Dead of Winter

by P J Parrish

  He had not double-checked it. Shit, what if the record was wrong?

  He felt a trickle of sweat make its way down his back under his shirt. He glanced up at the clock. It was still too early. The DOC wouldn’t open until eight.

  “Morning, Louis.”

  Louis turned to see Dale coming in from the locker room, heading straight for the coffee machine. Dale started to the coffeepot. “Hey, how come you didn’t make the coffee yet?” he said. “But then again you don’t do such a great job anyway, no offense.”

  Louis was silent. Finally, Dale looked up and saw Louis’s stony expression. “Something wrong?” he asked.

  Looking into Dale’s pink face, Louis realized suddenly he was angry. He was angry at Dale. He was angry at Jesse and Gibralter. He was angry at all of them for not telling him about the raid on the cabin. And he was angry at himself for not double-checking.

  “Louis? What is it?” Dale asked.

  “Nothing,” he said, turning back to his desk. “I need a file,” he said.

  “Sure, no problem,” Dale said cautiously, “Just let me get the coffee — ”

  Louis spun around. “Just give me the keys. I’ll get it.”

  Dale stared at him for a moment then reached in his pocket for the keys. Louis came forward to get them, almost grabbing them from Dale’s hand. He unlocked the cabinet and started sifting through the files. He couldn’t find the one for the raid.

  “Where the hell is it?” he muttered.

  Dale came up behind him. “Let me find it. What do you need?”

  Louis turned to face him. “November, 1979. John and Angela Lacey. Those names ring a bell?”

  Dale looked confused. “I’ll find it.” He held out a mug of coffee. “Three sugars. Hey, what happened to your hand?”

  Louis ignored him, took the coffee and went back to his desk. He felt a small wave of guilt as he watched Dale hunt through the file drawer. He probably had nothing to do with the raid. But right now, Dale was lumped in with the rest of the department. What the hell was going on here? Was it just the ineptitude of a small-town department? He couldn’t believe that; Lacey was too logical a suspect, in prison or not.

  Dale came over and handed him a thick file. It was labeled LACEY, JOHN. A. #79-11-543.

  “I brought your mail, too,” Dale said, dropping some envelopes on the desk and backing away.

  Louis put on his glasses and opened the file. On top was the three-page crime report that listed suspects and victims along with their personal information. The reporting officer was listed as Chief Brian Gibralter, #1. Louis began to read.

  On November 23, 1979, at 16:05 hours Officer Thomas Pryce (see supplemental report #2) observed suspect #1, a twelve-year-old white male juvenile, identified as Cole Lacey, walking along the 1400 block of Lakeside drive. When Officer Pryce attempted to stop Lacey, the suspect ran south approximately one hundred yards to an unoccupied cabin located at 1387 Lakeside Drive. Suspect entered the cabin.

  Officer Pryce approached the cabin and at that time heard activity, leading Officer Pryce to believe the cabin was occupied by more than the suspect. Officer Pryce verbally advised the suspect Lacey to vacate the premises. At this time, unknown suspect inside the premises yelled, “Fuck you, come and get me.”

  At this time Officer Pryce called for backup, advising Central he was involved in a foot pursuit that had concluded with a challenge to enter. Chief Gibralter, #1, and Officers Harrison, #13, Wickshaw, #8, and Lovejoy, #10 (supplemental reports #3, #4, #5) responded to the scene. Upon arriving at the scene, I observed Officer Pryce positioned by his patrol car.

  Officer Pryce advised that he had made numerous attempts to persuade the suspects to vacate the premises and that an unknown number of suspects had responded with verbal threats. I assumed command of the situation and directed Officers Wickshaw, Lovejoy and Harrison to secure the cabin by taking positions at the cabin’s corners. Positioned in front of the cabin, I attempted again to persuade suspects to surrender. They responded with numerous verbal obscenities. At approximately 16:20 hours I ordered tear gas activated. Tear gas was launched through both front windows. Unknown suspects began to shout from inside the premises.

