him, fading into the black silent night.

  “Zoe!” he shouted.

  Echo. Silence. The whisper of wind in the trees. He looked to the window. The black cat was gone.

  He stumbled back off the porch, his gaze moving up over the cabin. He stood staring at it for several seconds then turned and went back to the car.

  CHAPTER 29

  Ribbons of muted color against the brilliant cobalt sky.

  They had all come. The state troopers in their navy blues. The Oscoda County sheriff deputies in their chocolate browns. A neighboring town force in their cadet blues. Another in their ink blacks. A fourth in their seal browns. They stood, in a mute unmoving mass, around Ollie Wickshaw’s casket.

  The eight men of the Loon Lake Police Department were positioned in the front, dressed in dark blue, double-breasted overcoats and pristine white gloves. From his position as a pallbearer Louis watched them, struck by the contrast created by the extravagant coats and the pain-etched faces of the men. He thought back to earlier that morning. He had almost been late because he couldn’t bring himself to put on the uniform.

  His gaze traveled to the family sitting stiffly in the chairs in the front. Ollie’s wife stared at the flag-draped coffin in a dry-eyed trance. A daughter of about twenty sat on her left, weeping softly. An older son sat on his mother’s right, holding her hand, staring off into the distant trees.

  Louis’s eyes drifted over to Gibralter, standing stiffly nearby. Then he scanned the crowd, wondering if she had come. He didn’t see her and closed his eyes.

  The minister’s voice droned on. Louis tried to listen to what the man was saying, tried to use the placating words to block all thought. He concentrated on the voice until it was a soft drone in his head, a mantra of numbness.

  A gunshot pierced the quiet. He jumped.

  He braced himself for the second and third rounds of the traditional salute. Quiet again. He let out a ragged breath.

  He felt a nudge. Jesse was urging him to the casket. He took his place with the others and helped fold the flag into a tight triangle. He watched as Gibralter went to Ollie’s wife and handed her the flag. Gibralter hesitated then bent to kiss her cheek. He shook the son’s hand and stepped back in line.

  The warble of a bugle drifted on the cold breeze. Louis caught Jesse’s eye. Jesse looked terrible, eyes red rimmed from sleeplessness, skin ashen with tension. Louis looked at the ground as he fought back the tightness in his throat.

  When the last note died he looked up. Ollie’s son rose and went to a small wooden box positioned just outside the canopy. He opened a latch of the cote and there was a flurry of movement. Ollie’s prized homing pigeons circled upward. They dipped west and disappeared.

  Slowly, people began to move away. Ollie’s wife and children lingered, talking to friends. Louis stood rigidly, gazing blankly at the crowd.

  “She never comes,” Jesse said softly.

  Louis looked at him.

  “Jean. She never comes to funerals. Her father — ”

  “I know.”

  “Come on,” Jesse said, tugging his sleeve. “Let’s go.”

  The Loon Lake officers were walking off to a nearby tree where Gibralter was waiting. He and Jesse joined them. For a moment the men just stood in silence. Finally Gibralter cleared his throat.

  “This is the third time we have gathered to bury one of our own, the third time we have said good-bye to a friend,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “Let us now ask that we do not have to gather here again.” Gibralter bowed his head and the others took their cue.

  Louis closed his eyes, feeling the wind on his neck.

  Gibralter’s voice broke the silence. “’the glories of our blood and state are shadows, not substantial things. There is no armor against fate. Death lays his ice hand on kings.’”

  The men began drifting away, parting to allow Louis a view of the cemetery. He glanced at Jesse at his side. “You ready?”

  “Yeah, let’s get out of here,” Jesse said softly.

  “Kincaid,” Gibralter said.

  Louis turned.

  “When can I expect you back at work?” Gibralter asked.

  “I don’t know,” Louis said. “The shrink hasn’t said.”

  “Let’s see if we can step it up some. We need you on the street.”

  Louis looked hard at him. You didn’t need me New Year’s Eve, you son of a bitch. He looked away. The hell with it.

  Jesse touched his sleeve and gave a nod toward the cruiser. They started toward the cluster of cars.

  “Chief Gibralter!”

  The vo
ice sliced through the air. Louis turned.

  “I’ll be damned,” Jesse whispered. “It’s Mark Steele.”

  A tall man was walking boldly across the snow, his black overcoat flapping in the wind, two similarly dressed men following behind. The man’s hair was as black as his coat, his face whipped pink from wind. A gray cashmere scarf hung around his neck, and a speck of red, a tie, was visible between the lapels of his coat.

