Dead of Winter

CHAPTER 14

“Turn on the defroster.”

“It’s on.”

“Well, then turn it up.”

“It’s up as high as it goes,” Jesse said. He rubbed the windshield with his sleeve. “Goddamn it, I can’t see a thing.”

“Jess, pull over,” Louis said.

“What for?”

“I’ll drive.”

“I can drive.”

“Not the way you’re acting, you can’t. Slow down or we’re going to end up wrapped around a damn tree.”

Jesse slowed to thirty-five. The cruiser crept along the snow-clogged county road. Louis let out a breath of relief when they turned back onto the main highway. It, too, was snowed over, but at least it was four lanes the rest of the way back to Loon Lake. They drove in edgy silence for fifteen minutes.

“You get anything useful back there?” Jesse asked finally.

“I’m not sure,” Louis said. He told him what Cloverdale had said.

“So the killer’s military,” Jesse said.

“Maybe.”

“But you don’t think he’s one of those guys?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. Gut feeling.”

Jesse gave a small laugh. “Gut feeling. Right.”

Louis stared at Jesse. He was gripping the wheel with his right hand, his left hand bent against his temple. Louis glanced at the speedometer. What the hell was wrong now?

“Jess,” he said, “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.”

“Then why you snapping at me?”

Jesse didn’t look at him. “I’m sorry,” he said after a moment. “I’m tired, that’s all.”

Louis decided to let it go. They rode the rest of the way in silence, picking up the freshly plowed wake of a snowplow just as they turned onto the road at the north end of the lake.

Florence’s voice came over the radio, asking for their location. When Louis radioed back that they were on their way back to the station, Florence told them Gibralter was waiting for them at Dot’s. Louis acknowledged the call and signed off.

“Now what?” Jesse muttered.

“Probably just wants an update,” Louis said.

“Probably wants to chew out my ass for something.”

Jesse pushed the cruiser up to forty-five. The gated entrances to tourist homes flew past. They were coming up fast on a slow-moving red truck and Louis resisted the urge to tell Jesse again to slow down.

“Ford,” Jesse said suddenly.

“What?”

“It’s a red Ford,” Jesse said, peering out at the sludge-encrusted truck ahead of them.

For a second, Louis’s heart beat faster. No, it was too new. Art Taub said the Ford was old and rusted. “It’s not the one. Let him go, Jess,” Louis said.

“No, damn it. His tint’s too dark.”

Jesse flipped on the lights and squawked the siren twice. The driver’s head snapped toward his rearview mirror and he swung to the side of the road. As they pulled up, Louis could see the truck was a new model with not a dent on it, let alone rust.

Jesse was out of the cruiser before Louis could reply. With a sigh, he grabbed the clipboard and followed.

The driver was about thirty, with a thin pale face and a fizz of dirty red hair. He had an old paisley bandana wrapped around his forehead and a small gold hoop in his left ear. On his chin, a sprout of whiskers struggled to form a goatee.

“To what do I owe this honor?” he asked nervously.

Jesse opened the truck door. “Get out.”

“Is that a request or an order?”

“Get out of the fucking truck.”

The man moved slowly. Jesse yanked him from the car so forcefully he fell to the pavement. The man grabbed the door handle to pull himself up, his eyes wide as he looked at Jesse. He wasn’t wearing a coat, just faded jeans and a dingy white T-shirt.

Louis stepped forward. “Your driver’s license, please,” he said.

The man’s pale eyes darted to the truck. “It’s in that bag on the seat.”

Jesse reached in and pulled out a Crown Royal bag. He retrieved the man’s license and thrust it out at Louis. When Louis hesitated Jesse said, “You gonna run that or not?”

“This license is expired, Mr. Bates,” Louis said.

“Dear me, there just aren’t enough hours in the day,” the man said with a sigh.

Louis glanced at Jesse. Christ, he was bouncing on his toes to nail this guy for something. The best thing to do was get this over as quickly as possible. He started back to the cruiser.

“Love the uniform, man,” Bates called after him.

Louis heard a clunk and looked back. Jesse had Bates flat against the truck, reaching for his cuffs. Louis keyed the mike and told Florence to run the plate and license. He had to get this over with fast before Bates lost a few front teeth.

