Dead of Winter

by P J Parrish

  “You want to go in?”

  “Soon as I finish this butt.”

  Louis watched Phillip as he rubbed his leg again, holding the cigarette between his teeth. Another teenage memory bubbled up into his head, the first time he had seen the long scars on Phillip’s leg. Phillip had told him how he had gotten the wound in the Korean War, how the doctor had saved his leg, but left him with a lifelong limp. It was Louis’s first indication that the man who had become the most important figure in his life was truly human, less than a god. Not long after that, Phillip had opened a trunk in the attic and shown him his souvenirs from the war. Louis remembered the uniform patch that had caught his eye. It was a soaring eagle on the red background with the words SILVER EAGLES and the numbers of Phillip’s company on it. He had let Louis keep the patch. Louis lost it somewhere years ago. He never told Phillip.

  Louis straightened up off the motorhome. Something stirred in his brain, a connection being made.

  “Phillip, you remember that patch you gave me?”

  “What patch?”

  “The one from your uniform,” Louis said. “The eagle?”

  “Oh, yeah. What’d you do with it, by the way?”

  Louis felt a surge of excitement. God, the human brain was strange, its synapses firing out to make bridges when you were least expecting it. He was thinking of the cloth they had found on the fence by the park, dark green, like army fatigues.

  “Platoons, military units, they all had names like that and numbers?” Louis asked.

  “Some,” Phillip answered. “Why do you ask?”

  “It could be related to one of the things I’m trying to track down in this case,” Louis said. “The killer leaves this clue, a drawing of a skull and the numbers ‘1 2 3.’ Does it mean anything? Could it be military?”

  Phillip shrugged. “Maybe. The emblems were unofficial, something the guys created themselves.”

  “What about on a playing card?”

  “Hell, yes. We bought them at the PX, carried them everywhere.” He smiled. “I lost a month’s pay in Seoul trying to pull an inside straight.”

  Louis’s mind was racing. Could it be that simple? Could it be some sort of military symbol? He had to find someone who knew about the military and what the numbers might mean. Was it a company, a squadron? And which war? It could —

  “Louis?”

  For a second, Phillip’s voice didn’t register. When Phillip repeated his name, Louis looked up at him. He saw the concern in Phillip’s face.

  “It’s all right, Phil,” Louis said quietly.

  “I’m worried about you,” Phillip said.

  “I’m being careful.”

  Phillip looked at him for a long time then took a final deep drag on his cigarette.

  Louis watched the cigarette glow. He was struck suddenly by how different Phillip’s way of smoking was from Gibralter’s. Phillip’s style was deliberate, almost sensual, as though he was surrendering. Gibralter attacked the tobacco, as if he knew it was the enemy.

  “My chief smokes unfiltered Camels,” Louis said.

  “A real man’s smoke,” Phillip said with a dry smile.

  Louis smiled. “Well, that’s Gibralter. A real man.”

  “You like him?”

  “Well, he’s not exactly likeable. He’s an enigma. Ego the size of Lake Michigan. Smart, strict. Probably ex-Marine and probably over-educated for the job.”

  “Over-educated. Sounds like somebody else I know,” Phillip said with a small smile.

  Louis let the remark pass.

  “Your chief,” Phillip said after a moment, “is he the kind who takes care of his men?”

  Louis frowned slightly, unsure of what Phillip was asking. “He’s a very dedicated cop,” he answered finally.

  “But to what?” Phillip said. “Police departments are a lot like the military, Louis. The men who run them understand that sometimes there must be casualties.”

  Louis knew where Phillip was going with this and he tensed.

  “This man Gibralter, is he taking care of his men?”

  “There’s not much he can do. We have to do our job.”

  Phillip paused. He tossed the cigarette into the snow. It fizzed and died.

  “I had a C.O.,” Phillip said. “His name was Cliff McInerney. We called him Captain Mac. We were driving north near Yongsan and ran into heavy fire.”

  “Is that where you were wounded?” Louis asked.

  Phillip nodded. “We were pinned down for two days. Lost three men. Finally, Captain Mac decided he wasn’t going to wait any longer and tried to get us out. He led our squad through heavy fire. At one point he went back, running across this open field to rescue Hooper who went down in a trench. I thought he was nuts.”

