Dead of Winter

CHAPTER 38

The guard looked down at the paper in his hand, then back up at Gibralter. “Maybe I better call Warren Little,” he said.

“That paper tells you everything you need to know,” Gibralter said.

Louis hung back, watching. The guard glanced nervously at the phone on his desk.

“Look,” Gibralter said, leaning forward. “Go get Cole Lacey or in the morning you’re going to find your fat ass covered in brass-plated shit from here to Lansing.”

The guard handed the paper back and disappeared down the hall. A metal door clanged, echoing in the hallway. Louis glanced at his watch. It was past midnight. He felt a bead of sweat make its way slowly down his back but he didn’t know if it was from dread over Jesse’s fate or his own. He knew when he agreed to this scheme that they would not be taking Cole back to Loon Lake. He knew there would be no by-the-book questioning under the watchful eye of Steele’s men. He knew Gibralter would do whatever was necessary to make Cole talk. What he didn’t know was if he had the stomach to go along with it.

The door clanged again. The guard was shoving Cole ahead of him. Cole wore only a denim shirt, pants and work boots. There was a large gauze patch on his forehead. When he saw the blue parkas, he froze.

Gibralter went to him and held out a police parka. “Put this on,” he said.

“Fuck you, man.”

“Then freeze your balls off, I don’t care,” Gibralter said. He grabbed his arm and yanked him toward the door.

“Hey! Where they taking me?” Cole yelled back over his shoulder. The guard turned away, going back to his desk.

Outside, Louis followed closely behind as Gibralter led Cole to the Bronco. Cole was squirming and spitting out obscenities, his lank hair whipping around his face. Louis opened the back door and Gibralter pushed Cole in then slammed the door.

Louis got in on the passenger side and flipped on the heater. Gibralter immediately turned it off, nodding toward Cole. Louis glanced back at him through the metal grating. The kid was huddled into the seat, shivering, his eyes wide with fear. Louis zipped up his jacket and stared straight ahead. The doubts began to crawl back.

Weeks ago, he never would have thought he could do something like this, break the rules, even his own. But all bets were off now. He was in new territory and he had no idea what else he was capable of doing.

“Where you taking me?” Cole asked.

Gibralter eyed him in the mirror. “To hell, you little prick.”

“What’s going on?”

“We’re tired of dicking around, Cole. We want your old man. Tell us where he is and we’ll take you back.”

“Fuck you.”

Gibralter slammed on the brakes, sending Cole bouncing forward to the metal grate. Gibralter spun around, gun drawn.

Cole dove behind the seat. Gibralter pulled the trigger, the blast echoing in the truck. Louis jumped, afraid to look back. He turned to see a hole in the backseat.

“Get up,” Gibralter said.

Cole’s pale face appeared above the seat.

“Put on the fucking jacket. Now.”

Cole drew the parka over his thin arms, fighting tears. Louis detected the faint smell of urine.

Gibralter steered the Bronco off the highway and drove deep into the trees, plunging them into a cavern of darkness. They drove on, through the trees for several miles. Then, suddenly, Gibralter braked and killed the engine. For several seconds it was silent. Louis watched as the windshield quickly sheeted over with a blanket of snow. The sound of Cole’s ragged breathing drifted from the back.

“Get him out,” Gibralter said to Louis.

Louis opened his door and stepped down into ankle-high snow. Opening the back door he motioned Cole to get out. When Cole shrank back against the seat, Louis reached in and grabbed the police parka, dragging Cole out.

He dumped him into the snow. Cole leapt to his feet, his eyes darting to the trees, but Louis caught his parka, jerking him back. Cole’s fist shot out and Louis threw up and arm, blocking the kid’s weak punch. He wrapped one arm around Cole’s neck and reached back for his cuffs. Cole twisted, going for the gun in Louis’s belt.

“You stupid shit!” Louis said.

He shoved the kid away, his grip still tight on the parka. He set the gun on the front seat and dragged Cole a few feet away from it. He had no idea where Gibralter was going with this so he set Cole against a tree, directly in the headlights’ beams. Cole squinted, bringing a hand up to his eyes.

“Here,” Gibralter said, coming up behind him and holding out Louis’s gun.

Louis slipped it back in his waistband. He watched Gibralter break off a tree branch and walk toward Cole.

“Where is he?” Gibralter said.

Cole was looking at the branch in Gibralter’s hand. “I don’t know!”

Gibralter brought the branch down across Cole’s face. Cole let out a squeal and stumbled back, covering his face. When Cole lowered his hands, Louis saw a thin line of blood across his cheek.

“Cole,” Louis said quickly. “Just tell us.”

Cole glared at him. “Fuck you, and fuck Harrison!”

Louis glanced at Gibralter. The kid knew.

Gibralter started toward Cole, who backed against the tree. Gibralter pulled him forward by the parka.

“Drop your pants,” Gibralter said.

Cole’s eyes shot to Louis.

With one swift move, Gibralter reached out and ripped Cole’s pants open, popping the plastic button. Cole tried to stop him but Gibralter smacked the branch against his arms.

“Stop! Stop!” Cole yelled.

