by P J Parrish
“How’d it feel?” Louis said, leaning down into Jesse’s face. “How’d it feel when you pulled the trigger and saw Pryce fall? How’d it feel when you heard Stephanie scream?”
“No, no…”
“You were this close,” Louis whispered, holding two fingers in front of Jesse’s face. “This close to being behind bars, your worst fear.”
“No, I didn’t — ”
Louis’s hand balled into a fist and Jesse tried to squirm away. “How’d it feel?” Louis hissed.
Jesse swatted Louis’s hand and jumped to his feet. “No!” he yelled. “I didn’t kill Pryce! Lacey killed Pryce!”
Louis grabbed his arm. “You used Lacey! You killed Pryce and used Lacey to cover it up!”
Jesse jerked away, stumbling back. “You’re nuts! Lacey killed — ”
“Yeah, stick to your story! You were stupid enough to let Gibralter suck you into one murder, why not more? Why not Ollie and Lovejoy? Tell me this, you bastard, who shot me in the back? You or him?”
Jesse stared at him, his face twisted.
Louis drew in a deep breath. Now that he had said it, put his thoughts into words, it didn’t seem so outrageous. For a second he felt a pang of sympathy for Jesse but it dissipated fast, replaced by rage. He couldn’t see Jesse as any kind of victim in this.
“Give it up,” Louis said.
Jesse was shaking his head, raking a hand through his hair.
“Maybe you can strike a deal for Gibralter,” Louis said.
“No,” Jesse said quickly. “No, no.”
Louis reached out to grab Jesse’s arm but Jesse spun away, stumbling against the counter and knocking over a stool. He pulled himself upright and started to the door.
“Where are you going?” Louis said.
Jesse didn’t answer.
“Stop,” Louis said, moving toward the door.
Jesse glared at him. “Either you arrest me or let me get the fuck out of here.”
Louis started to the counter to get his cuffs from his belt but Jesse moved more quickly, pulling out his gun and pointing it at Louis.
Louis stared at the gun, not moving. “Jess, this isn’t the answer.”
“Let me go, Louis. I’ve got something to take care of.”
Jesse moved slowly toward the door.
“Don’t do this, don’t make it worse,” Louis said.
Jesse flung open the door and ran out, the door banging against the wall and slamming closed behind him.
“Jess!”
Louis grabbed his gun, ran to the door and jerked it open. He ran outside and stood for a moment, scanning the darkness. He went quickly around the side of the cabin. Jesse’s cruiser was parked where he had left it. Louis circled the cruiser, peering inside. An empty Jack Daniel’s bottle lay on the seat.
“Jesse!” he shouted.
He ran up the driveway toward the main road. He stopped, looking off into the night. Fresh boot prints led off down the road in the direction of town.
“Fuck,” he murmured.
He had blown it. He had tipped his hand and let Jesse get away. And now he was probably on his way to alert Gibralter.
Louis looked down the road and scanned the dark trees. He shivered. He had been walking in Pryce’s shadow for weeks and now, like Pryce, he was a threat.
He went quickly back into the cabin. He locked the door and pulled all the curtains closed. He paused to survey the room then dragged around a chair from the corner to face the door. He turned off the lights.
The walls of the cabin pulsated with the light of the dying fire. Picking up his gun and portable radio, he sat down in the chair. He pulled the afghan up around his chest and over the gun resting in his lap.
CHAPTER 37
The cabin was dark and cold. He had let the fire burn out, not wanting to have any light detectable from outside.
The phone rang but he ignored it. It was the fourth time it had rung in the two hours since Jesse had left, and each time he had let it ring. This time, though, it wouldn’t stop, and finally he jumped out of the chair and grabbed it.
“Yeah?”
“Louis?” It was a woman.
“Who is this?”
“Julie Harrison, Jesse’s wife. Is Jesse there?”
“No, Julie. He was, but he left hours ago.”
“Oh, God…”
He could hear the fear in her voice and wished he had lied.