  At approximately 16:28 hours, suspect #2, John A. Lacey, white male juvenile, exited the premises through the rear door. Suspect attempted to elude Officer Harrison, who radioed for assistance. Suspect Lacey ran north toward the property’s rear perimeter approximately twenty-five yards. Officer Harrison tackled suspect and attempted to subdue him.

  Officer Harrison’s shotgun discharged, hitting suspect Lacey on the left front facial area. Suspect died at the scene. Officers Wickshaw, Lovejoy and myself abandoned our positions to assist officer Harrison. At this time, suspect #3, Angela L. Lacey, white female juvenile, exited the premises through the rear door, armed with a small caliber handgun. She positioned herself on the deck and announced she intended to shoot the officers unless they allowed her to leave the scene. Officers Wickshaw and Lovejoy ordered the suspect to drop her weapon. Suspect refused. Suspect then raised her weapon and fired at officers. Officer Wickshaw discharged his weapon, fatally wounding her in the chest.

  Officers Lovejoy and Wickshaw then entered the premises through the rear door to secure them. Suspect #1, C. Lacey was found hiding in a closet in the rear upstairs bedroom. After threatening officers with a gun, suspect surrendered without incident. No officers were injured in this action.

  Louis closed his eyes, his face burning with anger. “Goddamn it, goddamn it to hell,” he muttered.

  Dale looked over, but said nothing.

  Louis ran a hand over his face and went on through the file. He was stopped cold by a photograph of Angela Lacey. She was slumped against the wood exterior of the cabin, her Mackinac Island sweatshirt drenched in blood. There was a gun near her open palm.

  A girl, for crissakes, a girl who should have been going to a prom, but was holed up in a cabin with a gun shooting at cops.

  Louis looked at the clock. It was eight, straight up. He redialed the Department of Corrections. For a second, he hoped no one would answer.

  “Department of Corrections, Ms. Meyers speaking.”

  Louis explained what he needed.

  “It’ll take me a few minutes, officer,” she said, “the computer this morning is — ”

  “No,” Louis interrupted. “No computer. I need you to pull the hard copy.”

  “Well, that’s not really necessary — ”

  “Yes, it is,” Louis said. “It is very important that I verify this information. Please.”

  The woman sighed. “This will take a while. Why don’t you give me your —”

  “I’ll hold.”

  While he waited, Louis sifted through the other reports. First Jesse’s, then Ollie’s, then Lovejoy’s, but they offered no new information. He went back to the photos.

  The first dozen were routine crime-scene photos. Bloodstained snow, broken windows, tear gas canisters and Pryce’s patrol car. There were two photos of Johnny Lacey. One was a mug shot showing him as a handsome kid with chopped blond hair and an arrogant smirk. The second was a close-up of him after he had been shot. The entire left cheekbone area of his face was gone, leaving a gaping dark hole.

  “Officer Kincaid? Are you still there?”

  “Yes, I am,” Louis said, shifting the phone.

  “The file says this man was released November 10, 1984, on the governor’s early release program.”

  “November? Are you sure?” Louis asked.

  “That’s what I said.”

  Louis hung up and for several seconds couldn’t move. November 10, not December 10. Double-check. Double-check. How could he have been so careless? How could his instincts have been that bad? He had fucked up. But so had they, all of them, every man in the damn department who knew about the raid and didn’t talk about it.

  “Louis, you okay?” Dale asked.

  “Why didn’t someone tell me about this case?” Louis asked t
ightly.

  Dale hesitated, seeming to measure his thoughts carefully. “It was a bad time around here,” he said quietly. “Jesse took it really bad.”

  Louis wasn’t listening. His anger wouldn’t let him. He glanced at his watch. Jesse and the chief were both due in soon.

  “I was here when Jesse came back in after,” Dale said. “He still had...he had blood in his hair, you know? He was in bad shape. He wouldn’t talk about it.”

  Louis shook his head in disgust. He was tired of everyone making excuses for Jesse. Jesse had withheld information about the raid because he couldn’t bring himself to talk about it?

  “Louis,” Dale said, “it doesn’t matter. I mean, this Lacey guy was still —”

  “Dale,” Louis said sharply, “Lacey was out in November. He was an early release. The printout had a typo. A fucking typo.”

