It was quiet except for the groan of the wipers and an occasional spurt of radio voices. Louis moved his elbow so he could feel his gun against his ribs under his parka. He hadn’t bothered with the bulky uniform belt, just stuck the gun and his cuffs in the belt of his jeans.
“Can you see any prints?” Gibralter asked.
“No, but they’re probably covered by now.”
“Shit, maybe he headed in the other direction.”
“There’s nothing out that way.”
They crept on, Gibralter slowing the Bronco to five miles an hour.
“Hold it!”
Gibralter braked. Louis swung the light low on the shoulder.
“What is it?”
“Boot prints.” Louis got out, training his flashlight down in the snow. Gibralter was quickly at his side, shining his own light into the snow. The prints formed a faint but staggering pattern into the darkness of the road ahead. They followed them for several yards, walking in the headlight beams of the Bronco idling behind.
The prints ended abruptly in a flattened area of the snow. “Looks like he fell here,’ Gibralter said.
Louis swung the flashlight out into the field beyond and then across the road, finally picking up the prints again. They walked on, following them for another ten yards then the prints stopped again in another flattened area. But this patch was larger, messier, the snow shoved away in spots down to the bare ground. There were several dark spots, almost covered with a light dusting of new snow. Louis knelt to brush it away. The spots were blood.
Gibralter’s breath, stale with cigarettes, was at his ear. “Christ, what happened?”
“A struggle of some kind,” Louis said.
Gibralter swing his flashlight ahead down the road but there were no more prints. He straightened. “He killed him,” he said.
Louis looked up. Gibralter’s face, caught in the reflection of their flashlights on the snow, was drawn with pain. To his amazement, Louis saw tears in the man’s eyes.
Gibralter met his eyes and looked away. He turned and started back to the Bronco.
Louis looked again at the blood in the snow. A gnawing started in his gut, a gnawing that came from his guilt for letting Jesse walk out of the cabin.
“Jesse!”
Louis swing around. Gibralter was standing in the beams of the Bronco, staring out into the field, hands cupped to his mouth.
“Jesse!” he shouted into the darkness, his voice echoing back to him.
“Chief,” Louis called out.
“Jesse!”
“Chief!” Louis called out sharply.
Gibralter’s head snapped toward Louis.
“He’s not here,” Louis said.
Gibralter turned away and went back to the Bronco.
Louis scanned the field again, trying to find something, anything. But there was nothing. No Lacey, no body. No…body.
Lacey had left the others dead, out in the open to be found. Where was Jesse’s body? Louis trained the flashlight down again at the blood spots. There was so little, too little for a gun wound. Had Lacey subdued Jesse and taken him somewhere else?
Something drifted back to him in that instant, words, a threat. Who had said it? Dale, it was Dale, telling him what Cole had said to Jesse after Jesse attacked.
Louis hurried back to the Bronco and got in. “Chief, I think there’s a chance Jesse might still be alive,” he said.
Gibralter was staring vacantly out the windshield.
“Chief, listen to me. If Lacey wanted Jesse dead he’d have shot him and left him like the others,” Louis said. “Something is different this time.”
Gibralter looked over at him. “What are you talking about?”
Louis hesitated then told him what Cole had said. “I think he’s taken Jesse somewhere.”
“Why?”
Louis hesitated. “He wants you and he knows you’ll come after Jesse. But I also think he wants to torture him for what he did to Johnny.”
Gibralter stared at him.
“I know what Jesse did at the cabin,” Louis said. “And I know what you did to cover it up.”
Gibralter’s eyes went back to the windshield. Louis could see his jaw moving as his mind chewed on this revelation. He wasn’t about to tell him what he knew about Angela.
“You can’t protect him anymore,” Louis said slowly. “Not if you want to save him.”
Gibralter shut his eyes. It was quiet for a moment.
Gibralter’s voice was strained when he finally spoke. “We did what we had to, Kincaid.”
“That’s for the courts to decide,” Louis said.
“There are many versions of the truth. Everyone sees the one they need to see.”
“That’s not important right now.”
Gibralter gave a tired nod. “I suppose not.”
The Bronco fell quiet except for the low murmur of the radio.
“We’re going to get ahold of Steele,” Louis said.
“I told you what his man said to me,” Gibralter said, his voice rising in anger.
“But with his men, we can search — ”
“Search where?” Gibralter interrupted him. “We can’t find Lacey. No one can. It’s useless.”
Gibralter was right. With all of Steele’s resources no one had come close to finding Lacey’s hideout. No one even knew where to start looking.
“Cole,” Louis said. “Cole knows.”
“He won’t talk,” Gibralter said.
“We have to try.”
“How? We can’t get near Red Oak now.”
“Then we bring him here.”
“They won’t release him to me.”
“They would on a court order,” Louis said.
Gibralter looked over at him. Louis could not read what was in his eyes.
“Why are you here?” Gibralter asked quietly.
“I want to find Jesse,” Louis answered.
“But you don’t trust me,” Gibralter said.
“No. But if there’s a chance Jesse is alive I want to find him.”
“Even if he’s guilty? Even if I am guilty?”
“I told you, that’s for the courts to decide.”
Gibralter held his eyes for a moment then put the Bronco in gear. “Let’s go,” he said.
“Where?”
“Judge Frazier’s place. He’ll do the order. He owes me.”
“What about Steele?”
Gibralter glanced at him. “He’d block it. You know that.”
He was right. There was no way Steele would sanction Cole’s release for questioning even if it meant helping Jesse. If they were going to do this they would be on their own.
Gibralter was waiting, watching him, his face drawn in the orange glow of the dashboard lights. Louis looked out the windshield to where the beams faded into the darkness.
“All right,” he said. “Let’s go.
