P. Parrish - South Of Hell

A pause on the other end of the line. Joe could almost see Mel sitting in the dark of his apartment. “Have you told him this?” he asked.

“No.”

“You should.”

She was quiet.

“Well, maybe you’re worrying for nothing,” he said. “Maybe there’s no kid.”

“Yeah, maybe,” she said softly. She pushed her hair back from her face. “I have to go, Mel,” she said.

Another pause. “You’re trying to get rid of me.”

“No, no, I just don’t want to talk right now.”

“Okay. I’ll back off. But you know where to find me when you do.”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Night, Joe.”

“Mel?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

“What are friends for?”

She hung up and sat back in the bed, staring at the TV. Perfect Strangers was on now. She hit the off button, tossed the remote aside, and swung her legs off the bed. Shrugging out of her clothes, she went into the bathroom to take a shower.

She was just wrapping a towel around her wet hair when she heard the door. She hurried out to the bedroom and drew up short.

Louis was standing there. No, not standing. Wavering.

His eyes took a long time to find her, and when they finally did, they were glazed. She could smell the alcohol from six feet away.

“Where were you?” she asked.

“Stopped for a drink.” He moved away, peeling off his jacket and throwing it to a chair. It missed and fell to the floor. He ignored it.

“You could have called,” she said.

He didn’t answer. He dropped onto the edge of the bed and started tugging at his shoes.

“Did you see Kyla?” she asked. It was a struggle to say her name and to keep her voice even.

Louis didn’t look up. He dropped one sneaker to the floor and started working on the other.

“Louis, talk to me,” Joe said.

The other shoe fell with a thud. He sat there, his back to her, hands on his knees, face down.

“Louis-”

“Joe, just leave me alone, okay?” he said quietly.

She started toward him. “No, I won’t leave you alone. Did you see Kyla? Did you ask her-”

His face swung up to her. “There’s no baby, okay?”

She stopped cold, the harshness of his voice like a slap.

He brought up a shaky hand. “I just want to go to sleep,” he said softly. He turned away, his fingers clumsily working on the buttons of his shirt.

She went into the bathroom. She looked at herself in the mirror. Her face was burning, but she was as white as the tile walls, almost as if she were fading into them. Snatching her crumpled jeans and shirt from the floor, she yanked on her clothes. She ran a quick comb through her wet hair and went back into the bedroom.

“I’m going down to get something to-”

Louis was sprawled on the bed, clothes still on, eyes closed.

She grabbed her purse and left.

The woman behind the glass arched her brow in annoyance. She wore a blue Ann Arbor PD uniform, but her name tag said she was an administrative assistant.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Kincaid, Detective Shockey did not leave us your name,” she said. “And you are not on the approved visitors list. I can’t let you back into the squad room without authorization.”

“Then call him,” Louis said. “Tell him I want to see him now.”

He felt Joe’s hand on his arm, tugging him away from the window. He resisted, then followed her. The stale alcohol was still trickling through his veins, creating a swell of nausea, and he put a hand on the wall to steady himself. He could hear Joe calmly talking to the woman behind the glass.

“I’m Undersheriff Frye from Leelanau County. It’s important we talk to Detective Shockey. I’m sure he’ll see us.”

He heard the woman pick up a phone and say there was an undersheriff from up north and an agitated man waiting for Detective Shockey in the lobby.

Louis took a drink from the water fountain and walked to the glass doors to look outside. The sunlight was making his eyes water. The floor felt like it was moving.

“You okay?” Joe asked.

“I’m fine,” he said. “It’s not the first time I’ve been hungover.”

“It’s a first for me,” she said. “I’ve got to call Mike.”

He watched her walk away to the pay phone nearby. He had awoken this morning still wearing his clothes. His shoes were in the corner, and he guessed Joe had been the one who had removed them. He sure as hell had no memory of it. Or much of anything from last night. Joe had been quiet all morning, and he knew she was pissed. He knew this wasn’t the time to try to mend anything, though. He could barely think right now.

He heard heavy footsteps and turned. Shockey was coming toward him like an unblocked linebacker. He grabbed Louis’s arm and pushed him out through the front doors. Louis was standing on the walk before he could make his mind work enough to react.

He jerked away from Shockey. “Don’t you ever grab me again.”

“I asked you not to come here.”

“And I asked you to tell me everything you knew about Jean Brandt,” Louis said. “Why didn’t you tell me Jean had a kid?”

Shockey blinked. “What?”

“A kid,” Louis said. “There’s a toy wagon out at the farm. It has amy painted on the side. Who is Amy?”

“I don’t know.”

“Stop lying to me, you sorry piece-”

Louis stopped himself, seeing two uniformed patrolmen approaching. He pulled in a breath, and he and Shockey both waited until the cops disappeared into the station.

“Jean never mentioned a kid,” Shockey said. “I’m telling you the truth. We talked about everything, but I swear, no kid.”

“Then how do you explain the wagon?” Louis asked.

“Hell, I don’t know,” Shockey said. “Probably belongs to some neighbor kid.”

“There’s not a house for miles around that place, you know that.”

“Then maybe someone else lived there for a short time after Brandt left.”

“Brandt never sold it.”

Shockey was quiet.

“There was pink wallpaper in one of the bedrooms,” Louis said.

“My ex-wife put pink wallpaper in our bedroom,” Shockey said. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

“I know there was a kid there,” Louis said.

“Then what happened to her?” Shockey asked.

“What do you think?” Louis asked.

Shockey froze for a second, then moved away, raking his hair. He seemed genuinely stunned. Louis wanted to believe he was, but the man had been playing on the edge of the truth since this began.

Shockey turned back to him. His face was slack, but Louis could almost see the gears in his brain working, like he was trying hard to remember something.

“Okay, okay,” Shockey said. “Maybe Jean had a kid, I don’t know. But I swear to God, she never said anything.”

“We need to find out for sure,” Louis said.

Shockey didn’t seem to hear him. He was still stunned by what Louis had told him.

“Shockey,” Louis said, “where do you want to start?”

Shockey scratched his forehead. “Well, without an age or birth date, there’s no point in checking state records,” he said. “You should start with the schools out there.”

Louis let out a stale breath, his head throbbing. “They won’t tell me anything,” he said. “Their records are confidential.”

Louis heard the door behind him open and saw Shockey look beyond him. Shockey thrust out his hand as Joe came up to them.

“Detective Jake Shockey,” he said, introducing himself. “You must be the undersheriff.”

“Joe Frye, Leelanau County,” Joe said with a smile.

Shockey tipped his head toward Louis. “You with the peeper on a personal visit or working the case with him?”