Louis leaned against the cruiser and watched as Jesse began to search the truck’s interior. What the hell was he doing now? If he found anything, Bates would scream illegal search. He was just about to call to Jesse when Florence came back advising that Bates was free of warrants and priors.

Bates was hollering to Jesse from the rear of the truck. “You going to search me, too, officer? I like them full-cavity body searches. You ever done one of those?” Bates looked at Louis. “What about you, Mandingo?”

“Shut up,” Louis said.

Jesse came out of the truck holding a small plastic bag.

“What’s that?” Louis asked.

“Looks like grass to me,” Jesse said, shaking it in Bates’s face. “I asked you if there was any drugs in the truck, asshole. You lied to me.”

“Hey, you didn’t have any right to search my truck,” Bates said. “I’ve got rights here.”

Jesse spun around and grabbed Bates by the back of the T-shirt. “Keep your fucking mouth shut!” He slammed Bates’s head down against the side of the truck bed. Louis jumped forward, ripping Jesse’s arm from Bates’s collar.

Blood dripped from Bates’s nose as he staggered backward. Louis caught his sleeve to keep him balanced and glared at Jesse. “That wasn’t necessary,” Louis said.

“I don’t have to take lip from any faggot butt-fucker,” Jesse hissed.

“Look, cut the macho bullshit. This isn’t the time or the place, you got that?” Louis said, his voice low.

Jesse spun away and walked rigidly to the cruiser. Louis took a deep breath and looked back at Bates, who was leaning against the truck fender. Louis uncuffed him. Bates touched his head, his fingers coming away blood.

“You okay to drive?” Louis asked.

“I should sue you,” he said.

“You’re not going to sue anyone, Bates,” Louis said, picking up the bag of pot. He removed the twist tie and flung the bag in an arc, scattering the pot to the wind.

“Oh, man,” Bates moaned. “That was sinsemilla.”

Louis stuffed the empty bag in Bates’s pocket. “Sense this, asshole. You’re going to get back in your truck and go home to Alcona County. And all the way, you’re going to be telling yourself how lucky you are that it’s Christmas Eve and I’m giving you a damn present.” Louis leaned closer and held out Bates’s driver’s license. “Do you understand?”

Bates nodded weakly, took the license and got in his truck. Louis waited until he drove off then he walked to the cruiser. Jesse was in the passenger seat, his chin on his chest. Louis got in and put both hands on the wheel. They sat there for several seconds.

“Keys?” Louis asked.

“Cuffs?” Jesse asked.

Louis tossed Jesse’s cuffs on the seat. He responded by throwing the rabbit’s foot and keys on the dash. Louis reached for them and jammed the key into the ignition.

“Why’d you let him go?” Jesse said, leaning forward to put his cuffs away.

“He wasn’t our man.”

“He was holding.”

“Half an ounce of grass discovered in an illegal search.” Louis paused. “Look, we’ve got more important things to do than bust potheads.” Louis thrust the cruiser into gear. “Come on. Gibralter’s waiting.”

Dot’s cafe smelled of bacon grease and strong coffee. As he came in, Louis spotted the chief sitting in a booth near the back and he and Jesse went over.

“What kept you?” Gibralter asked, wiping his face with a paper napkin.

Louis slid into the booth, Jesse next to him. “Snow’s really coming down, Chief,” Louis said. “Plus we had a traffic stop.”

Gibralter looked from one man to the other. “Well?”

“I talked to one of the vets, a guy called Cloverdale,” Louis said. “He thinks our killer might be military. He also had a theory on what the cards mean.”

Gibralter pushed away his plate of half-eaten scrambled eggs. “What did he say?”

“He called it a death card,” Louis said, lowering his voice so the men in the next booth would not hear. “It was a thing some GI’s did during the war. A group would go out and wipe out some Vietcong — ”

“Not a group, Kincaid. Soldiers are not sent out in groups.”

Louis suppressed a sigh. “Yes, sir. Afterward, they would walk through the dead and toss cards with their squadron’s insignia and number on the bodies. It was supposed to say ‘We were here. We did this.’”

“You have the card with you?” Gibralter asked.

