P. Parrish - Heart of Ice

“I think we should stop talking about this now,” Louis said. “I am not a police officer, but I’m acting as an agent for the state police and anything you say to me I can testify to.”

She stared at him for a moment, then nodded. She picked up her teacup and took a sip. When she set the cup back down in the saucer her hand was trembling.

“How is she?” she asked. “Can you at least tell me that?”

“Maisey is fine,” Louis said. “Your father left her the cottage.”

She allowed herself the smallest of smiles, but her eyes had a faraway look.

Louis picked up the journal and put it back inside his jacket. “I’d like you to come back to Michigan with me,” he said.

Her eyes shot up to his. She was frozen in the chair, her hands gripping the edge of the desk. “I can’t. .” she said.

Louis wasn’t certain what he felt for her. Sorrow for the little girl who had been dragged into the dark, sympathy for the teenager who had tried to find her way back to the light. But what about the person who had allowed her family to mourn a ghost? What about the person who had taken another girl’s life and coldly disappeared? Someone had to answer for that.

“It will be better for everyone if you just tell the truth,” Louis said.

“There’s no one left,” she said.

“It will be better for you,” Louis said.

“I’m gone,” she said. “Julie’s gone.”

She rose and walked away, going to the stereo and turning off the music.

“Cooper Lange is in custody,” he said.

She turned. “What?”

“Cooper Lange has been arrested, and the police believe he killed Rhonda Grasso.”

“He didn’t do it,” she said.

“Miss Chapman-”

“Charicol. Emma Charicol,” she said.

Louis rose. “You’re the only one who knows what really happened in that lodge twenty-one years ago. That means you’re the only one who can help him.”

It was a bluff, but he had to play it. He had no authority to arrest her, but she didn’t know that. She also didn’t know that Cooper Lange would never be charged in Rhonda’s murder. But right now Cooper wasn’t the one who needed her to come back to the island. Rafsky was.

“Whoever comes here the next time will come with handcuffs,” Louis said.

She covered her face with her hands. He thought she was going to cry, but she didn’t. She let her hands fall and her body seemed to cave in on itself.

“When do we have to go?” she asked softly.

“Tonight. There’s a flight back at ten thirty.”

She didn’t move. “Can I?. . I need to pack a bag.”

Louis nodded.

Still she didn’t move. She looked around the apartment, then back at Louis. “What do I bring? I don’t even have a pair of boots. I don’t. .”

Her voice trailed off. She turned slowly and went into the bedroom. Louis went to the window. The fog had lifted. Just over the tops of the trees he could make out the sliver of silver that was the San Francisco skyline.

Several minutes later she emerged, dressed in a sweater, slacks, and raincoat. She was carrying a small suitcase and a brown bundle. She set the suitcase on the floor and opened it.

Louis watched as she carefully set the tattered sock monkey in the suitcase. She started to zip the case, then hesitated and went to the desk. She picked up the ceramic horse.

“Cooper gave me this,” she said. “I lost it a long time ago. Where did you find it?”

“Your bedroom.”

When she frowned, he added, “The little room at the end of the hall.”

“Oh,” she said. “That wasn’t really my bedroom. I only slept there. It was the only room with a lock on it.”

She looked at him. “Can I keep this?”

He nodded.

She knelt and put the horse in her suitcase. When she stood up and looked at Louis her gaze was steady.

“I’m not a monster,” she said softly.

“I know,” Louis said.

Louis didn’t understand why she had brought it with her. But now, as he watched Julie Chapman holding the sock monkey, he knew.

Twenty-one years ago, Julie had taken the stuffed animal with her because she knew she was never going back to Michigan. And she had brought it with her now because she believed she would never return to her life in California.

On the red-eye flight from the West Coast she had asked a few questions about Maisey, her father, and Cooper, but Louis told her the answers had to wait. The first thing Rafsky had said after Louis called him from the San Francisco airport was that he was not to tell her anything. The second thing was that they had to keep this as quiet as possible.

The name on her Delta ticket was Emma Charicol. The woman who boarded the ferry was just another faceless visitor.

Once they reached the island, the plan was to question her. But after that it was up to the district attorney. Depending on what she said happened in the basement of the lodge in conjunction with the evidence they had, the DA could charge her with anything from murder to flight from prosecution.

Louis glanced over at her. She was sitting at the window of the ferry, staring out at the lake with its crags of ice. She had managed to sleep some on the long flight, but she looked exhausted, the dull afternoon sun bringing every line of her face into high relief.

The ferry was moving slowly, staying in the narrow channel carved by the coast guard icebreaker. When it made its final turn around the lighthouse, she sat up straighter.

The island came into view, a white and dark green mass pinpricked with a few faint yellow lights, the outlines of the fort and Grand Hotel visible on the bluffs.

She was motionless, her hands pressed against the window. He wondered if she could see the single light there below the dark hotel.

They were the only people who got off the ferry. She stood on the dock shivering in her raincoat, looking as if she expected someone.

“I’m sorry, but I couldn’t tell anyone we were coming. We’ll have to walk,” Louis said.

“How far is the police station?” she asked.

“We’re not going there,” he said. “We’re going to the cottage.”

“The cottage? Why?”

“We have to take your statement and we thought it was best if no one saw you yet.”

If she thought this was strange she said nothing. She just turned up her coat collar and let Louis pick up her bag. They walked through the deserted snowy streets, heading uphill away from town. She was silent, her head hunched into her coat, her hands thrust into her pockets. After a few minutes Louis stopped her and gave her his gloves.

They didn’t stop until they reached the twin stone pillars that marked the entrance to West Bluff Road.

At the end of the street a lone yellow light beckoned. She stopped again when they reached the cottage. She stood staring up at it for a long time.

There was another reason, beyond secrecy, to bring her to the cottage for questioning. Rafsky wanted to surround her with reminders of her life here and what she had done, hoping it would help shatter her defenses.

Louis wondered if it was the right thing to do, to submerge this fragile woman into a sea of painful memories to force a confession. But he had to remind himself that there was still a victim here-Rhonda Grasso. And sadly, she was the kind of victim, unlike Julie Chapman, who could be easily dismissed.

The only hitch in their plan had been Maisey. Rafsky had been forced to tell her that Julie was coming back. Her joy was tempered when Rafsky asked to use the cottage but told her she couldn’t be present during Julie’s questioning. Maisey agreed to stay away as long as she got to see Julie before she was taken into custody.

As they neared the veranda Rafsky came out the door.