  Phillip looked at Louis. “Maybe he was. But he got us out of there when we were all sure we were going to die.”

  “What happened to him?” Louis asked.

  “He was killed. We were walking through the village. A grenade came out of nowhere. He jumped on it to protect two men walking ahead.”

  Louis watched the subtle shift of emotions play over Phillip’s face.

  “A leader believes in himself,” Phillip said. “But more important, he gives others the courage to believe in themselves.”

  Louis lifted the empty glass and looked at it, suddenly wishing there was more in it.

  Phillip gently took the glass from his hand then suddenly grabbed him by the back of the neck and pulled him close.

  “Please be careful, Louis,” he said.

  CHAPTER 13

  The sky was the color of sheet metal. Louis looked out at the low-lying clouds then reached down and turned the cruiser’s heater up another notch.

  “Smells like it’s gonna snow again,” Jesse said.

  “Which is why I wanted to get an earlier start,” Louis said grimly.

  Jesse sighed. “I told you, man, we already talked to these assholes.”

  “You didn’t show them the card. Maybe they know something.”

  “Trust me, they’re a bunch of burn-outs. They don’t know what year it is.”

  “I thought you’d be glad to get away from the damn case files for a while.”

  Jesse reached for his thermos. “Oh yeah, like this isn’t a waste of time.”

  They continued up Highway 33 in stony silence. Louis resisted his urge to lay into Jesse. He had rousted him out of bed with a phone call at five that morning, telling him they had to be on the road by six. It was an hour’s drive to Lake Orion, and who knew how long it would take after that to find the veterans’ camp?

  Louis glanced down at the directions Ollie had scribbled on a scrap of paper. Ollie had warned him the place was tough to find. He had also filled Louis in on what happened the first time the vets were questioned. The day after Pryce’s murder, Gibralter had ordered a sweep of all “organized local weirdos.” It had netted some local members of the Michigan Militia Corps, two broken-down renegades from the Aryan Nation, a handful of vegetarian survivalists stockpiling canned goods in anticipation of a nuclear holocaust, and a local nut who once used a sledgehammer to bash all the parking meters along Main Street.

  It had also turned up seven veterans who were living on a tract of land sixty miles north of Loon Lake. The vets were brought into the station and “questioned extensively,” Ollie said. Gibralter had been unable to get a search warrant for the camp. But, Ollie told Louis, Gibralter remained suspicious that Pryce’s killer was among the seven men living in the woods.

  Louis gazed out at the dense forest they were about to enter. The road seemed to be narrowing into a tunnel of gray clouds and hulking pines. He had a sinking feeling about this whole thing, that there was no way these men would talk. But after what Phillip Lawrence had told him yesterday about the emblems, he had to try.

  “Turn here,” Louis said, spotting a small side road.

  “Where?” Jesse asked.

  “Stop! Right here. See the road?”

&n
bsp; “Road? What fucking road?” Jesse shook his head. “We’ll never get up there without chains.

  “Try,” Louis said.

  The cruiser’s wheels spun on the unplowed road, making slow progress through the thick trees. About two miles in, they came to a gate that ran across the road. There was a large sign that said NO TRESPASSING. PRIVATE PROPERTY.

  “Now what?” Jesse asked.

  “Now we walk,” Louis said, getting out of the car.

  The road wended its way through the thick pines for another half mile. Finally, they could see the dark outlines of a building ahead. As they drew closer, the details of the compound came into focus. There were at least four well-constructed but spartan buildings, each with its own large generator. One sported a huge satellite dish on its roof. There was a shed with two Jeeps parked in front. The smell of a fire hung in the damp air.

  The quiet was broken by the sharp barking of dogs.

  “Jesus, those fuckers better be chained,” Jesse said, his hand going to his holster.

  They heard a door slam. A dark figure came out of the nearest building. He stood looking out at them. Louis could see the slender outline of a rifle slung across the man’s back.

  “Let me do the talking,” Louis said quietly as they walked toward the man.

  “Better keep it to two syllables or less,” Jesse muttered.