Louis fished it out of his pocket. Gibralter took it, examining it through the plastic. “Death card,” he said quietly. “The 1-2-3’s a squadron number?”

“Probably, sir.”

“And this skull thing?”

“Cloverdale said he thought it could be the squad’s symbol.”

Gibralter put down the card and looked out the window. The snow was coming down so thick Louis couldn’t see the shops across the street. The sounds of the diner filtered around them, the clink of glasses and plates, laughter, the sizzle of the grill. Comforting sounds.

The waitress set down two fresh cups of coffee and menus. Louis reached for one.

“What else?” Gibralter asked, pulling the menu gently from his hands.

“He said the killer probably had low self-esteem all his life, making him think everybody was out to get him.”

“I could’ve told you that. It’s textbook.”

“Cloverdale speculated that whatever problems our perp had going into the army might have been intensified by the drugs. In other words, his brain is fried.”

Gibralter’s eyes flashed with contempt. “That’s crap.”

“Chief?”

Gibralter reached for his pack of Camels and lit one. “The poor misunderstood vet. It makes me sick,” he said slowly. “These assholes were the same goddamn pussies who sat around smoking pot while the real soldiers were out getting shot. And then they tell the damn VA the war messed up their minds.”

Louis glanced at Jesse. He was staring off at some distant point.

Gibralter sat back, laying his arm across the back of the booth. “What else did this Cloverdale say?”

“He said the guy was taking out his anger on the nearest symbol of authority he could find — cops.”

“It’s more than that,” Gibralter said. “If he’s military, then he’s on a mission, just like ‘Nam. And he’s not just shooting at any uniform. He’s shooting at us.”

“What do you mean?” Jesse asked.

“Lovejoy and Pryce were killed in their homes, Harrison. These killings are personal.”

The waitress came by to refill their cups and take their orders. They gave them, Louis grateful for the break in intensity.

“So you still believe this is a former perp?” Louis asked.

“There’s no other explanation,” Gibralter said.

“So what do we do now, Chief?” Jesse asked.

Gibralter leveled his eyes at Jesse. “I already told you what to do, Harrison. You go through the damn case files. Have you done that?”

“Chief, we’ve gone through hundreds already. We looked — ”

“Maybe you didn’t look good enough,” Gibralter interrupted.

Jesse looked away, his jaw twitching.

Gibralter ground out his cigarette in the eggs. “I expect a full report on this man Cloverdale on my desk by end of shift today. Do you understand?”

Louis looked at the clock over Gibralter’s head. It was almost 9 a.m. They had already been at it three hours and they still had boxes of old case files to wade through.

“Yes, sir,” Louis said. He reached for the evidence bag with the card but Gibralter snapped it up.

“I’ll take it, Kincaid. I know a colonel over in Grayling. Let me see what I can find out about this. If we go through normal channels it will take weeks.”

Louis glanced at Jesse. He was still staring out the window at the snow.

Gibralter rose and tossed a twenty-dollar bill on the table. “Breakfast is on me. Good job, Kincaid,” he said.

“What time is it?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“Yeah, I do. What time is it?”

Louis looked at his watch. “Eleven-thirty.”

Jesse laid his head on the desk. “Wake me up at roll call.”

Louis rubbed his face. They had been going through the case files for hours and were no closer to finding a legitimate perp than they had been two days ago. What a way to spend Christmas Eve.

He glanced over at the dispatch desk, where Edna sat, immersed in her latest romance novel. The radio was quiet. The only sound was the occasional crunch of a cookie. Silent night, holy night, all is calm, all is bright. Damn, he was tired.

Louis looked at the pile of folders spread on the desk between him and Jesse. They had gone through at least a hundred files since leaving Dot’s this morning and the best suspect they could find was an ex-sergeant who was busted in 1981 for armed robbery, served three years and was out since 1980. When they called to check on his current status they were told he was in a wheelchair.

Louis reached over the files and grabbed the computer printout he had asked Dale to run several hours earlier. It was a half-inch thick, listing all the red Ford trucks in the state. All thirty-five hundred of them. They had begun cross-checking the owners with local ex-cons but so far had no matches.

Louis dropped the printout. How come nobody knew this guy? And why the hell was he after Loon Lake’s cops? Why pick an innocuous nine-man force in the middle of nowhere?

