P. Parrish - Dead of Winter

Louis looked around for Dale but there was no sign of him. He pushed his way to his desk, setting down the garbage bag. He was pulling off his parka when Steele came in through the front door. Steele had obviously just run the gauntlet of reporters outside and his eyes snapped with anger.

“Where’s Gibralter?” he demanded of the room at large.

Heads swiveled, troopers gazed at him through the steam of their coffees but no one answered.

“Where is he?” Steele said, raising his voice.

Gibralter’s door opened and Steele spun around.

“You got something to say to me, Steele?” Gibralter said.

“Where are they?” Steele said sharply. “Where’s Harrison and McGuire?”

Before Gibralter could reply, Jesse came forward. “We’re here,” he said. Dale was trailing behind, his eyes sweeping the crowd nervously.

“In the office. Now,” Steele demanded, nodding to Gibralter’s door.

Jesse and Dale moved past Steele, neither looking at Louis. Gibralter and Steele followed them in and the door closed. The murmur of the office resumed.

Louis sat down at his desk, his eyes going to the garbage bag. There was no way he could bring this up right now; it would have to wait. He opened his drawer, dropped the bag in and locked it. Pulling the Lansing State Journal from his parka, he put on his glasses to read the story.

It was a sketchy, with Warren Little as the only source and the reporter covering her attempt to get quotes from Gibralter with the old crutch, “Loon Lake police did not return Journal calls.” Louis tossed the paper aside.

Gibralter’s door opened and all heads snapped up.

Jesse came out first, head down, walking fast toward the locker room. A few seconds later, Dale emerged, heading more slowly in the same direction as Jesse. Louis was debating whether to follow him when Steele’s voice drew his attention back to Gibralter’s door.

“Your men interfered with an on-going criminal investigation that I have made clear is out of their jurisdiction,” Steele was saying to Gibralter.

Louis tightened. The asshole was grandstanding.

Gibralter said nothing, his eyes never leaving Steele.

“They are facing criminal charges,” Steele went on, “and you, sir, will be lucky not to go down with them.”

Steele went back to the command desk, his aids quickly circling him. Louis watched Gibralter but the man had not moved a muscle.

“We have a sighting.”

All eyes swiveled to one of Steele’s men, holding a phone. Louis felt his pulse quicken.

“Where?” Steele asked.

“Highway 33, twelve miles north of town.”

The office eddied with noise and action. Steele moved to the center of the room, lifting his hands. “Listen up!” he shouted.

The crowd quieted.

“In the wake of the Red Oak incident I must remind you of an additional obligation,” Steele said. “We must conduct ourselves with the utmost professionalism. We are under the microscope now, gentlemen, and every move we make will be scrutinized. I do not want any witnesses touched, harassed or antagonized. I do not want one citizen angered. Do I make myself clear?”

It was quiet but a current ran through the room, the charge of adrenaline.

“I know how you feel about this suspect,” Steele went on, “but if we get a track on Lacey there will be no quick triggers, no hot heads. I want it by the book.”

Louis looked at Gibralter. As he gazed at Steele, Gibralter lifted his cigarette to his lips and took a slow drag. His face was like granite but there was something new in it. Louis stared at Gibralter, trying to read it. Jesus, it was fear. It barely registered, just a flicker in the eyes, but it was there. Gibralter didn’t want Lacey caught alive; he wanted him dead. He needed him dead so he couldn’t talk about what Cole had told him about the raid.

Steele left, going out to face the reporters. Louis looked back at Gibralter. He was gone, his door closed.

Louis rose and went to the locker room. Jesse was gone but Dale was there, pulling on a sweatshirt. He looked at Louis as he approached.

“It didn’t work, Louis,” he said.

“What didn’t?”

“Telling the truth. Steele says I could be arrested for…hell, I was so nervous I forget. Assault and coercion and something else.”

Dale hung up his uniform shirt, running a hand down the front.

“What happened in there?” Louis asked.

“Steele was ripping Jesse apart, saying he was out of control, a renegade. He called him stupid.” Dale looked at Louis. “I had to say something so I said to Steel what you said to me.”

“What?” Louis asked.

“That Gibralter sent us and he did it knowing what Jesse would do.”

Jesus, the kid had guts. “What did Gibralter say?” Louis asked.

Dale’s face clouded. “He denied it, just out and out denied it. I couldn’t believe what happened next. Steele was telling Gibralter that Jesse and me should be fired. Next thing I know, the chief turned to Jesse and said, ‘You’re through.’ Just like that.”

Louis shook his head. “What about you?”

Dale pulled on his parka. “Jesse tried to tell him I didn’t do anything and I tried to tell Steele I wasn’t a real cop and I didn’t even have a gun but he wouldn’t’ listen. He was yelling, saying we weren’t fit to wash a uniform let alone wear one. And the chief was just watching, not saying a word.”

“So he fired you, too?”

“I quit.”

Louis stared at him in disbelief.

“I can’t work here anymore,” Dale said. “I just can’t.”

“Dale…”

Dale zipped up his parka. “I gotta go,” he said briskly. Dale brushed by him, heading back out to the office. He stopped then slowly came back.

“Guess I better go out the back,” he said.

Louis reached out to put a hand on his shoulder but Dale moved quickly away. Louis heard the door close and let out a slow breath.

This stunk, every damn part of it. Jesse was beyond his sympathy now, even if Gibralter had sacrificed him to Steele. But damn it, Dale didn’t deserve this.

Louis went back out to the office. The men had dispersed and only two of Steele’s aides lingered. Steele was on the telephone. With a glance at Gibralter’s closed door Louis unlocked his desk drawer and pulled out the garbage bag. He went over to the command desk and stood, waiting.

Steele hung up the phone and swiveled around to face Louis, his eyes dark with anger. “What do you want?” he said.

“I need to talk to you,” Louis said.

“I don’t have time.”

“I have something — ”

The phone shrilled impatiently. “Do something about these phones!” Steele yelled.

Louis held out the bag. “You need to see this. It’s — ”

Steele stood up. “Listen you little ass kisser. There are real cops here working damn hard to save your incompetent asses. Steele grabbed his overcoat off the chair. “Now get out of my way, I have a chopper to catch.”

Louis stepped around the desk, blocking Steele’s way. “Look, I need to talk to you. Now!” he said.

“Make a damn appointment!”

He brushed by Louis, knocking him aside.

Louis glared at Steele’s back, debating whether to follow him and shove the damn garbage bag down his throat right in front of the cameras. He saw one of the aides looking at him.

“What are you staring at?” Louis demanded.

The suit gave a shrug.

“When’s your boss coming back?”

“In the morning.” The aide smiled. “You want to make an appointment?”

Louis felt his hand curl into a fist. The hell with Steele. He would see this through himself, take the damn evidence wherever he needed to take it, give it to NBC or the fucking FBI, if he had to. They liked to bust cops, too.