Castillo Linda - Outsider

At nine P.M. Adam and Lizzie come into the living room and offer me a pillow and two blankets—along with a place on the sofa—for the night. By ten o’clock the house is quiet and dark, the only sounds coming from the creak of the rafters, and the wind tearing around the windows, a beast trying to find its way inside. Adam has retired to his bedroom upstairs. Gina has been in the sewing room for about an hour. Alone in the living room, snuggled beneath the blankets on the sofa, I call the station only to find out from my dispatcher, Mona, that Painters Mill has lost power.

“The manager at Quality Implement told me there was a run on generators,” she says. “This afternoon they were down to writing rain checks.”

Quality Implement is the local farm store, a fixture in the community, and the only retailer that carries generators and woodstoves and the like. The next-closest retailer is in Millersburg, which is an impossible drive.

“Call Harry Morgan first thing in the morning and see if he’ll set up a temporary shelter at the VFW Hall,” I tell her. Harry is a Vietnam War vet who manages the VFW Hall in Painters Mill. When disaster strikes the community, whether it’s a tornado or flood or winter storm, Harry can always be counted on to jump in and lend a hand. Two years ago, he opened up the VFW Hall to victims of the tornado that plowed through Painters Mill, setting out dozens of sleeping cots and blankets, opening the restroom for showers, and recruiting some of the best cooks in the county for hot meals—and a little bit of love.

“If people don’t have heat, they’re going to need a warm place to sleep and something to eat until the power is back on, especially if they’re elderly or have young children.”

“Will do, Chief. If I’m not mistaken, I think Harry has the cots and blankets left from that blizzard three years ago.”

“Call the Holmes-Wayne Electric Co-op and get an update on when the power will be restored.”

“I’m waiting for a callback now.”

“Who’s on patrol tonight?”

“T.J.,” she tells me.

“Make sure he’s got tire chains and a winch. Tell him not to take any chances. If he gets stuck, no one will be able to reach him for a while.”

“You got it.”

“Mona?”

“Yeah, Chief?”

“If you can’t get home in the morning, I can ask Tomasetti to take you. He’s got a snowmobile.”

“I thought I might bed down in the cell downstairs,” she says, referring to the single jail cell in the basement. “Just in case Lois or Jodie can’t make it in.”

A thread of warmth stirs in my chest. Not for the first time, I’m pleased I promoted Mona to patrol officer, a position she’s been transitioning to for weeks now, and will take on full time as soon as I can find a replacement. I’m thankful to have such a dedicated team of officers working for me. “Thank you. Let me know if you need anything.”

I call Tomasetti next. “Electricity is out at the farm,” he says by way of greeting. “I’ve got the generator going and built a fire. So far so good.”

I think about the farm where we live and try not to acknowledge the swirl of homesickness. The old house is drafty and creaky, and though we’ve put a tremendous amount of work into it, it’s an ongoing project. Even so, it’s homey and warm, and the six acres upon which it sits are as stunningly beautiful in the snow as they are at the height of summer.

“Good thing you cut all that wood last weekend,” I say.

“My rotator cuff is still thanking me.” He pauses. “You guys without power there?”

“Um … no idea.”

He laughs. “I suspect the Amish will fare a hell of a lot better than the rest of us when the apocalypse comes.”

“Any news on Colorosa?” I ask.

“I talked to a few cops I know in Columbus.” He pauses. “Kate, I’m hearing some things about her.”

“Like what?”

“She’s got a few marks against her. She’s been disciplined several times. A couple years ago, some cash went missing in the course of a bust. Three thousand dollars. Colorosa was part of the chain of custody. Evidently, someone pointed a finger at her. There was an inquiry. Nothing was ever proven, and no formal charges were ever filed, but the money wasn’t recovered and was never accounted for.”

Disappointment moves through me. I close my eyes, trying not to let the news shake my already tenuous faith in Gina. “I’ve got a name for you.” I tell him about Jack Tyson. “Gina seems to think he may be willing to come forward.”

“I’ll see what I can find out about him.”

“Did ballistics come back on the weapon that was confiscated at Gina’s house the night of the raid?” I ask.

“The lab isn’t exactly lightning fast to begin with, but this storm has slowed everything down to a crawl,” he tells me. “People can’t get to work. Like everyone else, the lab is operating on a skeleton crew.”

“Anything on the vice unit?” I ask.

“I’m not getting much. Either there’s nothing there, or they keep their secrets well guarded. I did speak to a guy I used to work with in Cleveland; he was a sergeant with the Columbus Division of Police. Retired now. Off the record, he says the vice unit has had an integrity problem for years.”

“Anything specific?”

“He either didn’t know or wouldn’t say.”

“Interesting that he wanted to keep it off the record.”

“Retired or not, no one in law enforcement wants to point a finger at another agency unless he’s damn sure he’s right.” He pauses. “Look, if the roads are open, I’m going to try to get out and make the drive to Columbus tomorrow. I set up a meeting with Denny. Closed door. If there’s an investigation and BCI is involved in any capacity, he’ll know about it.”

“Weather app says the storm will end in the morning.”

“True. But there’s a narrow window. Polar vortex is supposed to arrive by afternoon.”

I groan. “Tomasetti, you’re a fount of good news, aren’t you?”

“DOT says I-71 will be open tomorrow. One lane, but the plows will be out in full force throughout the night and working on all major thoroughfares. If I can make it to the interstate without getting blocked by a wreck or a stuck vehicle, I should be able to reach Columbus.”

“If it’s not too much trouble would you be careful?” I say.

“I’ll wear my superhero suit.”

“You don’t have a superhero suit.”

“That you know of.”

I’m feeling more optimistic when I end the call a few minutes later. My cell battery is low and, of course, there’s no electricity in the house, so I make a mental note to charge it in the Explorer come morning. I’m about to turn off the propane lamp and call it a night when I hear the shuffle of feet against the floor. I look up to see Gina emerge from the hall. She’s got a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Hair smushed on one side. Stocking feet. Her face is devoid of makeup, but somehow it only makes her look prettier.

Careful not to jar her injured shoulder, she settles into the chair across from me. “What the hell do people do around here at night without electricity?”

“Read. Sleep.” I shrug. “Talk to each other.”

“That’s a scary thought.” She hefts a cynical laugh. “If memory serves me, insomnia was one of the things we had in common.”

Leaving the lamp burning, I settle back onto the sofa and tug the blankets over my legs. “Doesn’t help that we have a lot on our minds.”

For a moment we listen to the wind rattle a loose pane of glass in the front window and the thump of something that’s been torn loose outside.

“House smells like … frickin’ cows,” she says quietly.

I smile. “Sammy’s sleeping in the mudroom with that calf.”