“Do you know where he went?”
“No, I don’t. Julie…Julie?”
She was crying.
“Listen, Julie — ”
She had hung up. Louis set the phone back in the cradle and returned to his chair. He pulled the afghan over his shoulders and laid the gun in his lap. He massaged his right hand; it was stiff from gripping the gun.
He glanced at his watch. Just past eleven. His whole body was stiff with tension but sleep was out of the question. He had decided on his plan — just get through the night until the morning when Steele was due back from Detroit.
A crackle of static drew his attention to the portable radio on the table at his side. “All units in the area, stand by for a BOLO.”
Louis picked up the radio, turning up the volume on Edna’s voice. “L-1 advises to be on the lookout for L-13. Subject has not been in contact with his residence and is reported missing.”
Louis listened as Edna gave a brief description of Jesse. Damn him. His wife was going crazy worrying about him and the asshole was probably passed out in a snowdrift somewhere.
He tensed. A light appeared against the curtain, the wash of headlights on the trees. He heard a car and then silence as the motor died. He shrugged off the afghan and gripped the gun.
Footsteps on the porch, heavy, a man. A knock.
“Kincaid! You in there?”
Gibralter.
Louis rose slowly, holding the gun at his side as he slid along the wall toward the kitchen.
“Kincaid! It’s the chief. I need to talk to you.”
He looked out the kitchen window and saw the Bronco. His chest tightened and he flexed his fingers around the grip of the gun. What was Gibralter doing here? He didn’t come to kill him, not in the Bronco, right here at the cabin. He was too smart for that.
Louis went to the door. “What do you want?” he called out.
“I’m looking for Jesse,” Gibralter called back.
There was something strange in Gibralter’s voice, a quiver of concern.
“Kincaid? His cruiser’s here. Is he there with you?”
“He left.”
“When?”
“Two hours ago.”
There was silence on the other side of the door and then Louis heard the retreat of footsteps from the porch. He went quickly to the kitchen window. Through the falling snow, he could see Gibralter shining a flashlight into Jesse’s cruiser. He headed back to the porch and pounded again on the door.
“Kincaid! Let me in. I need your help.”
Louis hesitated, debating what to do. He slipped the gun in his belt at the small of his back and unlocked the door.
Gibralter’s silhouette filled the door frame. “Why do you have the lights out?” he asked.
“I was asleep,” Louis said.
Gibralter took a step inside. Louis switched on a lamp, blinking in the light. Gibralter glanced around the cabin, his eyes coming back quickly to Louis. “Jesse’s missing,” he said.
“How do you know?”
“Julie’s called the station twice. He didn’t make it home.”
“Maybe he stopped for a drink,” Louis said. He was careful to stand a good ten feet away.
“On foot? There are no bars between here and his place.”
Louis watched Gibralter carefully, trying to reconcile what he knew about the man with what he was seeing in his eyes, a strange look of dread.
“What was he doing here?” Gibralter asked.
“He wanted to talk.”
“About what?”
“About you firing him today.”
“Was he drunk?”
“Wasted.”
“Why’d you let him leave on foot?”
“We argued. He ran out.”
Gibralter paused, his eyes steady on Louis. “I fired Jess to protect him.”
“He doesn’t see it that way.”
Gibralter let out a sigh. “I know. I didn’t handle it well.”
Louis stared at him. Bullshit.
“Kincaid, I need your help. I’ve got a bad feeling about this and we’ve got to find him.”
“What about Steele?”
“I tried. He’s gone until tomorrow.” Gibralter’s face hardened. “The moron he left in charge told me to go fuck myself.”
“What about your own men?”
“They’re already searching. Edna called here twice trying to get you. Didn’t you hear the phone?”
“I told you, I was asleep.”
“That’s why I came out here, thought maybe something happened to you.”
“Why’d you think that?”
“Lacey shot at you once,” Gibralter said. “He’ll do it again.”
Louis just stared at him.