  “It’s about fucking time,” Louis muttered. He went to a nearby tree, positioning himself within earshot.

  Jesse sidled up to him. “Louis, let’s go,” he said.

  “No, I want to hear this.”

  Gibralter had turned toward Steele and was lighting a cigarette, his hands cupped over the match. Mark Steele stopped a foot before Gibralter, the flunkies lurking in the background.

  “Steele,” Gibralter acknowledged curtly. He flung the match to the snow and blew a stream of smoke into the cold air. “Nice of you to show up for my officer’s funeral.”

  “I’m sure he was a good man,” Steele said.

  “But that’s not why you came, is it?”

  “No.”

  Gibralter took a drag on the Camel. “I don’t need you.”

  “It’s not a matter of what you need anymore,” Steele said. “I’m taking this over.”

  “I’m not going to let you do that,” Gibralter said.

  “You have no choice.” Steele paused, leaning closer. “How many more are you going to bury?”

  “This is our problem.”

  “Not anymore.”

  Gibralter stared at Steele. Then he tossed his cigarette to the snow, turned sharply on his heel and walked away. He brushed past Louis without looking at him.

  “Jesse, come on,” Gibralter said brusquely.

  Jesse shot Louis a look and followed Gibralter up over a slope toward the cruisers. Louis looked back to see Steele heading to an unmarked black sedan. The two flunkies hurried to open the door.

  The cemetery was emptying fast, the cruisers and cars pulling away in a slow line. Louis spotted Jesse and Gibralter standing near the hood of Jesse’s cruiser. They were talking heatedly, Jesse shaking his head. Finally, Jesse hung his head and Gibralter slipped an arm around his shoulders.

  It was clear that Jesse was falling apart, and what was that son of a bitch going to do to help him? Probably laying another of his fucking loyalty guilt trips on him.

  Louis looked back to the gravesite. Ollie’s black coffin glistening in the sunlight. Two cemetery workers hovered nearby, impatiently waiting to finish their task.

  Shivering, Louis stuck his hands in the pockets of his overcoat. His right hand closed over something hard and cold, and he pulled it out. It was the snowflake obsidian Ollie had given him on Christmas Eve. On impulse, Louis had slipped the thing in his pocket as he went out the door that morning.

  Louis looked at the small black stone for a moment, turning it over between his fingers. With a last look back at the coffin, he started up the snowy slope to his car.

  CHAPTER 30

  The Mustang rounded the curve in the road, and Louis saw the sign: LOON LAKE-12 MILES. It had been a pain in the ass, but it was over. That quack Serbo had given him a full release to go back to work. The rational part of him knew it was too soon. He’d seen cops who came back only a few days after a traumatic incident and almost always they cracked. But he had to get back to work, if for nothing else than to get back some of his dignity.

  Fragments of the sessions with Serbo floated back as he drove.

  It has been the first time he had told a stranger about his real mother Lila. It had been the first time in years he had said the name of the father who had deserted him, Jordan Kincaid, and peeled back the thin layer of anger that covered his heart.

  It was also the first time he had told anyone he was afraid. He admitted to Serbo that his confidence was broken, his nerves shredded. And, at the end, he had talked of Gibralter.

  It hadn’t been easy. How could you tell a shrink you thought your boss was out to get you without sounding like a paranoid? How could you explain to a stranger you were involved with your boss’s wife without looking like a complete fuckup? And how could you admit you didn’t know how to fight back?

  Serbo had offered only one observation. “Maybe you should deal with your chief as you do this man Lacey,” he had said. “You have studied Lacey’s life, looking for his weakness. Maybe you need to do the same with your chief to level the playing field.”

  Louis shook his head. If Gibralter had any human frailty, he sure the hell wasn’t going to let anyone see it.

  Louis approached the station, slowing. The lot was filled with strange sedans and a shiny blue chopper sat like a giant insect on the courthouse lawn next door. Mark Steele had taken over, just as he had promised.

  Louis was forced to park near the supermarket and walk back to the station. Inside, it was crowded with strange men who with their bland faces and black wingtips looked like J.C. Penney catalog clones. One corner desk had been taken over as a command post, stocked with extra phones and heaped with files. The place even smelled different. No fire in the hearth, just the stink of cigarettes.

  Louis noticed Dale’s radio was not playing. There was also no sign of Dale. He went over to the dispatch desk.