  The man had not moved. The dogs were in a pen, two German shepherds and something that looked like a Rottweiler with a bushy tail. They were barking insanely, bouncing against the chain-link fence like pinballs. The man shifted his M-16 down off his shoulder, letting it dangle at his side. He was wearing a down vest over a heavy navy sweater, fatigue pants and heavy black boots caked with mud. He was tall and burly. His face was hidden on top by a cap emblazoned with the Oakland Raiders logo and below by a thick red beard.

  “Stop right there,” he said slowly.

  Louis and Jesse came to a halt about ten yards away. The cacophany of barking was ear splitting.

  “Quiet!” the man shouted suddenly.

  The dogs stopped. They circled each other in agitation and then sat, ears pricked forward, snarling at Louis and Jesse.

  “This is private property,” the man said.

  “We know,” Louis said. “We just want to talk to you.”

  Louis became aware of movement from the corner of his eye. He turned slightly to his left. Two men had materialized out of the woods. Both wore the same hybrid outfits of military garb and outdoor clothing. He heard a sound behind him and sensed the presence of others at his back.

  “We don’t like cops here,” the man with the beard said.

  Louis nodded. “Fair enough.”

  Another man came out of the nearest building. He was shorter than the others, wiry, black. He stared at Louis. Louis held his eyes for a moment then his gaze dropped to the empty left sleeve of the man’s jacket. He looked back to the bearded man.

  “We’re from Loon Lake. We’re investigating a murder,” Louis said.

  “Two murders now,” the man said.

  Louis stared at him. “Yes, two murders. Two police officers.” He waited, but the bearded man said nothing. “We think the killer had a connection to the military. We think –”

  “You think,” the man interrupted, “that your killer is a wacko vet. And here we are, a whole camp of loonie-tunes right under your nose.” He smiled and hoisted the rifle up over his shoulder. “Now that’s one nifty piece of investigating there, Kojak.”

  “Look, I just want to show you something,” Louis said, reaching into his pocket to pull out the plastic evidence bag. He came closer, holding it up. “You ever seen a card like this?”

  The man ignored it. “Look, we don’t have to put up with your shit this time. We’re not in your fucking jail now. We’re on my land. My land, officer. And unless you got some search warrant you’ve got no business here.”

  Louis sensed the men behind him moving closer. His eyes flitted up to the black soldier. He was staring at the card. Suddenly, he turned and walked off into the trees. It started to snow.

  “Louis, let’s get out of here,” Jesse said tightly.

  “I’d take your partner’s advice, friend,” the man said.

  Louis hesitated. This was going nowhere. He stuffed the bag back in his pocket and brushed the snow from his face. Jesse was right. He wasn’t going to get anything out of these head cases.

  He turned and started back toward the cruiser. Jesse followed quickly.

  “I told you,” Jesse said when they were out of earshot.

  “Shut up, Jess.”

  “Christ, look at this shit,” Jesse said, gesturing at the snow. “We’re never gonna get the cruiser back up that hill. We’re gonna get stuck up here and — ”

  Jesse froze. Louis looked up.

  The black soldier was standing a few yards in front of the cruiser. He was holding a large gun of some kind.

  “Oh, great,” Jesse said through clenched teeth. “If that motherfucker — ”

  “Shut up!” Louis hissed. He approached the soldier, his eyes going to the gun. With a twist in his gut he realized it was an AK-47. How in the hell did he fire it with one arm?

  From the lines in his face, the soldier looked to be in his forties. He gave off an aura of harnessed energy, his sinewy body a coiled spring, his black eyes snapping. Louis looked at the faded name on his worn jacket. CLOVERDALE. He recognized two patches from Phillip Lawrence’s souvenirs: a sergeant’s strips and a CIB, a combat infantry badge. “If you ever see a man wearing a CIB, he’s worthy of your respect,” Phillip had told him.

  “You’re lucky Randall didn’t blow your head off,” the soldier said.

  Jesse stepped forward. “Listen, asshole — ”

  The soldier tensed. Louis’s arm shot up against Jesse’s chest. He turned his back to Cloverdale and glared at Jesse.

  “Goddamn it, Jess,” he whispered tightly, “we need this man’s help. He knows something.”