Gibralter yanked at Cole’s pants, working them down his thin hips. Louis watched, his heart hammering. What was going on? Then, suddenly, he knew. The child abuse report in the Dollar Bay file. Cole had been sodomized as a child and Gibralter knew it. He was going to use it to break the kid.

Cole started to scream.

Jesus, Jesus! Do something. Stop this now!

But before he could move, Gibralter shoved Cole face-first into the snow. Cole’s bare skin glistened in the headlights. He was sobbing.

Louis grabbed the branch. Gibralter spun to face him.

“Enough,” Louis said through clenched teeth.

Gibralter glared at Louis then wretched the branch free. He tossed it down and took a step back. For a moment, Louis thought Gibralter was going to hit him and he braced himself to fight.

“You sorry son of a bitch!” Gibralter shouted. “How dare you stop me!”

“You’re over the edge!” Louis shouted back.

Gibralter’s fist came up but Louis was ready and deflected it. But the blow was powerful and he stumbled back, falling in the snow. Gibralter towered over him.

“Jesse’s dead and you’re defending this piece of shit! What kind of cop are you?” Gibralter yelled.

Louis grabbed a tree to pull himself up from the snow. Gibralter walked a few feet away, turning his back. He was looking off into the darkness.

Louis looked around. Cole was gone. Then, incredibly, he heard laughter. Gibralter was laughing.

Louis trudged through the snow and grabbed Gibralter’s sleeve. “He’s gone! What the hell’s the matter with you?”

Gibralter pulled his arm away. He reached into his parka pocket and pulled out matches and a cigarette. Cupping his hands around the match, he lit it. Louis watched his face in the match’s glow.

“You’re crazy,” Louis said. “You’re fucking crazy.”

“There is no genius without some touch of madness,” Gibralter said softly, tossing the match to the snow.

Gibralter headed back to the Bronco. Louis followed, furious. But before he could say anything, Gibralter produced a black box about the size of the cigarette pack. It was flashing a red light and giving out a faint ping. Gibralter held it out, moving his arm in a wide arc toward the distant trees. It was a tracking device that responded to a sensor, a sensor that Gibralter had imbedded in the police parka Cole was wearing.

“You wanted him to run,” Louis said.

“Of course. Stupid little prick.”

“But what if he hadn’t? What if I hadn’t stopped you?”

“I knew you would.”

For a moment, Louis was paralyzed with anger and a feeling of impotency. “You son of a bitch,” he said.

“No time for insults, Kincaid,” Gibralter said, placing two speed-loaders in the holder on his belt. “We’ve got a job to do.”

“Forget it. This is nuts. I’m not going along.”

“Why not? It was your idea, remember?”

Gibralter laughed and tossed a flashlight at Louis. Louis caught it against his chest, “Get ready,” Gibralter said, his smile fading.

Louis moved to the open passenger door and for a moment just stood there, watching as Gibralter pulled on his gloves. The man was crazy, stone-cold crazy. His eyes drifted to Cole’s prints. They were fading fast in the falling snow, but with the bug he was easily tracked and there was no need to hunt him by themselves.

Louis reached in the Bronco and keyed the radio. The static pierced the quiet and Gibralter’s face appeared over the roof.

“What are you doing?” he demanded.

“We need help. We need to call this in, admit we blew it and get some help.” He keyed the mike again. “Central, this is L-11, do you — ”

A sharp bang, an explosion of sparks. Louis jumped back, holding his hand. Smoke poured out of the dashboard, clearing to reveal the shattered radio. Louis looked up to see Gibralter holding his gun.

“Let’s go,” Gibralter said. He stuck the gun in his holster, slammed the Bronco door and started away.

Louis pulled out his gun and flipped open the cylinder. It was empty. Gibralter had removed the bullets while he had been distracted struggling with Cole.

Louis began to tremble, the wind creeping up under the parka and seeping through his wet jeans. He glanced around, at the black pines and rolling drifts. About ten yards ahead, he could see the beam of Gibralter’s flashlight.

Jesus, what was he going to do? He didn’t know where in the hell he was. He couldn’t stay here and freeze to death. And he couldn’t let Gibralter go on after Cole alone. If Cole did lead him to Lacey, Gibralter would kill them both.

Louis pulled on his gloves and picked up his flashlight. It was nearly two-feet long and heavy in his hand. He weighed its potential as a possible weapon, knowing Gibralter would not let him get close enough to use it. He stuck his empty gun back in his belt.

“Kincaid!” Gibralter’s voice echoed back to him through the trees.

Louis closed the passenger door and reached back to shut the back door. His eye picked up a spot of color on the floorboard and he froze.

It was an orange rabbit’s foot, its chain broken.

Louis picked it up, his heart beating faster. He had seen it back at his cabin just hours ago. Jesse had dropped it and he had stuffed it back in his parka. What was it doing here?

Louis’s eyes went to the metal grate that separated the front from the backseat. A cold knot formed in his gut. Jesse had dropped the rabbit’s foot in the Bronco. But he would never get in the backseat behind the cage. Not unless he was forced to.

Gibralter had Jesse. But why? And where was he now? Was he alive?

“Kincaid!” Gibralter’s flashlight ahead cut a faint path in the blackness. Louis put the rabbit’s foot in his pocket and started toward the light.