He’s on a mission. These crimes are personal.

Louis rose and went to the coffeepot. Maybe it wasn’t a local. Maybe it was a relative of someone exacting revenge for a family member. But as he realized how many more suspects that gave them he felt even more depressed.

The door opened and Ollie Wickshaw came in, carrying a bag. He was sprinkled with snow and he shook it off like a wet greyhound. Ollie greeted Edna, who gave him a grunt from behind the book, and he went to his desk.

Louis poured a second cup of coffee and took it over to Ollie. Ollie looked up, blinking his pale gray eyes.

“Thank you,” he said, taking it.

“No problem.”

Ollie wriggled out of his jacket and as he did, a small prescription bottle tumbled to the floor. It rolled to a stop at Louis’s feet and he picked it up. He held it out to Ollie but couldn’t miss the label on the front: VALIUM.

Ollie mumbled a thanks, averted his eyes and slipped it back into his pocket. Then he reached down and pulled a bright new Hot Wheels bike from behind a desk. When he saw Louis looking at him, he smiled wanly.

“Grand kids.”

Louis nodded. “How many?”

Ollie pulled a bow from the drugstore bag and stuck it on the bike. “Three.”

“How old?” Louis asked.

“Five, three and two. This is for the two-year-old, Joshua.”

“Nice.”

“You got kids?”

Louis shook his head. “Need a wife first.”

Ollie looked at him blankly. “I guess that would help.”

Ollie picked up the paper bag and rose, going to the mailboxes on the wall. Louis watched as he reached in the bag and deposited little gifts, wrapped like candy kisses, in each officer’s mailbox. He came back and held one out to Louis.

“Merry Christmas,” he said.

Louis hesitated then took the little package. “Hey, thanks, man,” he said, surprised.

Ollie nodded and moved back to his desk.

Louis unwrapped the gold foil paper. It was a rock. A pretty polished black rock with little white flecks, but still a rock. He looked up at Ollie, who was watching him.

“It’s a snowflake obsidian,” he said. When Louis didn’t reply, Ollie gave him a small smile. “You don’t believe in the power of crystals, do you?”

Louis shook his head. “Sorry.”

“The snowflake is the stone of purity. It balances the mind, body and spirit,” Ollie said. “It brings the wearer strength and protection.” He pulled a chain out of his shirt. “I’ve been wearing one for ten years.”

Louis rubbed the rock between his fingers. He watched, in mild amusement, as Ollie went about his routine of putting his desk items away for the night. He was about to stick a geode of lavender quartz in his drawer when Louis realized he had seen the same quartz in Stephanie Pryce’s home.

“Pryce had one of those,” he said.

Ollie looked up, holding the quartz. “Yes, I gave it to him. About a year or so ago.”

Odd, Louis thought, considering Pryce didn’t have friends in the department. “Christmas present?” he asked.

Ollie shook his head. “No. I thought it might help him.”

“With what?”

“With whatever was troubling him. Amethyst brings serenity, peace of mind, forgiveness.”

“You think Pryce was troubled?”

Ollie gave him a wry smile. “We all have demons, don’t we?”

Louis resisted the urge to say what he was thinking, that if the damn serenity crystal worked so well why was Ollie chucking down Valium?

Ollie gently placed the geode in the drawer, closed and locked it. He looked at Louis. “It’s all yours,” he said.

Louis nodded.

“Oops, forgot,” Ollie said. He opened the middle drawer, retrieved Louis’s reading glasses and placed them carefully on the pencil holder where Louis had left them hours ago. “I’m sorry I moved them,” Ollie said. “I didn’t know you’d be here tonight.”

Louis walked over and picked up his glasses. “I thought Florence was the one who cleaned up my desk every night.”

“I’m something of a neat freak,” Ollie said, almost apologetically. “Hope you don’t mind me straightening your stuff. Pryce didn’t like it much.”

“Hey, knock yourself out, man.”

Louis went back to the desk where he had been working on the files. Jesse was hunched over, snoring lightly. Louis sat down and picked up another file. Moments later, he felt someone behind him and looked up to see Ollie.