  Jesse’s eyes darted over Louis’s shoulder to Cloverdale and back to Louis’s face. Jesse’s neck was red, the flush creeping up into his face.

  “Go wait in the cruiser,” Louis said. “Please.”

  Jesse hesitated, glared again at the soldier then stomped off toward the cruiser. Louis waited until he heard the slam of the door and the start of the motor then turned to face Cloverdale. He pulled out the card and held it up.

  “You know about this?” he asked.

  Cloverdale’s eyes didn’t leave Louis’s face. “Why should I talk to you?”

  “Because I need help,” Louis said.

  The man gave a low bitter laugh. “Help? Well, ain’t that ironic.”

  Louis thrust the bag forward. “You know what this card means. And I think you want to tell me about it.”

  “Why? Because you’re black? You think we got some kind of special brother thing going here?” Cloverdale laughed again. “Let me tell you something, bro. The only brothers I got are those six white guys back there.”

  He sobered and looked toward the cruiser, at Jesse sitting sullenly behind the wheel. “That your partner?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Too bad, man.”

  Louis wiped the snow from his eyes. It was coming down heavy now. But he couldn’t leave, not yet. This man wanted to talk, he was sure of it.

  “Hey, you got a cigarette?” Cloverdale asked.

  “Sorry. Don’t smoke.”

  Cloverdale hoisted the gun up, holding it against his shoulder. He saw Louis looking at it.

  “Yeah, it’s heavy,” he said. He studied Louis’s face. “Go on, ask me,” he said.

  “Ask you what?” Louis said.

  “How I lost my arm. It’s what you were thinking about.”

  “No, I wasn’t.”

  Cloverdale smiled. He had beautiful, straight teeth. Movie star teeth. “How old are you?” he asked.

  “Twenty-five,” Louis said.

  “I was twenty-fo
ur when I joined up,” Cloverdale said. “I grew up in a shithole town in Arkansas...Marked Tree. Man, I would have done anything to get out of the South.”

  “Mississippi,” Louis said.

  “What?” Cloverdale said, squinting through the snow.

  “Black pool, Mississippi, that’s where I was born. Probably makes Marked Tree look like Paris.”

  Cloverdale stared at him for a moment then smiled. “You don’t strike me as military,” he said. “You serve?”

  Louis shook his head.

  The soldier’s smile turned pensive. “I was at Fort Campbell,” he said. “They picked me for Delta Company, second battalion, 501 Infantry, 101 Airborne Division.” He cocked his head. “You ever see that movie The Dirty Dozen?”

  Louis nodded.

  “We were kind of like that, the leftovers, the guys nobody else wanted. We had guys who liked to steal shit, you know, supplies and equipment. So they started calling us “The Raiders.” We were tight, a really great unit.” Cloverdale’s eyes grew distant.

  Louis glanced at the cruiser, hoping Jesse wouldn’t do anything stupid to disrupt the soldier’s reminiscence.

  “So how did it happen?” Louis asked, nodding toward the soldier’s missing arm.

  Cloverdale blinked, wiping snow from his face. “Firefight near Hue, Valentine’s Day, 1968,” he said matter-of-factly. “We lost six men, eighteen wounded, including the captain. I lost the arm but got a ticket back to Marked Tree.”

  The snow had covered Cloverdale’s head, forming a white helmet over his close-cropped hair. He looked suddenly like an old man.

  “How did you get here?” Louis asked.

  Cloverdale hoisted the gun higher up against his shoulder. “Well, I did my time at the VA hospital, bummed around the country for a couple years. I stuffed all the war shit into a box and tried to build a life.” He paused, smiling. “Hard keeping the lid on that damn box sometimes.” His eyes drifted to the bag in Louis’s hand.

  Jesse honked the horn. Louis looked at the cruiser and waved an impatient hand.

  “You’re gonna get snowed in here, man,” Cloverdale said.

  “Go on,” Louis said. “Please.”

  Cloverdale looked up the road toward the collection of houses. “Randall was in my unit. His family’s from around here. They gave him the land and he decided to make a camp for vets. There’s just seven of us now but we’re building houses for more. We look after each other, you know?”