P. Parrish - Dead of Winter

Louis went back to Moe and Jesse.

“Jess, did you talk to everyone on this block?”

“Everyone. Moe’s the only one who saw anything, such as it is.”

“Hey, at least I saw something,” Moe protested.

“Thanks, Mr. Cohick, sorry to bother you,” Louis said.

“No problem.”

They started back toward the house. The long-snouted dog behind the fence came alive again as they neared, provoking the terrier into action as well.

Jesus, how did these people sleep? Louis stopped and turned. “Mr. Cohick, were the dogs barking that night?”

Cohick rubbed his bald head. “Well, now, come to think of it, they were.”

“Damn it, I asked you if you heard anything, Cohick, and you said no,” Jesse said.

“You asked me if I heard anything unusual, ” Cohick said. “Dogs barking their asses off at three in the morning ain’t unusual around here!”

“Watch your mouth, doughboy,” Jesse snapped.

Louis stepped up. “Mr. Cohick, how many dogs are there on this block?”

“Let’s see…” He began to count on his hands.

Jesse cut in. “I can tell you how many. The Smiths, the Jessups, and what’s his name…Haskins. They all got dogs. We’re out here all the time giving them leash-law citations.”

“Pryce didn’t have a dog?” Louis asked.

“No.”

“Show me where these people live.”

Jesse pointed out the houses. It was every other one and no two butted up against each other. To avoid the dogs, the killer would have been forced to hop the fences diagonally. That’s only if he knew the dogs were there. Which meant he probably knew the neighborhood or had scoped it out to plan his escape route.

Louis started back into the yard. The dogs kept up their cacophony.

“Louis!” Jesse called out.

“Come with me,” Louis said.

“Christ, now what?” Jesse muttered, trudging after Louis.

Louis hopped the fence into Pryce’s yard and headed toward the park. The long-snouted dog charged the fence as Louis approached.

“Louis! Where the hell are you going?” Jesse yelled over the noise.

“Retracing his steps.”

They wove their way across the yards, avoiding the ones that Jesse said had dogs. At each fence, Louis would stop and brush off the snow on top.

“What are you looking for?” Jesse said, puffing to keep up.

“I don’t know.”

It was dark by the time they reached the last yard that bordered Pine Street. Louis’s boots were sodden and his hands were cold as he hoisted himself over the final section of chain-link. Across Pine Street, the park loomed dark and quiet.

Jesse was shaking with effort as he climbed over to join Louis on the side walk. His face was red and sweaty. “Now, what the fuck did we do that for?” he demanded, wiping his brow.

Louis ignored him. He was walking slowly along the fence, gently brushing away the snow. Halfway down the length of the last yard he stopped. He quickly pulled off his glove.

“Jess, come look.”

Jesse hurried over. Louis moved so the streetlight fell full on the fence. There, caught on an A-shaped spike, was a small piece of dark fabric.

“Fuck,” Jesse whispered, staring at it.

Louis searched his jacket pocket and came up with a paperclip. He used it to pluck the fabric from the fence.

“Jess, go get the car,” he said.

Jesse ran off. Louis waited, shivering in the cold, holding the tiny swatch. He turned and looked at the park behind him.

The entrance was marked by a small sign. The two-lane road going in plunged deep into thick, snow-covered pines. Not a bad place to conceal your vehicle while you committed a murder. Louis scanned the area, wondering where the killer had gone once he left the park. A left turn would have taken him right back to Main Street, exiting close to the station. Not likely. A right turn led him through a residential area and toward the freeway. More logical, but still slow going on unplowed side streets.

The cruiser pulled up and Jesse jumped out with a flashlight and evidence bag. They bagged the swatch, and Jesse stared at it in the gleam of the flashlight.

“Green,” he said. “Like an Army jacket.”

They quickly took some Polaroids and labeled the spot. Jesse was silent as they got in the car.

“I guess I blew it with Cohick,” he said finally.

“Witnesses don’t always know what they see or hear is important, Jess.”

“Well, it’s not like I couldn’t see or hear the damn dogs, is it?”

“You missed it. It happens.”

Jesse said nothing, just slammed the cruiser into gear.

“Jess, pull in the park. I want to check something.”

Only one lane of the road had been plowed and there were no lights. The darkness engulfed them and Jesse flicked on the brights to illuminate the tunnel of dense pines. The road led to a parking lot, which was heaped with untouched snow banks, then continued into the trees.

“People use the park much in the winter?” Louis asked?

Jesse shook his head. “Nothing much in here but the baseball diamond. Kids use the hill by the school for sledding.”

“I bet this is where he left his car,” Louis said.

“And I bet he left that way,” Jesse added, pointing to the road.

“There’s another entrance?”

Jesse nodded. “It exits on Evergreen, which turns into Highway 44, which is always plowed and usually empty.”

Louis looked at him. “What does that tell you?”

Jesse frowned then blinked. “Shit, it means he knew. He knew there was another exit.”

“He probably knew about the dogs, too.”

Jesse sat back in the seat, lost in thought. It started to snow lightly and he turned on the wipers. “Whoever killed Pryce knew the town,” he said quietly.

“Probably,” Louis acknowledged.

The radio gave out a burst of static. Louis turned it down. Edna’s voice came on. “Loon-13 and 11. What’s your twenty?”

Jesse answered her. “City Park.”

“Be advised Loon-1 requests you respond to 181 Lakeside Drive, code three.”

Jesse looked at his watched and sighed. “So much for tacos.” He clicked the radio on. “Central, what’s the nature of the call?”

“Unknown, Loon-13. The caller was a teenager. He said…” Edna hesitated. “All he said was there was something gross in the lake.”

The body was face down, frozen under the ice near the shoreline. It lay in a classic dead man’s float position, the upper back and the outstretched arms visible near the surface and the lower torso and legs blurring down into the icy depths.

Even through the milky ice, the green parka and red wool cap were plainly visible. So were the hands, frozen close to the surface, with the tip of the left pinky finger poking out through the ice.

Louis stared at the body. Ollie came up behind him, carrying a 35-mm camera. Without a word, he circled the body and began snapping pictures. Louis recalled the initials “O.W.” on the Pryce crime-scene photos. Apparently, O.W. was Ollie, sergeant, mystic and department photographer.

Louis surveyed the shoreline. There were only a few cabins and most were dark and shuttered on this stretch of the lake. He zipped up his jacket and nestled down into the fur collar. It was getting ball-freezing cold.

“We’re going to have to set up some lights,” Louis said.

“Electric’s bringing them.” Jesse started walking around the body. “We might be out here ‘til fucking dawn.”

Louis sighed loudly. “Damn.”

“Hot date?” Jesse asked with a grin.

“In my dreams, man, in my dreams. You call your wife?”

“Yeah, she’s pissed. No tacos for moi tonight.”

Jesse came up to Louis’s side. They stood there, staring down at the body. They had already called the coroner and the fire department. The latter had been Jesse’s idea when Louis broached the problem of how they were going to get the body out of the ice. At first they had considered trying to chip it out with a crowbar but quickly realized how stupid that would be given the foot-thick ice. To say nothing about what damage they could do to the body.