“Lots of bad karma here,” Ollie said, nodding at the case files.

“But no murderers,” Louis said. “This town doesn’t seem to breed weirdos. Must be something in the water supply.”

Ollie smiled weakly.

“How long you been on the force, Ollie?” Louis asked.

“Twelve years,” Ollie replied. “Only eight years and forty-five days ‘til retirement. But who’s counting?”

“When’s the last time you had a homicide? Before Pryce and Lovejoy, I mean.”

Ollie’s wan face creased up in thought. “Ah, the Swope brothers…1973, no ’74. Got drunk and one stabbed the other.”

Louis shook his head, stacking a pile of folders. “But nobody pissed off at the local cops. Hard to believe.”

“Well, Jesse has had his run-ins. But I can’t think of anybody who would, I mean, to cause this kind of…retribution. It, this isn’t normal, it isn’t…” Ollie’s voice trailed off. He caught Louis’s eye and looked away. He went back to his desk.

Louis glanced at Jesse, envying his deep sleep. Man, he was tired. He was tired of thinking. His brain actually ached.

“Shit, this is nuts,” he said, more to himself than anyone. “We’re never going to find him this way.”

Ollie looked over. “Why not?”

“Whatever it was that pissed the guy off could have happened ten, twenty years ago.”

“But then why did he wait?” Ollie asked.

“What?”

“If it’s an old crime why would he wait so long to kill?”

Ollie had a point. Hatred usually didn’t wait to go unvented. Murder was almost always a violent and immediate reaction to something. What could have forced the killer to wait so long?

Louis sat forward, planting his feet on the floor. “Prison,” he said softly.

Ollie looked over at him blankly.

Louis stood up. “He’s been in prison. I’d bet on it. That has to be it.” He turned to Ollie. “Think about it. Some jerkweed’s sitting in jail, stewing about something the cops did to him. Every day, every week, every year, he gets madder and madder and he thinks of a plan. I mean, what else does he have to do? He plans and waits.” Louis took a few quick steps toward Ollie. “Then when he gets out…bang.”

Ollie took a step back, blinking rapidly. His slack face looked gray in the harsh fluorescent light. Louis suddenly wished he could take back his vivid image. For several seconds, they just stared at each other.

Then Ollie turned away, busying himself with packing up the Hot Wheels and putting on his coat. Clutching the bike, he hurried to the door. But he paused, turning.

“Louis,” Ollie called.

“Yeah?”

“Merry Christmas.”

Ollie left and the office was quiet again. Louis rubbed his eyes, focusing his thoughts. He needed to get a list of prison releases. He quickly scribbled a note to Dale, asking him to run a list of every state prisoner released after November 30, 1984. He taped it to Dale’s phone.

“Edna?” he called out.

No response.

“Edna!”

Her round face appeared over the book. “Edna, when Dale comes in would you tell him to leave these files out? He’ll refile them if you don’t. I’m heading home.”

Edna popped the last bit of cookie in her mouth. “Ten-four, Louis.” She nodded to the snoring Jesse. “What about Jess?”

“Let him sleep, I guess.”

Louis yawned and rose, stretching. His thoughts drifted to his cold cabin with its cold bed. He wondered what Zoe was doing tonight. He hadn’t seen her in three days; she had told him she was going home for Christmas. His mind shaped a sudden image of her sitting in a fancy high-rise on Lakeshore Drive, unwrapping a gift of lingerie from some faceless boyfriend. Christ, where had that come from?

He slipped on his jacket. The phone rang and he grabbed it before it woke Jesse up.

“Loon Lake Police, Officer Kincaid.”

“Is Jesse there?” a feminine voice asked.

“Julie?”

“Yes.” She sounded very young.

“Hold on, I’ll wake him.”

“He’s sleeping?” Julie asked. “Where?”

“On his desk.”

“Wait, don’t wake him up.”

Louis frowned. He couldn’t let Jesse sleep in the station on Christmas Eve. “Julie — ”

“Let him sleep, please,” she said quickly.

Louis sensed something anxious in her voice and he wondered if they were having problems.

“Julie,” he said, “I can bring him home.”

“No, he’s safe there,” she said softly. “Let him stay. He’s safe there. He’s safe.”