  For several seconds Dale just stared at him. Then he turned and walked slowly back to his desk. The silence was broken by the squeak of Dale’s chair. Louis looked over at him. Dale was pale, his eyes locked on Pryce’s and Lovejoy’s photographs hanging on the wall.

  Louis closed the file. “Dale, make me a copy of this, will you?”

  Dale nodded slowly, taking the file.

  Gibralter’s voice broke the silence as it came over the radio. “Loon-1 to Central,” Gibralter said, “I’m going to be 10-6 for a while. Hold the briefing until I arrive.”

  Dale didn’t move.

  “Dale,” Louis called out. “The radio.”

  Dale grabbed the mike and acknowledged.

  “Tell him I need to talk to him, that it’s important,” Louis said.

  Dale nodded and relayed the message. Louis heard Gibralter come back that he’d see him after briefing.

  “No,” Louis said sharply. “Tell him it can’t wait.”

  CHAPTER 19

  Louis glanced again at his watch. Eight-twenty. Where the hell was Gibralter? The man was never late for briefing.

  Louis’s eyes went to Jesse, sitting across the room. He felt a new spurt of anger but forced it back. When Jesse had come in, he had wanted to confront him right there with the raid file, throw the damn thing in his face. But he knew he had to keep a calm head right now when he talked to Gibralter.

  A blast of cold air filled the room. Louis turned to see Gibralter come in. He quickly turned away to avoid eye contact.

  “Kincaid, in my office,” Gibralter said, handing his parka to Dale.

  Jesse looked up questioningly. Louis didn’t look at him as he passed.

  “Shut the door.”

  Louis closed the door and turned to face Gibralter.

  “Now what was so damn important?” Gibralter demanded.

  “We picked up a suspect yesterday,” Louis began.

  “Duane Lacey,” Gibralter said.

  Louis nodded. “He looked good but his sheet said he was in prison until December 10. So I cut him loose.”

  “And?” Gibralter said.

  “The release date was wrong. It was a typo,” Louis said. “I called the DOC this morning. Lacey was released November 10.”

  Gibralter didn’t move, not a muscle, not an eyebrow, nothing. From outside came the sounds of the other day-shift men waiting for briefing. Louis realized he was holding his breath and let it out. The red carpet beneath his feet seemed to be moving, undulating.

  Gibralter turned away, going to the window.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about his dead kids?” Louis asked.

  “Lacey wasn’t a suspect. He was in prison.”

  “You should have checked,” Louis said.

  Gibralter turned to face him. “We did, Kincaid. I assigned it to Jesse.”

  Louis’s gaze dropped to the carpet again. Jesse had relied on the written record instead of calling, just like he had.

  “Jesse fucked up,” Gibralter said. “But that doesn’t make what you did any less stupid. You had a description of the truck and you had Lacey in custody. You should have held him.”

  “On what?” Louis shot back.

  “Anything,” Gibralter said, raising his voice. “You had him, Kincaid, and you shouldn’t have let him go.”

  Louis bit back the angry words forming in his head. Lacey was on the loose to kill again. He himself was willing to take some of the blame but he wasn’t going to let Gibralter crucify him alone.

  “Am I dismissed, sir?” he asked, the last word taking on an edge.

  “Yes. But before you show your face at briefing I want an APB put out.”

  Louis nodded, turned and left. The outer office was deserted, the other men waiting in the briefing room. Louis went quickly to the dispatch desk.

  “Flo, put this out, ASAP, please,” Louis said.

  She took the paper and read it, her eyes widening. Louis could hear her soft voice going out over the airwaves as he headed to the briefing room.

  He paused outside the door to take a calming breath then went in. Gibralter was standing in his usual place behind the lectern. Five officers sat in folding chairs, including Dale. There were no other chairs, so Louis stood at the back of the room. Gibralter was staring at him. Suddenly, he knew what was going to happen. He was going to get lectured, right in front of everyone.

  “Stay where you are, and introduce yourself, officer.”

