Dead of Winter (50 page)

Louis waited. He saw Gibralter rise slowly, one hand on the bed of the truck, the other holding the revolver.

“Cole, throw the gun out,” Louis yelled. “I’ll come up there and get you.”

“No! Stay back! He’ll kill me!”

“I can protect you.”

“Like you protected my dad? You held him while he killed him!”

“I was trying to save him. You’ve got to believe me.”

“Fuck you, fuck both of you,” Cole said hoarsely, his voice dying to a whisper. “Fuck everyone.”

Louis stood up. “Cole, I’m coming up.”

With a look at Gibralter, he started slowly around the front of the truck. He knew Gibralter wouldn’t shoot him in the back with his own gun but he prayed he was right about Cole being out of shells.

“Don’t, don’t...” Cole’s words were more plea than threat.

“Cole, I’m in front of the truck,” Louis said calmly, glancing back at Gibralter. Gibralter had rounded the back of the truck. Louis leveled the shotgun at him.

“Stay there,” he said. “You’re not touching this kid.”

Gibralter stared at him. Louis braced the shotgun against his side, his finger on the trigger. With his left hand, he pulled the flashlight out of his belt and shined it up on the porch.

The beam fell across logs. Louis swung it back to Gibralter. He hadn’t moved.

Slowly, Louis sidestepped up to the hut, his eyes darting between Gibralter and the porch. He reached the step.

“Cole, I’m coming up.”

A whimper from behind the logs.

Gibralter took a step forward. Louis swung the flashlight to shine in his face.

“You lift that gun, you’re dead,” Louis said.

“There is no dishonor in death, Kincaid,” Gibralter said softly.
“Seppuku...”

Louis shined the light back to the porch and it picked up a spot of blue, Cole’s denim shirt. He was crouched behind the woodpile.

“Cole?”

Easy, easy...

Louis heard a sound and swung his light back to Gibralter. His gun was moving.

Louis spun to the porch and his flashlight caught Cole’s face only for an instant, just long enough to give Gibralter a target. Louis swung the beam away.

He saw the flash of Gibralter’s gun go off. His own hand jerked back on the trigger of the shotgun and it bucked violently against his ribs.

An explosion of noise, followed by echoes that seemed to pound in his head. Then it was quiet.

Gibralter was lying on the ground, his body dark against the snow. His palm was up, the revolver inches away in the snow.

Louis stared at him, his chest heaving.

Cole moaned.

Louis swung the flashlight beam around, picking up Cole lying on the porch.

No, check Gibralter first. Eliminate the threat.

He fell to his knees next to Gibralter and pressed a finger to his throat. Nothing. He tried the wrist. Nothing. There was a large black hole in the blue nylon of the parka.

Gibralter was dead.

Louis gathered both revolvers and the radio from Gibralter’s body and hurried up to the porch. He knelt next to Cole, propping the kid’s head on his knee.

“Where are you hit?”

“In the belly...God, it hurts. Fuck...”

Louis caught Cole under the arms and dragged him inside the hut. He spotted a cot in the corner and carefully lifted him up on it as Cole screamed in pain. In the spare light of the room’s single kerosene lantern, Louis looked down into Cole’s pale, sweaty face.

He pulled up Cole’s shirt. Blood was pouring out of the small black hole below Cole’s rib cage.

“What are you doing?” Cole asked, his eyes frantic.

“Put this on it. Keep pressure on it,” Louis said, grabbing the army blanket from the foot of the cot and handing it to Cole.

“I’m going to die,” Cole said.

“No, you’re not.’

“I’m going to die. I’m going to die.” Cole was crying.

“Cole, stop. Listen to me. We’ve got to get some help. Tell me where we are.”

“I’m bleeding! I’m going to die!”

“Cole! You’re not going to die! Now help me. Tell me where we are, damn it!”

Cole wiped his face and pointed across the room. Louis saw a scarred footlocker.

“Maps,” Cole said.

Louis went to the locker and jerked it open. He rummaged through the dirty clothes and debris, finally pulling out two maps. The first was nothing but a series of undulating circles, a topography map that he couldn’t read. He tossed it aside. The second one he unfolded was a county map that detailed every highway, road and landmark, even the old logging roads. He brought it back to Cole.

“Where are we?” he demanded, holding it up to Cole’s face.

Cole’s eyes were closed. Louis shook his shoulder. “Cole! Show me where we are!”

Cole’s eyes fluttered open and he struggled to focus. With a shaky finger he pointed to the map, leaving a bloody smudge. He fell back with a grimace.

Louis grabbed the radio and called Loon Lake. A voice came back to him, Edna’s voice, the sweet sound of Edna’s nasally voice.

“L-11? Where are you?”

“Edna, listen carefully. I need a flight-for-life chopper. And contact Chief Steele —- ”

“Chief Steele? But he isn’t —- ”

“Find him! Tell him..” Louis hesitated. Christ, he hated to say all this over the radio. “Tell him I have one injured suspect and a 10-99, officer down. Tell Steele I need him now. Repeat, I need him —- ”

“Louis, Chief Steele isn’t going to —- ”

“Tell him I have Lacey. Tell him he’s dead.”

Louis read off the longitude and latitude of the hut’s location along with the nearest roads. He signed off, knowing it would still be hard for anyone to find them. There was nothing to do now but wait.

Louis touched Cole’s face. It was cold and his breathing was shallow. Louis glanced around the hut for another blanket, finally spotting the blue police parka crumbled in a corner. He got it and spread it over Cole’s chest.

“Cole,” he said. He had to keep him conscious somehow.

Cole didn’t open his eyes but Louis could see the slight rise and fall of his chest beneath the parka.

“I’m sorry you had to see your father die like that.”