“Come on, get your coat,” Gibralter said.
“I’m not going with you,” Louis said.
“Why the hell not?”
For a second, Louis thought of confronting Gibralter with what he knew about Angela and Johnny and with what he suspected about Pryce and the others. But if it was true that Jesse was missing then Gibralter was still in the dark. And it was foolish, even dangerous, to alert him to what he knew. It would all come out tomorrow anyway when Steele got back.
Gibralter was waiting for an answer. When he realized Louis was not going to go, he nodded grimly and started down off the porch. He stopped and turned back to face Louis.
“I’ve got blood on my hands,” he said softly.
Louis stared at him.
“Three of my men are dead, two of them because I was too proud to get help,” Gibralter said. “Jesse and I are the only ones left. I have to find him.”
Louis tried to read the emotion in Gibralter’s eyes but all he could see was fatigue and stress. The man looked pulled too tight, as if he knew everything was coming to an end.
Gibralter squinted at him through the falling snow. “I don’t like you, Kincaid. You know that, it’s no secret. But I don’t want to lose any more men, Jesse or you. Now will you come with me or not?”
When Louis didn’t answer, Gibralter shook his head and walked away. As Louis watched him his heart quickened. Jesus, what if he was wrong? What if Lacey had killed all three cops? What
if Jesse was lying out in the snow, easy prey for Lacey’s scope? No matter what Jesse had done, he deserved a trial, not a sniper’s bullet in his back. And no matter what he thought of Gibralter, he couldn’t sit here like a coward while the others were out searching.
“Wait!”
Gibralter turned.
“Give me a minute to get ready.”
“Dress warm,” Gibralter said. “We might end up on foot.”
The wipers kept up their monotonous rhythm as they drove slowly toward the main road. From the radio came Edna’s steady murmur, directing the other men on their search. Gibralter reached down and keyed the mike.
“Central, this is L-1. I’m 10-8 with L-11, joining the search.” He clicked off. “You sure he went in this direction?” Gibralter asked Louis.
“It’s the only road up away from the lake,” Louis said.
“Maybe he went down to the lake.”
“No, I saw his prints.” Louis was training the outside spotlight on the snowy shoulder. “He was too drunk to drive. Maybe he tried to walk home.”
“That’s three miles from here.”
It was quiet except for the groan of the wipers and an occasional spurt of radio voices. Louis moved his elbow so he could feel his gun against his ribs under his parka. He hadn’t bothered with the bulky uniform belt, just stuck the gun and his cuffs in the belt of his jeans.
“Can you see any prints?” Gibralter asked.
“No, but they’re probably covered by now.”
“Shit, maybe he headed in the other direction.”
“There’s nothing out that way.”
They crept on, Gibralter slowing the Bronco to five miles an hour.
“Hold it!”
Gibralter braked. Louis swung the light low on the shoulder.
“What is it?”
“Boot prints.” Louis got out, training his flashlight down in the snow. Gibralter was quickly at his side, shining his own light into the snow. The prints formed a faint but staggering pattern into the darkness of the road ahead. They followed them for several yards, walking in the headlight beams of the Bronco idling behind.
The prints ended abruptly in a flattened area of the snow. “Looks like he fell here,’ Gibralter said.
Louis swung the flashlight out into the field beyond and then across the road, finally picking up the prints again. They walked on, following them for another ten yards then the prints stopped again in another flattened area. But this patch was larger, messier, the snow shoved away in spots down to the bare ground. There were several dark spots, almost covered with a light dusting of new snow. Louis knelt to brush it away. The spots were blood.
Gibralter’s breath, stale with cigarettes, was at his ear. “Christ, what happened?”
“A struggle of some kind,” Louis said.
Gibralter swing his flashlight ahead down the road but there were no more prints. He straightened. “He killed him,” he said.
Louis looked up. Gibralter’s face, caught in the reflection of their flashlights on the snow, was drawn with pain. To his amazement, Louis saw tears in the man’s eyes.