  “Hey, Flo.”

  She looked up and smiled. “Oh, Louis, I’m so glad you’re back,” she said jumping up. “Let me get you a coffee.”

  “No, don’t bother. Listen, where’s Dale?”

  A frown creased on her face. “Out on patrol. Chief put him with Jess.”

  Louis shook his head. Dale had no business out on the street.

  “Things are not the same here, Louis,” Florence said softly.

  “I know,” he said. “Is the chief in?”

  “Yes, but he hasn’t come out of his office in the last hour. Want me to buzz him?”

  Louis nodded. Florence paged Gibralter on his intercom and his voice came back telling her to have Louis wait. Louis’s eyes drifted up to the wall and he saw that Ollie’s portrait had been hung next to Pryce’s and Lovejoy’s, all with black bands. Four days had passed since Ollie’s death. Jesse had told him that there had been no sign of Lacey.

  He felt a rush of cold air at his back and turned to see Steele come in. Steele went straight to the command desk, pulling off his black overcoat and handing it off to an aide. Rubbing his hands, he went to the coffeepot and poured a cup, using Jesse’s mug.

  Florence looked at Louis and frowned. With a shake of her head she turned back to the dispatch radio.

  “Kincaid.”

  Louis looked at Gibralter standing at his office door. Gibralter’s eyes focused briefly on Steele then back on Louis. He waved him to the office. Louis hesitated as Zoe flashed into his head, followed by a disturbing image of her with Gibralter. Was that always going to be there now, every time he looked at the man?

  Louis went in, closing the door behind him. Gibralter was sitting at his desk. His uniform shirt was crisp but there were circles under his eyes and a shadow of whiskers on his jaw. The office had a slightly fetid smell, an odor of cigarettes and body musk. Louis spotted a Styrofoam takeout container in the trash and a bottle of Aramis on the credenza.

  “You have something from the doc?” Gibralter said.

  Louis held Gibralter’s eyes for a moment looking for a clue in them about Zoe. Gibralter had trusted Jesse with his secret and had no reason to suspect that Louis now knew. There was nothing new in Gibralter’s eyes, Louis finally decided.

  Louis pulled the papers from his shirt pocket and handed them to Gibralter.

  “It says you need to continue to see him,” Gibralter said. “You have other problems I need to know about, Kincaid?”

  “The future visits are routine. I can come back to work.”

  Gibralter nodded stiffly. He fished in a drawer and pulled out a paper. “Now I have something for you,” he said, holding it out.

  Loui
s came forward and took it. The Loon Lake city seal jumped out at him. It was a letter of reprimand. Conduct unbecoming a police officer, improper and inappropriate radio traffic, profanity and blatant unprofessionalism…

  “I don’t deserve this,” Louis said.

  Gibralter swung the chair around to the credenza and switched on a tape recorder. The tape crackled with static and then Louis’s voice filled the office.

  “Jesus…Jesus…Coward! He’s a fucking coward!”

  “Kincaid, pull yourself together!”

  “Turn it off,” Louis said sharply.

  Gibralter turned it off and the room went silent. He held out a pen. “Sign it.”

  Louis didn’t move.

  “Sign it or I’ll add insubordination.”

  Louis stared at the letter in his hand. Quit, Kincaid, just quit and walk away. You don’t need this, you don’t need this damn job and you don’t need her.

  Gibralter started to reach for the paper.

  Ollie’s face came back to Louis in that moment. Ollie’s face splattered with blood and his pleading eyes. He grabbed the pen from Gibralter, scribbled his name and thrust the paper back at Gibralter, throwing the pen on the desk.

  “Can I go now?” he asked.

  “No. I think you need a few days in the office.”

  “I have a release for full duty.”

  “I don’t care what you have. I decide when a man is fit for duty.” Gibralter reached down below his desk for an empty box. He tossed it across the desk and Louis caught it against his thighs.

  “Take down the Christmas decorations.”

  Louis could see the network of tiny red veins around the cold blue irises. The man was cracking, just like the rest of them.

  Suddenly, something snapped inside Louis. The room shifted, everything shifted. The impotent rage burning inside him was mutating into a cold anger. He realized in that instant he had made a decision. He wouldn’t quit and leave Jesse, Dale, or any other cop, at Lacey’s hands.

  But what could he do? Gibralter wasn’t going to let him work the case. And now Steele was in control of the search, the arrest, of everything.