Dead of Winter

CHAPTER 24

They rode in silence. Louis drove, his hands locked on the wheel, his eyes never wavering from the road. The snow had given way to sleet and Louis flicked on the wipers to keep the windshield from icing over. For a half hour, the silence between them built, like ice on glass. It was Jesse who finally broke it.

“Tell me about this cop.”

Louis shook his head. “Forget it. It was a thousand miles away, a thousand years ago.”

“Louis, for crissake, tell me.”

“I said forget it. I have.”

“Right. That’s why the veins are popping out of your temples. Tell me, damn it, why’d this guy try to hang you?”

“You heard enough.”

Louis stared straight ahead. They were heading southwest, passing through farmlands, flat acres of white nothingness that blended with the slate-gray sky.

“What? You think because I’m white I can’t understand? Is that it?” Jesse asked.

Louis glanced at him then looked back at the road.

Jesse let out a snort. “Man, you’re fucked up, you know it? You’re emotionally constipated and it’s fucked up your head and now you’re transferring your anger.”

“Spare me your psycho-crap,” Louis said.

“You’re angry at the chief and you’re transferring it to me.”

“Bullshit.”

Louis turned the wipers up a notch. They rode in silence for another ten miles until Jesse gave him directions to turn.

“Chief has ordered us all to double up,” Jesse said.

“On patrol?” Louis asked.

“Yeah. Did it while you were away. Says he doesn’t want anyone riding alone right now.”

Louis nodded. At least Gibralter was finally taking precautions to protect his men. He glanced at Jesse, wondering if he should try to explain about Larry Cutter. What was the use? Even if Jesse understood the other men wouldn’t. And Gibralter would make sure every last man on the force found out. What the hell was the matter with the man? Was this part of some plan to break him just because he had let Lacey go? Or was it just because he had challenged him on the Lacey kids, the call from Lovejoy and about getting outside help?

“Somebody said you found letters from Cole,” Jesse said, interrupting his thoughts.

“Yeah, in Lacey’s room,” Louis said.

“What did they say?” Jesse asked.

“Not much. He’s proud of his dad for, quote, killing that nigger, unquote.”

Jesse shook his head. “Guess the kid hasn’t gotten any smarter.”

“What you mean?”

“I busted him once when he was about eleven for shoplifting. He had a smart mouth then, too.”

Louis tried to conjure up an image of Cole at eleven. The only thing that came to him was the five-year-old Cole with the cigarette burns on his back.

“He was abused. Did you know that?” Louis asked.

“So what? Plenty of abused kids turn out okay,” Jesse said.

“Well, it kind of puts a different spin on — ”

“It’s no excuse for being an asshole,” Jesse said. He shook his head. “I hate that kind of talk. It’s crap, like the chief said about the vets blaming everything on post-traumatic stress. It’s like nobody wants to take responsibility for their actions anymore.”

Louis bit back his thought, that Jesse could be talking about his own temper.

They survived the rest of the drive on a diet of small talk about the case. It was eleven-thirty by the time Louis turned the Bronco under an iron arch that said RED OAK CORRECTIONS FACILITY FOR BOYS. The road cut a wet black ribbon through the high drifts, leading to an ugly Kleenex-box building in the middle of a treeless field of snow. The compound was surrounded by a high chain-link fence topped with barbed wire. In the distance were some basketball hoops. Jesse looked back at the gate as it closed behind them.

At the entrance, Louis pushed the button. The guard peered at them through the glass door and he buzzed them in. After signing them in the guard directed them down a gloomy corridor to a door marked WARDEN LITTLE.

“Officers Kincaid and Harrison to see Warden Little,” Louis told the secretary. “He’s expecting us.”

She buzzed, and a moment later, a small bald man in a gray suit came out of his office.

“Officers,” Warden Little said, greeting them with a weak smile and weaker handshake. “Can I offer you some coffee?”

“No, thanks,” Louis said. “We’d like to see Cole Lacey.”

“No problem. I’ve secured Cole in our visitor lounge. We find it’s more conductive to getting the boys to relax. It’s comforting to them to have some homey surroundings.”

“Cole Lacey’s comfort level is no concern of ours, Warden,” Jesse said, following Little down the hall.

Warden Little glanced at him as he pressed the elevator button. “Well, we won’t argue the sociological fine points of juvenile crime, officer. But let me assure you many of my boys here are victims, just like those you seek justice for.”

“Tell that to Stephanie Pryce,” Jesse muttered as they entered the elevator.

“Pardon?” Little said.

“We have reason to believe that Cole Lacey’s father killed two police officers,” Louis said.

“I see. That reminds me.” Little reached in his breast pocket. “Here’s the visitors log you asked for.”

Louis took the paper, straining to read it without his glasses. Finally he handed it to Jesse.