Gibralter met his eyes and looked away. He turned and started back to the Bronco.
Louis looked again at the blood in the snow. A gnawing started in his gut, a gnawing that came from his guilt for letting Jesse walk out of the cabin.
“Jesse!”
Louis swing around. Gibralter was standing in the beams of the Bronco, staring out into the field, hands cupped to his mouth.
“Jesse!” he shouted into the darkness, his voice echoing back to him.
“Chief,” Louis called out.
“Jesse!”
“Chief!” Louis called out sharply.
Gibralter’s head snapped toward Louis.
“He’s not here,” Louis said.
Gibralter turned away and went back to the Bronco.
Louis scanned the field again, trying to find something, anything. But there was nothing. No Lacey, no body. No…body.
Lacey had left the others dead, out in the open to be found. Where was Jesse’s body? Louis trained the flashlight down again at the blood spots. There was so little, too little for a gun wound. Had Lacey subdued Jesse and taken him somewhere else?
Something drifted back to him in that instant, words, a threat. Who had said it? Dale, it was Dale, telling him what Cole had said to Jesse after Jesse attacked. You’re going to die special.
Louis hurried back to the Bronco and got in. “Chief, I think there’s a chance Jesse might still be alive,” he said.
Gibralter was staring vacantly out the windshield.
“Chief, listen to me. If Lacey wanted Jesse dead he’d have shot him and left him like the others,” Louis said. “Something is different this time.”
Gibralter looked over at him. “What are you talking about?”
Louis hesitated then told him what Cole had said. “I think he’s taken Jesse somewhere.”
“Why?”
Louis hesitated. “He wants you and he knows you’ll come after Jesse. But I also think he wants to torture him for what he did to Johnny.”
Gibralter stared at him.
“I know what Jesse did at the cabin,” Louis said. “And I know what you did to cover it up.”
Gibralter’s eyes went back to the windshield. Loui
s could see his jaw moving as his mind chewed on this revelation. He wasn’t about to tell him what he knew about Angela.
“You can’t protect him anymore,” Louis said slowly. “Not if you want to save him.”
Gibralter shut his eyes. It was quiet for a moment.
Gibralter’s voice was strained when he finally spoke. “We did what we had to, Kincaid.”
“That’s for the courts to decide,” Louis said.
“There are many versions of the truth. Everyone sees the one they need to see.”
“That’s not important right now.”
Gibralter gave a tired nod. “I suppose not.”
The Bronco fell quiet except for the low murmur of the radio.
“We’re going to get ahold of Steele,” Louis said.
“I told you what his man said to me,” Gibralter said, his voice rising in anger.
“But with his men, we can search — ”
“Search where?” Gibralter interrupted him. “We can’t find Lacey. No one can. It’s useless.”
Gibralter was right. With all of Steele’s resources no one had come close to finding Lacey’s hideout. No one even knew where to start looking.
“Cole,” Louis said. “Cole knows.”
“He won’t talk,” Gibralter said.
“We have to try.”
“How? We can’t get near Red Oak now.”
“Then we bring him here.”
“They won’t release him to me.”
“They would on a court order,” Louis said.
Gibralter looked over at him. Louis could not read what was in his eyes.
“Why are you here?” Gibralter asked quietly.
“I want to find Jesse,” Louis answered.
“But you don’t trust me,” Gibralter said.
“No. But if there’s a chance Jesse is alive I want to find him.”
“Even if he’s guilty? Even if I am guilty?”
“I told you, that’s for the courts to decide.”
Gibralter held his eyes for a moment then put the Bronco in gear. “Let’s go,” he said.
“Where?”
“Judge Frazier’s place. He’ll do the order. He owes me.”
“What about Steele?”
Gibralter glanced at him. “He’d block it. You know that.”
He was right. There was no way Steele would sanction Cole’s release for questioning even if it meant helping Jesse. If they were going to do this they would be on their own.
