“Louis, this is Pop,” Jesse said. “He picks up and delivers. Usually, he’s on time.”
Louis shook his hand. “How do I get in on the pickup?”
“Just leave ‘em on that table in your bag every Monday. I come back on Wednesday.”
“Sure thing. Thanks.”
Pop leaned over to Jesse. “Same size as Pryce, isn’t he?”
“Man,” Louis moaned.
“Reminds me,” Pop said. “I still got three of his. I’ll bring ‘em to you. And they’ll be on the house.”
Jesse passed the park and turned left on Fourth Street. It was only five, but in response to the winter dusk, the streetlights were already on. Louis craned to look up at the modern poles. They cast the street in harsh, Martian-landscape light. Forget the quaint old lamps that lined Main Street. Even in a burg like Loon Lake property owners wanted the brightest, newest lights to protect their homes.
Jesse swung the cruiser into Moe Cohick’s drive. Like Pryce’s house, it was the last one on the block. To the south was a sturdy twelve-foot wooden fence, which marked the boundary of a small lumberyard beyond. To the north were more homes, each yard partitioned by chain-link fences.
Moe came out on his porch. He was a round little man, with red cheeks and wispy white hairs sprouting from a bald head. He was wearing a brightly striped turtleneck sweater that made him look like a Russian stacking doll. He was eating a bearclaw.
“Evening, Officers. What brings you about?”
Jesse didn’t offer his name and Louis assumed he and Moe knew each other. Louis introduced himself. “We wanted to ask you about the man you saw running the night Officer Pryce was killed,” he said.
“Sure, but I don’t know what else I can tell you.” Moe popped the last of the bearclaw into his mouth.
“Can you show us where you saw him?”
Moe nodded and led them around his garage to the backyard. A long-snouted dog leapt at them from the neighbors’ yard, barking furiously. Moe stopped in the center of his backyard. He pointed to the back of the Pryce house then moved his finger along the chain-link fence north, toward the end of the block.
“He was going that way.”
Louis opened his notebook, where he had jotted what little description Moe gave the first time. “You said he was big?”
“Well, now, I think I said bigger than me.”
Moe was so short Louis could see a birthmark on his scalp. “Can you be more specific, Mr. Cohick?”
“How tall are you?” Moe asked.
“Six-foot.”
“Not as big as you. But he could’ve been bent over, like hunkering down.”
Jesse let out an annoyed sigh. The dog behind them was still barking. Moe picked up a snowball and threw it at the dog. “Shut up, you mangy mutt!”
The snowball splattered against the fence, seeming to make the dog angrier. It was growing hoarse.
“Where were you standing?” Louis asked.
“At my kitchen window.”
“You’re up at three-fifteen in the morning?” Louis asked.
“I own the bakery on Main. I have to be in by four.” Moe patted his belly. “I make the best stuff in the county. Always fresh.”
“We ain’t here to talk about your damn donuts, Cohick,” Jesse said. Louis glanced at Jesse. He guessed Jesse had gotten an earful from Julie about being late.
Another bark drifted to Louis. This one was high-pitched, almost shrill. Louis peered over Cohick’s head to the house catty-corner. An agitated terrier was straining against its chain, yapping back at the long-snouted dog behind them.
“Mr. Cohick, what direction did the man come from?” Louis asked.
“Well, now, I believe he came around that way and headed that way. Toward Pine, where the park starts.”
Louis trudged through the snow to the back fence. He squinted in the fading light at the tall wooden fence of the lumberyard; there was no way a man could scale that. He looked the other way, down the long expanse of chain-link fence that separated all the yards. He could see the pines of the park at the end of the block and in between he counted six backyards that the killer could have cut through on his escape. He was assuming the killer had stayed in the back, under the cover of darkness, making his way across the yards to Pine Street. It was only a guess, but it made sense. A shotgun made a big noise; the neighbor had called it in almost immediately. The killer needed to stay hidden as long as possible. He couldn’t take a chance of being spotted in the glare of those streetlights out front.
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
“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.
