Dead of Winter (16 page)

“Jess!”

Jesse turned. Suddenly, Louis didn’t know how to form his question. “I want to ask you something,” he said.

“What?”

“Lovejoy’s death really bothers you.”

“Of course it bothers me. He was a cop.”

“So was Pryce.”

Jesse stared at him. “What are you saying?”

Louis looked out at the lake and then back at Jesse. “I’m not sure. It’s just that —”

“Are you asking me if I cared more because Lovejoy was white?”

“What?” Louis said, stunned. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“That’s not what I —”

“Then what did you mean?”

“Look, I just want to know why you’re taking Lovejoy’s death so much harder, that’s all.”

Jesse shrugged. “Maybe I’ve had some time to get over Pryce, know what I mean?”

“But you worked with Pryce every day.”

Jesse looked away then took off his cap, running his arm across his brow. He turned away, facing the lake.

“Jess?”

Jesse turned. “I didn’t like him, okay?”

“Who? Pryce?”

“Yeah, Pryce. He was kind of a troublemaker.”

“What do you mean?”

Jesse looked uncomfortable. “You know, not a team player.”

“How?”

“He was...shit, he wasn’t one of us, I told you that before.”

“In what way?” Louis pressed.

Jesse shook his head. “Well, like he would report us sometimes.”

“For what?”

“That’s just it. Little shit. Once he even wrote Ollie up for shooting a deer while on duty. Chief didn’t care, let us cook up the damn thing for dinner one night. But Pryce wouldn’t eat any.” He hesitated then shook his head. “He was a jerk, Louis.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that before?”

“Fuck...”

“Why didn’t you tell me before? It’s no big deal.”

“I didn’t want you to think, you know, like I was some sort of bigot.”

Louis stared at him.

“I’m not a bigot,” Jesse said.

Louis let out a long breath. He needed to change the subject. “I’m sorry I asked. Let’s get this over with.” He started toward the trailer.

“Louis, wait,” Jesse called out.

Louis turned.

“First, tell me you know I’m not a bigot,” Jesse said.

“Jesus...”

“I didn’t like the guy because he was an asshole sometimes. That’s the reason. The
only
reason. I’m no bigot.”

Louis threw up his hands. “Okay. Okay. You’re not a fucking bigot.”

“I mean, a black guy can be an asshole, just like a white guy, can’t he?”

Louis let out a sigh. Jesse looked away, and they both just stood there, rooted by the edge of the lake. Jesse slowly began shaking his head.

“Man, that was a dumb conversation,” Jesse said.

“No shit.”

“It wasn’t just Lovejoy himself. I hadn’t seen him in years.”

“Then what was it?”

Jesse glanced back at Lovejoy’s cabin. “It’s that there are two now, two dead cops. He’s after us, man. It’s knowing that this fucker could blow us away at any time. It’s affecting everything I do. I can’t sleep, I can’t eat...I can’t...” His voice trailed off.

Louis didn’t know what to say.

“What the hell does he want?” Jesse asked. “Why us? What the hell have we done?”

“That’s what we have to find out.”

“What do you mean?”

“The case files. Maybe we’ll find something.”

Jesse nodded slowly. “Maybe,” he said. He pulled his cap back on and zipped his coat to the chin. He glanced around at the trailer. “Well, let’s get this over with. Maybe we should split up, get it over with faster.”

“Good idea. I’ll take the shanties,” Louis said.

They split up, Jesse going to the trailer, Louis heading out over the ice toward the nearest fishing shanty.

He poked his head inside. A man jumped up from his stool, dropping his pole. “Jesus, you scared the crap outta me, officer,” the man said, clutching his coat.

Louis picked up the pole and handed it back to the man. “Sorry,” he said.

“I was just reading about that Lovejoy guy,” the man said, pointing to the
Argus
on the ice.

Louis introduced himself, saying he wanted to just ask a few questions. The fisherman stuck out a beefy red hand and offered his name as Art Taub.

“I guess you don’t see a lot of strangers out here,” Louis began, pulling out his notebook. “Are you out here often?”

“Nearly every day, if the wife lets me,” Taub answered, dropping his line back into the water.

“What time do you usually come out?”

“Eight, usually.”

“Do you fellows normally fish at night?”

Taub shook his head. “Early morning’s best.”

“Did you ever see Mr. Lovejoy?”

“Yeah, couple times. Mostly, I heard him.”

“Heard him?”

“His generator,” Taub said with a grimace. “He’d fire it up around six, six-thirty most mornings. He’d run the damn thing for a while, then turn it off, then run it, turn it off. Drove me nuts.”

“So he was out here by six, you think?” Louis asked.

Taub nodded. “You should talk to Elton. He can tell you what time he got his bait every morning. Elton opens at five-thirty.”

Louis paused, thinking about the
New York Times
in Lovejoy’s mailbox. “Mr. Taub, do you remember if you were out here the first weekend of this month?”

Taub frowned. “Yeah, yeah, I was. I remember ‘cause the wife went to Grayling to visit her mother so I was out every day.”

“Did you hear anything that sounded like a gunshot, maybe around two or two-thirty in the afternoon?”

Taub shook his head. “But I wouldn’t have paid attention because of the hunters. Probably wouldn’t have heard it anyway because of that damn generator.”

Louis nodded as he wrote. “Were you friendly with Lovejoy?”

“Nah, he was a loner, never bothered to even grunt in passing. One time I went over there to borrow some line and he told me to go buy my own. I never went back.”

“Did you see anything unusual that weekend, anything at all?”

Taub shook his head.

“Think hard, Mr. Taub.”

