Dead of Winter

CHAPTER 27

His teeth were chattering and he clenched them to make them stop. He looked up into the black sky, trying to find a place to store the vivid images that swam in his mind. And so many sounds. Wailing sirens. Radio static. Shouts. All these men shouting and he was doing nothing.

A door slammed and Louis spun around. Ambulance, just the ambulance. It pulled away slowly, with no sense of urgency.

Someone touched him and he turned. Jesse was a silhouette against the glare of the spotlights aimed at Ollie’s cruiser. For a second, the voices and sirens seemed muted.

Jesse reached for him. Louis stiffened, pulling back. But the need for touch, for human contact, was too strong. Slowly, he surrendered to Jesse’s embrace. He closed his eyes, lowering his head to the stiff nylon of Jesse’s jacket.

“Harrison!”

Jesse pulled back, leaving a void of cold wind. Louis blinked to focus on Gibralter’s silhouette as it came toward him.

“How did this happen?” Gibralter whispered hoarsely.

How did this happen? How did this happen? Louis’s eyes drifted to the spotlit cruiser, dark forms crawling around it, over it, in it.

“Kincaid! How did this happen?”

It happened because I let Lacey go. It happened because I went into the field and Ollie stayed by the cruiser. It happened because I couldn’t get back to Ollie in time. It happened because I didn’t react fast enough, I didn’t shoot straight enough, I didn’t, I didn’t, I didn’t…

“I want your report tonight,” Gibralter said, bringing him back.

Did he say “Yes, sir,” or nod? He wasn’t sure. All he knew was that Gibralter had turned away. In the glare of the lights, Louis was vaguely aware of Jesse hovering somewhere nearby. The sounds came to him again — the voices, the radios, the rush of noise that hurt his head.

“Damn it…damn it.”

It took him a moment to separate the words from the noise. It was Gibralter repeating the words to himself.

“Damn it…why him?”

The last two words made Louis look up. Why him? He looked over again at the cruiser and in his mind saw Ollie lying on the front seat, felt the warmth of Ollie’s blood as it pulsed against his hand. Why him?

He looked back to see Gibralter watching him. The words were unspoken but there in his eyes. Why not you?

Gibralter turned and walked away.

Louis moved woodenly back to Gibralter’s Bronco. He reached in the driver’s side and picked up a clipboard. He slowly unzipped his jacket and fumbled for a pen. His hand touched the rough nylon of the vest. For the first time, he became aware of its weight, became aware, too, of the dull ache above his kidney where the vest had stopped Lacey’s bullet.

He threw the clipboard to the seat and yanked off his jacket. He tore at the Velcro strips, pulled the vest over his head and threw it to the floor of the Bronco. He stood for a few moments, breathing heavily. He shut his eyes tight.

Stop, stop…stop! He opened his eyes to look at the shapes moving around him. State troopers, deputies, crime-scene techs. He saw the familiar blue parkas of his own department’s officers. He saw, far off in the snowy field, the play of flashlights as men searched for where Lacey had been hiding. The men were doing their jobs. He had to pull himself together to do his.

He picked up the clipboard and sat down on the edge of the passenger seat, pulling his jacket up over his shoulders. He faced away from the field and the lights.

Slowly, the words came. They came, the words that explained what had happened, pouring out onto the lined form. They were the words of his job, words like suspect, victim and pursuit and shots fired, words unweighted with emotion. Safe, efficient, unhuman words, and he found comfort in their blankness.

When he was done he set the report aside and leaned back in the seat. A huge wave of fatigue rolled slowly over him and he had to fight to keep his eyes open. He pushed himself up, put on his jacket and got out of the Bronco.

He searched the crowd for Gibralter, finally spotting him standing by the open door of Ollie’s cruiser. Louis walked over to him.

“The report is finished. What do you want me to do now?”

“Go home,” Gibralter said, not looking at him.

“Chief — ”

“I said go home.”

“I need to be here.”

“This isn’t about what you need, Kincaid. You’re on administrative leave pending psychiatric evaluation.”

“A shrink? I don’t need a shrink.”

“It’s departmental policy. Make an appointment in the morning.”

“I can help search — ”

“We don’t need you,” Gibralter said. He turned away before Louis could answer. “Evans!” he called out.

The other officer looked up and trotted over.

“Evans, take Kincaid home.”

“Wait a minute,” Louis said, moving into Gibralter’s line of vision. “I want — ”

“I don’t care what you want,” Gibralter said sharply. “In your mental state, you’re no use to us. Now go home.”

Louis walked stiffly to Evans’s cruiser and got in, unable to look at Evans as he started the engine. They pulled slowly away and were soon engulfed by the darkness and quiet.

Louis leaned his head back on the seat. A thought penetrated the fog in his head. “Did they find it?” he asked dully.

“Find what?” Evans said.

“The card.”

Evans hesitated. “Yeah.”

“Where was it?”

“On the floor of the cruiser.”

Louis closed his eyes. That’s why the motherfucker ran near the cruiser, to throw in the damn card.

“What was it? What card?” Louis asked.

“Eight of clubs.”

Eight? Just like Ollie’s call number.

Something inside him stirred. Fred Lovejoy’s number was ten. “Radio numbers,” Louis mumbled softly. “He’s using their damn call numbers.”

Evans glanced at him. “What?”

Except Pryce. Pryce’s number was two, not one as the ace of spades would indicate. Why hadn’t Pryce been tossed a two?

Evans brought the car to a sudden stop. Louis looked up, saw he was home and jumped out of the cruiser without a word. He went inside and walked to the kitchen. He uncapped the bottle of Christian Brothers and took a long swallow. It dribbled down his chin and he coughed, setting the bottle down. Bent over the sink, he wiped his chin with his hand.

You’re no use to us….

His hand was trembling. He brought it up to his face, turning it over slowly. He stared at his nails, rimmed with dried blood. He turned on the faucet, grabbed a Brillo pad and thrust his hands under the water, tearing the pad across his nails. Finally, he threw it aside and turned off the water.

There was a knock and his eyes shot to the door. His hand went to his holster. It was empty; he had turned over his gun at the scene as routine procedure.

“Louis?” a soft voice called. “Louis? It’s Zoe.”

He let out a breath, went slowly to the door and opened it. She stood there in the darkness of the porch, her head uncovered, her face shadowed. She waited and finally he moved aside and she came in.

The cabin was dark, the only light filtering in from the kitchen. She looked around, her eyes coming back finally to him. He saw them move down from his face to his chest. He had forgotten he was still wearing his police parka, the front stained brown with Ollie’s blood.

He turned away, going to the sofa. He switched on a lamp and slipped off the jacket, throwing it in a corner. He sat down, leaning forward, hands on his knees, closing his eyes. After a moment, he felt the sofa sag with her weight as she sat down next to him.

“I heard what happened,” she said.

Her voice was distant in his brain, childlike, fearful. He didn’t want to answer. He was afraid his own would sound the same.

“I had to come,” she said.

He shook his head slowly, not daring to look at her. He wanted to ask her why she had to come back but he didn’t want to hear what he knew was the truth, that she came back of pity.

“Go away, Zoe,” he said softly.

“Louis…”

“I need to be alone right now.”

She touched his back. “Don’t push me away. I understand — ”

“Please…please go. Now, please.” He started to pull away, but her hand moved up to his neck, pulling him closer.

“Don’t,” she said.

He tried to push away but her hand grew firmer. “Don’t,” she said.

He began to tremble and shut his eyes.

“Don’t” she whispered.

Something ripped inside his chest and he fell against her. Her arms encircled his back and she pulled him to her. He began to cry.