P. Parrish - Dead of Winter

Louis closed his eyes, his face burning with anger. “Goddamn it, goddamn it to hell,” he muttered.

Dale looked over, but said nothing.

Louis ran a hand over his face and went on through the file. He was stopped cold by a photograph of Angela Lacey. She was slumped against the wood exterior of the cabin, her Mackinac Island sweatshirt drenched in blood. There was a gun near her open palm.

A girl, for crissakes, a girl who should have been going to a prom, but was holed up in a cabin with a gun shooting at cops.

Louis looked at the clock. It was eight, straight up. He redialed the Department of Corrections. For a second, he hoped no one would answer.

“Department of Corrections, Ms. Meyers speaking.”

Louis explained what he needed.

“It’ll take me a few minutes, officer,” she said, “the computer this morning is — ”

“No,” Louis interrupted. “No computer. I need you to pull the hard copy.”

“Well, that’s not really necessary — ”

“Yes, it is,” Louis said. “It is very important that I verify this information. Please.”

The woman sighed. “This will take a while. Why don’t you give me your — ”

“I’ll hold.”

While he waited, Louis sifted through the other reports. First Jesse’s, then Ollie’s, then Lovejoy’s, but they offered no new information. He went back to the photos.

The first dozen were routine crime-scene photos. Bloodstained snow, broken windows, tear gas canisters and Pryce’s patrol car. There were two photos of Johnny Lacey. One was a mug shot showing him as a handsome kid with chopped blond hair and an arrogant smirk. The second was a close-up of him after he had been shot. The entire left cheekbone area of his face was gone, leaving a gaping dark hole.

“Officer Kincaid? Are you still there?”

“Yes, I am,” Louis said, shifting the phone.

“The file says this man was released November 10, 1984, on the governor’s early release program.”

“November? Are you sure?” Louis asked.

“That’s what I said.”

Louis hung up and for several seconds couldn’t move. November 10, not December 10. Double-check. Double-check. How could he have been so careless? How could his instincts have been that bad? He had fucked up. But so had they, all of them, every man in the damn department who knew about the raid and didn’t talk about it.

“Louis, you okay?” Dale asked.

“Why didn’t someone tell me about this case?” Louis asked tightly.

Dale hesitated, seeming to measure his thoughts carefully. “It was a bad time around here,” he said quietly. “Jesse took it really bad.”

Louis wasn’t listening. His anger wouldn’t let him. He glanced at his watch. Jesse and the chief were both due in soon.

“I was here when Jesse came back in after,” Dale said. “He still had…he had blood in his hair, you know? He was in bad shape. He wouldn’t talk about it.”

Louis shook his head in disgust. He was tired of everyone making excuses for Jesse. Jesse had withheld information about the raid because he couldn’t bring himself to talk about it?

“Louis,” Dale said, “it doesn’t matter. I mean, this Lacey guy was still — ”

“Dale,” Louis said sharply, “Lacey was out in November. He was an early release. The printout had a typo. A fucking typo.”

For several seconds Dale just stared at him. Then he turned and walked slowly back to his desk. The silence was broken by the squeak of Dale’s chair. Louis looked over at him. Dale was pale, his eyes locked on Pryce’s and Lovejoy’s photographs hanging on the wall.

Louis closed the file. “Dale, make me a copy of this, will you?”

Dale nodded slowly, taking the file.

Gibralter’s voice broke the silence as it came over the radio. “Loon-1 to Central,” Gibralter said, “I’m going to be 10-6 for a while. Hold the briefing until I arrive.”

Dale didn’t move.

“Dale,” Louis called out. “The radio.”

Dale grabbed the mike and acknowledged.

“Tell him I need to talk to him, that it’s important,” Louis said.

Dale nodded and relayed the message. Louis heard Gibralter come back that he’d see him after briefing.

“No,” Louis said sharply. “Tell him it can’t wait.”

Louis glanced again at his watch. Eight-twenty. Where the hell was Gibralter? The man was never late for briefing.

Louis’s eyes went to Jesse, sitting across the room. He felt a new spurt of anger but forced it back. When Jesse had come in, he had wanted to confront him right there with the raid file, throw the damn thing in his face. But he knew he had to keep a calm head right now when he talked to Gibralter.

A blast of cold air filled the room. Louis turned to see Gibralter come in. He quickly turned away to avoid eye contact.

“Kincaid, in my office,” Gibralter said, handing his parka to Dale.

Jesse looked up questioningly. Louis didn’t look at him as he passed.

“Shut the door.”

Louis closed the door and turned to face Gibralter.

“Now what was so damn important?” Gibralter demanded.

“We picked up a suspect yesterday,” Louis began.

“Duane Lacey,” Gibralter said.

Louis nodded. “He looked good but his sheet said he was in prison until December 10. So I cut him loose.”

“And?” Gibralter said.

“The release date was wrong. It was a typo,” Louis said. “I called the DOC this morning. Lacey was released November 10.”

Gibralter didn’t move, not a muscle, not an eyebrow, nothing. From outside came the sounds of the other day-shift men waiting for briefing. Louis realized he was holding his breath and let it out. The red carpet beneath his feet seemed to be moving, undulating.

Gibralter turned away, going to the window.

“Why didn’t you tell me about his dead kids?” Louis asked.

“Lacey wasn’t a suspect. He was in prison.”

“You should have checked,” Louis said.

Gibralter turned to face him. “We did, Kincaid. I assigned it to Jesse.”

Louis’s gaze dropped to the carpet again. Jesse had relied on the written record instead of calling, just like he had.

“Jesse fucked up,” Gibralter said. “But that doesn’t make what you did any less stupid. You had a description of the truck and you had Lacey in custody. You should have held him.”

“On what?” Louis shot back.

“Anything,” Gibralter said, raising his voice. “You had him, Kincaid, and you shouldn’t have let him go.”

Louis bit back the angry words forming in his head. Lacey was on the loose to kill again. He himself was willing to take some of the blame but he wasn’t going to let Gibralter crucify him alone.

“Am I dismissed, sir?” he asked, the last word taking on an edge.

“Yes. But before you show your face at briefing I want an APB put out.”

Louis nodded, turned and left. The outer office was deserted, the other men waiting in the briefing room. Louis went quickly to the dispatch desk.

“Flo, put this out, ASAP, please,” Louis said.

She took the paper and read it, her eyes widening. Louis could hear her soft voice going out over the airwaves as he headed to the briefing room.

He paused outside the door to take a calming breath then went in. Gibralter was standing in his usual place behind the lectern. Five officers sat in folding chairs, including Dale. There were no other chairs, so Louis stood at the back of the room. Gibralter was staring at him. Suddenly, he knew what was going to happen. He was going to get lectured, right in front of everyone.

“Stay where you are, and introduce yourself, officer.”

Louis forced himself to look at Gibralter. He focused on a small white mark on his jaw, the white smudge of a styptic pencil.