P. Parrish - An Unquiet Grave

“Well?” Dalum asked.

“Nothing,” Louis said. “I can’t relate to him, Chief.”

“Sounded like you were doing a pretty fair job of it.”

Dalum swallowed his whiskey and set the glass down. Then he motioned to the chair for Louis to sit, but again Louis shook his head.

“I have to get going. I have a long drive.”

“I’ll walk out with you,” Dalum said, grabbing his parka.

They left the station, Dalum staying in step as they made their way down the block toward the Impala. Louis knew the chief’s car was parked back behind the station and that Dalum was taking this walk for some other reason. But he stayed silent, waiting for Dalum to say whatever it was he needed to say.

When they stopped at the Impala, Louis faced him. Dalum looked tired, his face showing the same tiny cracks that Alice’s had earlier today.

“I have a favor to ask you,” Dalum said.

Louis waited, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets and stiffening his body against the wind.

“I don’t know you very well,” Dalum said. “I haven’t even run a check on you. But I have to confess, I am damn impressed. I’ve never seen a cop, or ex-cop, sit in a jail cell and read Shakespeare to a murder suspect.”

Louis looked down, a little embarrassed. “Just trying to get him to trust me.”

Dalum shook his head. “It was more than that. This is a special kind of case we have here. And I think you know that. I think the bones we found today are from a second murder victim, and I’m already wondering if there are more buried out there.”

“I was wondering the same thing.”

“Do you want to be a part of finding out?”

Louis looked down, the air cold on the back of his neck. He’d seen his share of dead bodies and handled numerous homicides, but no matter how many he worked, he was drawn to the next with the same fervor as his first. But there was something about this place that told him this was one he needed to walk away from.

“Look,” Dalum said, “I love this town, and that hospital has been a part of Ardmore for a long time. I just want to do what I can to help it die peacefully, and there’s a good chance that won’t happen with that detective from the state getting his hands in it.” He paused. “I could really use your help on this.”

“All right,” Louis said. “I’ll do what I can.”

“Good. I’d like to make it official, though,” Dalum said. “I’d like to deputize you.”

“Deputize me?”

“Yes,” Dalum said. “The town of Ardmore has given me the authority to deputize any number of people I need in the event of a natural disaster or any other time I feel there is a danger to the community.” Dalum gave a small smile. “And I think we have a danger to the community out there. Am I right again?”

“Yes, you are.”

“Okay then,” Dalum said. “I’ll get you an ID card and a badge ready. You’ll get more answers and more respect flashing some tin.”

Louis extended Dalum a hand. “Okay. We have a deal.”

“I should have the ring back by noon tomorrow,” Dalum said. “And we’ll go from there. How’s that, Mr. Kincaid?”

“Sounds good. But call me Louis, please.”

Dalum gave a short nod and Louis turned away and climbed in the Impala. As he started it, he watched Dalum walk back toward the police station. His hands were back in his pockets, his head ducked against the wind.

Louis turned on the heater and held a hand in front of the vent, waiting for it to get warm. His gaze moved to the quiet storefronts, and the glitter of Christmas lights that had appeared since last week, but his thoughts went back to what Dalum said about getting more respect flashing some tin.

He hadn’t had a badge in his pocket since. . when? Winter, 1984, in a small Michigan town similar to this. Right after that, he had left for Florida and had never thought he’d be back here working a homicide.

Louis felt a stab of guilt. He wasn’t any closer to finding Claudia’s remains and now his time and energy would be spent on helping Dalum track down a murderer. But he couldn’t ignore that kick of adrenaline that was coursing through his veins like some weird cop narcotic. He pushed the car in gear and pulled away from the police station, heading out into the darkness of Highway 50.

The voices woke him. They were loud and sharp, and coming from downstairs somewhere. Louis sat up in his bed, shaking off the sleep, trying to make sense of what he was hearing.

Phillip was shouting, and it was a sound so foreign Louis couldn’t immediately comprehend it. He didn’t think he had ever heard Phillip raise his voice. But what was even more surprising was that the person he was arguing with wasn’t female-it wasn’t Frances. It was another man.

Louis threw back the blanket. He was wearing only pajama bottoms and he grabbed a T-shirt, yanking it on as he hurried down the stairs. He came to a quick stop as he neared the landing at the front door.

Rodney DeFoe was a few steps inside the house, his face shoved into Phillip’s. He stopped in midsentence when he saw Louis.

“Ah,” he said. “The so-called investigator.”

“He’s my foster son,” Phillip said.

“He’s a liar, too,” Rodney said. “He said he worked for the hospital.”

“So what?” Phillip said. “You wouldn’t have even let him in the front door if he told you the truth.”

Rodney stared at Phillip, then gave him a disgusted shake of his head. “Why are you doing this, Lawrence?” he asked. “What are you looking for? She’s dead. She’s been dead for more than fifteen years.”

“I owe her this much.”

Rodney gave Phillip that same arrogant look he had thrown at Louis when he answered the door in Grosse Pointe. “You owe her? Yes, you do. But you can’t give anything to a dead woman. It’s too late.”

Phillip’s face deepened in color and Louis slowly came down the remaining three steps. He was tempted to throw Rodney out of the house, but he wasn’t sure Phillip didn’t need this confrontation. Maybe it was long past due.

“At least I’m trying,” Phillip said. “What about you? What did you ever do for her? She trusted you. I trusted you and you failed both of us.”

Rodney’s shoulders drew back, his gaze flicking between Louis and Phillip.

“Tell me what happened that night we were supposed to elope,” Phillip said. “Tell me why she didn’t come.”

“Let it go.”

“Tell me!”

“I already told you, back when you were calling all the time,” Rodney said. “I told you Mother found out and she and Claudia argued. A few hours later Claudia slashed her wrists.”

Phillip didn’t say a word. Louis was watching him closely, afraid he would throw a punch or lose control completely. But he was very still, his hands stiff at his sides.

“And you did nothing to save her,” Phillip said. “You were there inside that house. You could have helped her.”

“There was nothing I could do,” Rodney said. “The damage was already done. She was never the same after that. No one could help her after that. And now it’s too late for either of us, isn’t it?”

Phillip shook his head. “It’s not too late to bring her some sort of peace. That’s all I’m trying to do.”

“You’re trying to bring yourself some peace. And you won’t be able to do it.”

“Let me try,” Phillip said.

“No,” Rodney said. “She’s not your problem. Mother and I have decided to take care of it.”

Phillip took a small step toward Rodney. “You bastard. You let her die in that place. You didn’t even claim her body. Why are you doing this now?”

Rodney stared at Phillip for a moment before speaking, as if he knew his words would prompt a reaction and he needed to prepare himself for it.