Dead of Winter

hated what Gibralter and Jesse had done he couldn’t stand the idea that Steele would come out of this with another notch on his belt. What did Steele know about cops? The man had never worn a uniform, had never known what it felt like to be pushed to the limit.

He himself knew. He had felt it that day at Red Oak when he knocked Cole Lacey back in the chair. He knew what it felt like to teeter on the edge.

Another image flashed into Louis’s mind. Jesse’s face caught in the glare of headlights that night they rode with Lovejoy’s body in the flatbed truck. I wanted to be a cop….I had to be a cop. He could see Jesse standing in Lovejoy’s cabin, staring at that stinking dog cage. Shit, Jesse would eat his gun before he’d go to prison.

Louis rounded the corner onto Main Street. The garbage bag under his arm held only the Hammersmith gun, the evidence logs and a copy of the raid file, but it felt heavy. He gripped the garbage bag tighter. There was no turning back, no room in his head for second thoughts. Kids were dead. Soon, cops’ careers would be dead.

Maybe even his own. Until last night, he hadn’t really considered his own position in this mess. But now he could see it clearly. His own career was about to go on life support. Some cops might agree with his decision to turn in his chief but he would still be branded a traitor.

He stopped a block from the station. There was a large crowd of reporters and a new van with NBC NEWS on its side. Louis saw Delp in the middle and turned left to duck in the back way.

Delp spotted him and hurried over. “Hey, Kincaid!”

Louis ignored him. Delp fell into step with him.

“Give me a quote, man.”

“About what?”

“Cole Lacey.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Delp pulled a folded newspaper from his coat and thrust it in Louis’s face. The headline said: COPS BEAT JUVENILE.

Louis stopped and took the copy of the Lansing State Journal. He looked back at the crowd. “Steele show up yet?” he asked.

Delp shook his head. “That’s what we’re all waiting for.”

“Can I keep this?”

“Sure. Were you there?”

Louis shook his head, heading to the alley.

“Does the kid know where his old man is?” Delp asked, keeping pace.

“I don’t know.”

“Was anybody else there besides Harrison and McGuire?”

“I don’t know.”

“What’d the kid say?”

“Look, Delp, give me a break here.”

Delp stopped. “Give you a break? I’ve busted my ass for you and you won’t give me shit. I had to read this in the fucking Journal!”

Louis faced him. “Look, when we get Lacey you’ll be in on it first.”

Delp’s lips drew into a thin line. “You can’t make good on that promise anymore. It’s Steele’s show now. You guys are as out of the loop as me.”

Louis shifted the bag with the Beretta in it, staring at Delp. For a moment, he considered telling Delp what he knew. Right now, right here, he could hand him the garbage bag and the biggest story of his life. Why not? Eventually the press was going to find out anyway. The glare of publicity was too bright; it would have to reflect into the shadows of the raid. Why not just leak it all right now to Delp and get out of the way?

Louis’s eyes went from Delp to the NBC truck. No, it wasn’t right. He had made his decision and he would see it through.

“You’re right, Delp, I can’t help you,” Louis said. He turned and started to the back door of the station.

“Fucking cops,” Delp muttered.

Louis made his way through the locker room and out into the office. The place was nuts-to-butts with state flunkies, troopers and K-9 cops. A television in the corner was tuned to a newscast. Louis pushed his way through the uniforms watching it.

A talking head from the Lansing station was giving a report on Cole Lacey, the kid’s juvie mug superimposed in one corner of the screen. The news guy was saying that the “young inmate was in fair condition” at Red Oak. They cut to Warren Little standing outside the center, giving a statement.

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?”