  Louis forced himself to look at Gibralter. He focused on a small white mark on his jaw, the white smudge of a styptic pencil.

  “Let me help you,” Gibralter said, moving around in front of the lectern. “My name is Kincaid and I am a bleeding heart pussy who feels sorry for cop killers and I have no concept of what it means to wear a badge like the rest of these fine men.”

  Louis felt his body go tight. The room was dead silent and the five faces became a blur.

  “Explain to your fellow officers why you let a cop killer go.”

  Louis kept his eyes on Gibralter. “The computer report said Lacey was still in prison. We didn’t —”

  Gibralter cut in sharply. “Take responsibility for your own actions, officer. There is no we in this scenario.”

  Louis glanced at Jesse but he wouldn’t look at him. “I had no reason to hold him,” Louis said.

  Gibralter picked something up off the lectern and held it up to the room. It was a photograph of Thomas Pryce, spread-eagled on his staircase, his pajamas covered with his blood.

  “Is this not a good enough reason, officer?”

  Louis felt his face grow hot.

  “What about this?” Gibralter asked, holding up another photograph. It was a close-up of Lovejoy’s face, his eyes open, his hair forming a halo of icicle spikes around his face.

  “I made a mistake,” Louis said stiffly. “But I put out the APB, we can still find him —”

  “He’s gone!” Gibralter yelled. “He’s fucking gone! Do you think he’s as stupid as you are?”

  The room was silent. Gibralter came forward, pausing inches in front of Louis. He reached up suddenly and pulled off Louis’s tie, ripping the collar open. Louis stumbled back then steadied himself, glaring at Gibralter.

  Fired. He was being fired. A flash of shame came over him, followed by a wave of relief. Gibralter reached for his shirt again and Louis tightened, expecting Gibralter to rip his badge off his pocket. Gibralter stuffed the two photographs down Louis’s shirt.

  Louis went rigid, his jaw clenching in anger.

  “Tell them,” Gibralter said softly. “Tell these men how sorry you are.”

  Louis kept his eyes locked on Gibralter’s face.

  “Tell them!” Gibralter shouted.

  Louis pulled the photographs from his shirt and looked at the other men. He saw Cornwall and Evans, their faces charged with contempt. His eyes settled on Jesse, who was staring at his shoes.

  “I am sorry,” Louis said.

  A phone rang out in the office. Someone coughed. Louis could not stand it any longer and dropped his gaze to the floor.

  “All right, listen to me,” Gibralter said,
going back to the lectern. “Here is where we are going to begin.”

  When Louis looked up he saw that Gibralter had gone to a map that had been put up on the bulletin board. Louis stared at the map. It was nothing but a patchwork of colors and he struggled to bring it into focus, struggled to bring himself back into focus.

  He took slow, careful breaths, trying to quell his anger. He wasn’t going to let Gibralter win, not this way. He wasn’t going to let Gibralter humiliate him, blame him, and then drive him out. He would stay until Lacey was caught.

  Gibralter was giving assignments for a search and Louis concentrated on the map on the wall. The county was a large square with a grand total of five towns big enough to merit dots. About a third of the county was given over to the Huron National Forest. The rest was sheer wilderness. Thousands of square miles to hide in.

  Louis shook his head. Nine men...they would never find Lacey. They would need help from the state police. Why wasn’t Gibralter talking about that?

  Finally, Gibralter dismissed the men. They filed past Louis, no one making eye contact. Louis waited. He knew this wasn’t over. Gibralter leaned on the lectern, his eyes locked on Louis. He drew a cigarette out of his pack of Camels and slipped it between his lips. Slowly, he lit the cigarette. It sizzled in the quiet room.

  “What do you think I should do with you?” Gibralter said.

  “Suspension would be in order,” Louis said.

  “No.”

  “Am I fired?”

  “No.”

  “Then what will by my exact assignment during the search?”

  “You think I’m going to put you out there with the rest of the men?”

  Louis decided not to answer.

  “First of all, you don’t deserve to be with them,” Gibralter said, pointing the cigarette. “And second, the way they feel about you right now I wouldn’t put it past someone to take a shot at you.”