Cole opened his eyes. “He knew you’d get him,” he whispered. “He knew he was going to die and he didn’t care. He just wanted to finish it.”

Louis shook his head. “I don’t think your father killed anyone. I think that’s just what you want to believe.”

“He did!” Cole said with a grimace. “He killed those cops. I know he did.”

Louis pressed Cole’s shoulder gently back into the cot. “Cole...”

“He showed me, he showed me the cards.”

Louis tensed. “What cards?”

Cole brought a hand out from under the parka and pointed again to the footlocker.

Louis went to the locker and dug down through the debris again. A pack of Bee cards was on the bottom. He slid the pack open. There were only three cards, bound with a rubber band. Louis pulled it off and fanned the cards. All had the drawing of the skull and crossbones on the back. Louis turned the cards over.

There was an ace of hearts, a king of diamonds and a two of clubs.

The ace symbolized one, Gibralter’s call number. The king was number thirteen, for Jesse. But the last card...a two? Pryce’s call number had been Loon-2. But Pryce had been thrown an ace of spades. This card had never been delivered.

He stared at the cards in his hand and suddenly he understood.
Two
killers...There had been two.

All along, he had wanted to tie all three murders to one killer and he had gone back and forth between Lacey and Gibralter. But now he saw clearly that there had been two.

First there was Lacey. Driven by his demons and need for revenge, he had killed Lovejoy. Gibralter had discovered Lovejoy’s body in the shanty and realized it was Lacey’s work. Gibralter had then killed Pryce to silence him, duplicating Lacey’s methods and motive as his cover.

That was why Lacey had retreated to Dollar Bay, telling Millie that “everything was fucked up.” That’s also why he waited so long to continue his rampage before finally killing Ollie.

Louis let out a tired breath. Gibralter had cold-bloodedly thought out every detail. From finding out Lacey’s boot size to putting his friend’s body in the ice hole so Pryce would be mistaken as Lacey’s first victim, not a copycat killing.

Gibralter had thought of everything, even down to duplicating Lacey’s signature of the death card. But Gibralter had missed one small thing. He didn’t realize Lacey was using the cops’ call numbers. He had thrown the ace of spades down on Pryce, assuming it would look like a racial insult.

“Hey...”

Louis turned. Cole’s face was white and tear-streaked in the lantern’s glow. Louis went to him, lifted the parka and saw that the blanket under Cole’s hand was soaked with blood.

“Don’t let me die,” Cole whispered.

“I won’t.”

Cole closed his eyes.

A heaviness came over Louis. He had no right to make any more promises to Cole Lacey.

Louis could hear the whirring of the chopper as it sat waiting in the clearing beyond the trees. He watched as Cole was brought out on a stretcher. A minute later, the chopper rose above the trees and moved off into the darkness. It was only then Louis turned back to face Steele and the question he had asked.

“Answer me,” Steele demanded. “You expect me to believe this shit?”

“Cole will back it up,” Louis said.

“That stupid kid?” Steele said. “Hardly a credible witness.”

Louis’s eyes swept over the chaos of men surrounding the hut. Fatigue had numbed him to the cold but the ache inside lingered. He hurt, every part of him hurt.

“I told you the truth,” Louis said.

“Your chief is dead,” Steele said. “The goddamn suspect is dead and the kid will probably die. You expect me to believe Chief Gibralter orchestrated this insane operation and then shot down the suspects in cold blood?”

Louis stared at him. “It’s the truth. All of it.”

“You better hope Cole Lacey lives long enough to back up your story, Kincaid. If he doesn’t you can add murder to the long list of criminal charges I’m going to hit you with.”

Steele turned, took several steps then came back. “I’ve seen a lot of stupidity in my time but this takes it all,” he said. “What the
hell
were you thinking?”

“Jesse. I was thinking about Jesse.”

“Who?”

“Jesse Harrison,” Louis snapped. “My partner.”

“Who is also dead.”

“I’m not so sure.”

Steele stared at him, shaking his head. “You know something, Kincaid, Gibralter is not the only lunatic in this fucked-up department. Lacey abducted your partner and left him dead somewhere. Not Gibralter, not your
chief.”

Louis held up the rabbit’s foot. “This belongs to Jesse. He had it with him earlier tonight at my cabin. I found it in Gibralter’s Bronco.”

Steele stared at him. “So where is he then?”

“I don’t know but I’m going to look for him.”

Steele shook his head. “You’re not going anywhere tonight. You’re on suspension.”

“You don’t have the authority,” Louis said. “I’m going to look for Jesse.”

“I could arrest you and detain you for hours.”

Louis closed his fist around the rabbit’s foot. “Look, I know Gibralter. I know how he thinks. Now let me go so I can join the search.”

Steele’s eyes hardened as the wind blew snow across his face. Louis shook his head in disgust and turned to walk away.

Steele’s voice sounded behind him. “Lockhart!” he called, waving to a trooper just exiting his car.

Louis turned. Steele met his eye briefly then looked at the trooper. “Take Kincaid back to town.”

Lockhart nodded and opened the back door to his cruiser. Louis slid in the back. He pulled his parka up around him. The stiff nylon was raw against his face.

“Turn up the heat, will you, guys?”

Lockhart’s partner nodded and after a few minutes the back began to warm up. Louis stared at the backs of their heads through the mesh screen as the cruiser bounced down the snowy hill. After a while, it hit a logging road and Lockhart sped up as he threaded through the trees toward the highway.

Where would Gibralter have taken Jesse? To his own home? To Zoe’s cabin? Neither of those choices made sense. He wasn’t sure Jesse was even alive. If Jesse had decided to turn against Gibralter he might be dead out in the woods somewhere.