P. Parrish - Heart of Ice

In the orange glow of the dash lights Rafsky’s profile was etched with deep lines. It was obvious Rafsky hadn’t slept, either.

“Does Flowers know about this?” Louis asked.

Rafsky was silent for a moment. “No,” he said finally. “I haven’t told him anything. I haven’t even told him about the DNA paternity test yet.”

“Why not?”

Again it took Rafsky a second to answer. “I don’t think the chief should be around when we question Chapman.”

“It’s still his case.”

“He’s a fuckup, Kincaid,” Rafsky said. “I like the man, but he’s a fuckup. We’re going to get only one shot to question Chapman, and we’ve got to do this right.”

It started to snow. Louis watched the wipers slap the flakes away. Rafsky was right. Not so much about Flowers but about Chapman. Once he knew he was a murder suspect he would wrap himself in lawyers and public-relations hacks. And he was coming back here now only because he thought he was finally going to be able to bury Julie forever.

When they got to the airstrip Rafsky parked in the small lot facing the runway. Everything was gray and still as they watched for a speck in the sky. There was a strange tension in the car.

“What’s going on with Dancer?” Louis asked.

“His lawyer’s still trying to prove he’s nuts.”

Rafsky went silent again.

“What about Edward Chapman’s doctor in Bloomfield Hills? Did he find anything suspicious?”

“No.”

Louis suppressed a sigh. “Anything from the lab in Marquette on the lodge processing?”

“No.”

The SUV was silent again. Rafsky was staring up at the darkening sky. Louis thought about asking him to turn up the heat but just burrowed down into his parka and closed his eyes.

“He’s here,” Rafsky said.

The Learjet touched down in a spray of snow. When the airplane door opened and the steps unfolded, Rafsky pushed from the SUV. Louis was going to stay inside, but there was something about Rafsky’s quick-no, angry-walk that made Louis follow. Ross was alone, no aide, no entourage. He didn’t even have an overnight bag with him.

Louis watched Rafsky carefully. Nothing but politeness for Chapman, a smile, a handshake. After a few seconds Ross ducked his head against the wind and walked with Rafsky toward the SUV.

Louis opened the door to the front passenger seat and got in. No way was this prick riding in front.

Ross gave Louis a look as he slid into the backseat. He filled the SUV with the smell of lemon cologne.

Fresh snow speckled the windshield as they drove from the airstrip. Louis peered up at the sky. The clouds to the west, where the storms came in off Lake Michigan, rolled toward them like a swell of blue-gray smoke.

“Thanks for picking me up,” Ross said. “I was wondering if I was going to have to rent a damn horse or something.”

Rafsky said nothing as he turned the SUV back onto Garrison Road, his eyes darting between the windshield and the rearview mirror. Louis glanced in the backseat. Ross had a small black book in his hand and was checking his watch and making notes. Not one iota of curiosity about his sister’s skull or why he was being allowed to finally bury her.

“Excuse me, Detective Rafsky,” Ross said, leaning forward. “Do you know how long all of this will take?”

“Why?” Louis asked. “You got somewhere you need to be?”

“No, not tonight,” Ross said. “But I have an interview in Detroit with the Free Press at eight in the morning and a phone interview with the Washington Post at noon.”

“Freshmen senators must be busy guys,” Rafsky said.

Ross gave an awkward laugh. “It’s been hectic, yes,” he said. “My wife and I have been in Washington all week trying to find a decent place to live. We found a nice town house in Georgetown, but it’s a little small and things are a lot more expensive than in-”

Rafsky slammed on the brakes. The SUV skidded a few feet, then spun a hundred and eighty degrees, coming to a stop right in front of the iron gates of St. Anne’s cemetery.

“Jesus Christ,” Ross said, his hand gripping Louis’s headrest. “What happened?”

Rafsky sat there, both hands on the wheel, staring straight ahead.

“Do you know where you are, Mr. Chapman?” Rafsky asked.

“Who cares? Why are we stopped?”

Rafsky turned in his seat and looked back at Ross. “You’re in a place people around here call Dead Center. Right in the middle of the island, triangulated by three cemeteries.”

Ross looked to Louis, then back to Rafsky. Before he could say anything Rafsky got out of the SUV and opened the back door.

“Get out,” he said.

“What? Why?” Ross asked.

Rafsky stared at him. “Get out or I’ll pull you out by your balls.”

Ross looked at Louis and, seeing no help there, slid uneasily from the backseat. He stood, looking around while Rafsky leaned his head into the open door of the SUV.

“You might want to come, too, Kincaid.”

“What for?”

“To keep me from killing the motherfucker.”

Rafsky closed the door and gave Ross a shove toward the iron gates.

“What’s going on?” Ross asked. “Why aren’t we going to sign the papers for Julie?”

Rafsky stopped and turned to face Ross. “There are no papers and there is no skull. I lied to you.”

Ross looked to Louis and back at Rafsky. It was dark now, but in the glare of the headlights Louis could see Ross’s face clearly. He was getting scared.

“I want to go back to my plane,” Ross said. “Now.”

“No, we have some business to take care of first,” Rafsky said.

Ross looked around, at the old tombstones just visible in the snowdrifts and the thick ring of trees that surrounded them. He seemed to know how far away he was from anyone who could hear him.

When he didn’t move Rafsky gave him another shove toward the gates. Ross trudged forward, his shoes sinking into the snow, his eyes darting back over his shoulder at Rafsky.

Rafsky pulled on his black leather gloves as he talked. “This is one of the oldest cemeteries in the country,” he said. “Mr. Chapman, do you know who was the first person known to be buried here?”

Ross turned. “I don’t give a fuck who’s buried-”

Rafsky smacked him on the side of the head with an open hand. “Wrong answer, Senator.”

Ross glared at Rafsky, his hand to his temple.

“The first person buried here was a little girl,” Rafsky said. “Her name was Mary Biddle. She fell into the lake while trying to cross the ice bridge. They rescued her, but she later died from pneumonia. Do you know how old she was?”

“I don’t care how-”

Rafsky smacked Ross again, harder this time. Ross lost his balance and almost fell. He spun to Louis.

“You better stop this crazy bastard.”

Louis didn’t know how far this was going to go, but he was willing to give Rafsky some rope. “I have no authority here,” he said with a shrug.

Ross started back toward the SUV. “I don’t have to take this shit from people like-”

Rafsky punched Ross, blindsiding him. Ross tumbled to his hands and knees. Blood spotted the snow under his head.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Rafsky said. “I’m not finished telling my story.”

Ross drew to his feet slowly, wiping his mouth. The snow was falling harder now, swirling in the headlights and salting his hair and overcoat.

“Mary was eight years old,” Rafsky said, “just four years younger than your sister, Julie, was the first time you fucked her.”

Ross’s panicked breaths clouded the air. “That’s perverted,” he said. “I would never-”

Rafsky grabbed the lapels of Ross’s overcoat and slammed him against the gate.