Dead of Winter

small caliber handgun. She positioned herself on the deck and announced she intended to shoot the officers unless they allowed her to leave the scene. Officers Wickshaw and Lovejoy ordered the suspect to drop her weapon. Suspect refused. Suspect then raised her weapon and fired at officers. Officer Wickshaw discharged his weapon, fatally wounding her in the chest.

Officers Lovejoy and Wickshaw then entered the premises through the rear door to secure them. Suspect #1, C. Lacey was found hiding in a closet in the rear upstairs bedroom. After threatening officers with a gun, suspect surrendered without incident. No officers were injured in this action.

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.”

CHAPTER 19

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