“Well, wait a minute, there was one thing. There was a red truck driving around over in those trees north of Will Jervey’s trailer, like he was lost. Real beat up, lots of rust. It was a Ford pickup, old model. I’d never seen it around here before.”

“What time did you see it?”

“Ah, little after six. I went in about eight to refill my thermos and it was gone.”

“Did you see the driver?”

Taub shook his head.

“Anything else?” Louis pressed.

Taub shook his head again. “Nope. It was a good day, fishing-wise, I mean.”

Louis made more notes then closed his book. He thanked Art Taub and left. There were four other huts. Two were empty, but interviews with the men in the other two yielded nothing useful. Neither men had seen a red truck or heard a shot. As Louis headed back to shore he saw Jesse coming from the trees near Lovejoy’s cabin. They met at the cruiser.

“You get anything?” Jesse asked.

“One guy said he saw a suspicious red truck,” Louis said. “What about you?”

“Nothing,” Jesse said. “I went over to Elton’s. He said Fred bought bait on Sunday the first and didn’t see him after that.”

“That supports my theory about the crosswords,” Louis said. “Unless Lovejoy used old bait.”

Jesse shook his head. “Elton says he bought fresh every day.”

Louis was frowning, looking out at the shanties on the lake.

“What’s the matter?” Jesse asked.

“The watch,” Louis said. “Fred’s watch stopped at two-thirty. But I just can’t see a killer hitting in broad daylight.”

“Especially since Pryce was hit at three in the morning,” Jesse said.

They were silent for several moments. “Maybe the watch ran for a while,” Jesse offered.

Louis shook his head. “In that water? It would freeze up right away.”

Jesse turned suddenly and started to get in the cruiser. “Let’s go.”

“Where?” Louis asked.

“To find out.”

“Find out what?”

But Jesse had already started the cruiser. When Louis got in, Jesse was radioing Dale, telling him to pull Lovejoy’s watch out of evidence and find out what make and model it was. By the time Jesse swung the cruiser up in front of Red’s Drug Store, Louis realized what was up. He waited in the cruiser until Jesse emerged with a bag holding a duplicate Timex. Jesse seemed so excited by his experiment Louis didn’t have the heart to discourage him. He would let him play
Columbo
; maybe it would give him some confidence.

Back at the station, Louis watched while Dale scavenged a thermometer from the first-aid kit and Jesse filled the Pyrex coffeepot with ice cubes from the refrigerator. In minutes, the two had their experiment set up on Louis’s desk.

“Check the temperature,” Dale said, caught up in Jesse’s experiment.

“Louis, get the watch,” Jesse called out.

Louis unwrapped the new gold-plated Timex and handed it to Jesse. They waited until the water in the pot had dropped below freezing. Louis stepped back, shaking his head.

He watched as Jesse dropped the watch in the water.

“What time you got, Louis?” Jesse asked.

“Five straight up.”

The seconds ticked off as Jesse and Dale peered at the watch in the water.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Louis looked to the door. Gibralter was standing there, staring at Jesse and Dale huddled over the coffeepot.

Jesse jumped to his feet. “A test.”

Gibralter came over to the desk and looked down at the glass bowl. “What kind of test?”

“We’re trying to find out how long this watch will run in ice water.”

“Why?” Gibralter demanded.

“Louis thinks Fred — ”

Gibralter’s eye flicked to Louis and then back to Jesse. He reached in the coffeepot, pulled out the watch and tossed it on the desk.

“Every minute you waste could cost another officer his life,” Gibralter said, leveling his gaze at Jesse. “I told you to go through the case files. Now go do your damn job.”

Jesse wet his lips. “But — ”

“Do your job, Harrison,” Gibralter repeated, enunciating each word, as if to a child. Without looking at Louis, he went into his office, slamming the door.

Louis looked at Jesse. He was just standing there, his face red with embarrassment. Dale and Florence were watching, their eyes wide in sympathy.

“Fuck,” Jesse muttered, wandering off.

Louis looked down at the watch. The face was clouded with condensation. He picked it up.

It had stopped at 5:04.

The sound of bells tolling. A white meadow, snow, and a stand of pines in the distance. A white church, with a steeple piercing a cobalt blue sky. And a line of blue moving slowly, swaying, emerging from the church. A coffin...they were carrying a coffin out into the snowy meadow as the bells tolled.

Louis woke with a start. Bells...the phone.

Wiping a hand over his eyes, he turned over and grabbed the receiver. “Yeah,” he said hoarsely.

“Louis?”

“Yeah.” He reached for his watch and squinted at the dial. It was after ten. He had slept through the morning.

“Louis, this is Phillip.”

“Phillip?” He blinked at the sound of his foster father’s voice and pulled himself up on one elbow. “Phillip! Jeez, it’s good to hear from you.” He reached down to pull the covers over his bare chest. The room was freezing cold.

“You sound strange. Don’t tell me I woke you up.” The voice on the other end of the line chuckled.

“No, no. Well, yeah, you did. But that’s okay. I’m off today.” Louis’s eyes swept over the crumpled bed. He spotted his chambray shirt crumpled in the blanket at the end. He squinted and saw two glasses on the bureau, half-filled with tawny liquid.

“I know. I called the station. They gave me your number.”

Louis suppressed a sigh. He had forgotten to call his foster parents and tell them he had finally gotten a phone.

“Look, Louis,” Phillip went on, “I won’t waste time busting your chops about why we haven’t heard from you in weeks.”

“Thanks,” Louis said softly. Leave it to Phillip Lawrence to cut through the bullshit. He hated talking on the phone more than Louis did.