“Here it is,” Jesse said. “Lacey was here on November 11. One day after getting out of Marquette. He was here again on Christmas Eve.”

The elevator deposited them on the second floor. A muscular guard in a khaki uniform stood by a door, his arms crossed, a baton and cuffs hanging from a gun-less belt. His nameplate said HAYNES. He unlocked the door and advised them to knock when they wanted out. Louis waited until Little had left before turning to Jesse.

“My way, right?” Louis asked quietly.

“Scout’s honor.”

They went inside, the heavy door locking behind them. The pale blue room was small and it reeked of pine air freshener. The small single window was hung with flowered curtains, frost visible between the bars. At the table in the center of the room sat a slender teenager. He wore the regulation blue pants and a denim shirt, which ballooned around his thin chest. His dark head was bowed, his bony hands clasped together on the table, his legs wrapped around the metal folding chair.

Louis cleared his throat.

Cole Lacey’s moved from Louis’s shoes up over his uniform to his face. As they skipped over to Jesse Cole’s posture changed slowly from the languidness of an arrogant teenager to a stiffness that Louis read as fear.

Cole stood up and slowly moved around the back of the chair, like an alley cat trying to sidle away from predators. “What do you guys want?” he asked.

“Sit down,” Louis said.

“No.”

Louis reached over and grabbed Cole’s shoulder. The boy tensed but allowed himself to be set back down in the chair. Louis pulled a metal chair from the wall and sat down across the table from Cole.

“We want to ask you about your father,” Louis said.

“Haven’t seen him,” Cole mumbled.

“Don’t lie to us.”

“Fuck you.”

Louis leaned across the table. “Look, Cole, your father is wanted for the murder of two police officers. We tend to take things like that rather personal, you understand me?”

Cole lowered his head. His nape was red from the fresh scrape of a razor haircut. “I don’t know nothing about that.”

Louis slapped one of Cole’s letters on the table. “Look at me,” he said.

Cole eyed the letter then lifted his eyes. “That’s private stuff. You got no right to it.”

“You want to tell us what you and your dad talked about during his visits?”

Cole’s eyes drifted away.

Louis sat back, drawing in a breath. “I’m going to explain something to you, Cole, and I want you to listen very carefully. This thing with your father is going to end one of two ways. One, you tell us where your old man is, we arrest him and when you get out of here you can go visit him because he’ll still be alive.”

Cole’s eyes flicked up to Jesse, who was standing behind Louis, and then down to the table.

Louis tapped Cole’s face, just light enough to get his attention. Cole’s jaw twitched as he stared at Louis.

“Or two, we can hunt your father down like a dog,” Louis went on, “and when you get out of here five years from now you can plant flowers on his grave.”

“I don’t know nothing.”

“Okay, then let me tell you what we know,” Louis said. “We know your dad told you what he was going to do. We know he didn’t live around here and that you did. We know you know where he is now.”

Cole glared at him. “I’m not telling you guys shit.”

“This is no time to go brain-dead, Cole,” Louis said slowly, unable to hide his growing anger. “We will find your father. If we have to hunt day and night, ass deep in snow, we will bust open every damn cabin door, look behind every fucking tree and under every fucking rock. Because he killed two cops, Cole. You have any idea what that does to another cop’s mind?”

“Ask me if I care,” Cole muttered.

“You care about your father’s life?”

Cole gave a laugh of derision. “Yeah, sure. I care, man. I care so much my heart is fucking breaking.”

Louis glanced back at Jesse, who was standing motionless, arms folded over his chest, staring at Cole with undisguised contempt.

“Okay, well, maybe you care about saving your own skin then,” Louis said, looking back to Cole.

“You can’t do anything to me,” Cole said.

“Wanna bet? The law says you get out of here when you’re twenty-one,” Louis said. “If we find out you know something about these murders we’re going to charge you with everything we can. That means next time you’ll be tried as an adult and do you know where you go then?”

“You can’t connect me to this shit,” Cole spat out.

“You ever been to Jackson State Penitentiary?”

Cole laughed. “Sure, right. Now you’re gonna take me on one of those scared-straight tours? Huh? Are ya?”

Louis rose slowly. Cole watched him, the smirk slowly sliding off his face. He pressed himself back into the folding chair.

Louis came around the table and stood in front of Cole. “You want a tour, asshole?” Louis asked.

Cole tried to muster another smirk but it came out as a grimace. “Yeah, give me a tour, nigger,” he said, the last word dying to a whisper.

“What did you say?”

Cole wouldn’t look up. He stuck his thin legs out, extending them toward Louis’s feet. Louis kicked them. The chair scraped the floor, nearly folding. Cole grabbed the table for support but ran smack into Louis’s face.

“Listen to me, you little piece of shit,” Louis whispered between clenched teeth. “We’re pissed. And when cops get pissed, they don’t care if assholes like you die.”

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.