Dead of Winter (34 page)

She walked away and Jesse let out a small breath of relief. The woman had always made him nervous but he didn’t know why. Maybe it was just because he had never gotten the chance to get to know her. But how could he? As close as he was to the chief, they never socialized and the chief never talked about his personal life.

Jesse waited in the foyer while Jean Gibralter went to the den to get her husband. He tried to remember the last time he had seen her at any police function. She never went to anything. But then, neither did Julie anymore; she said she hated standing around while the men talked shop.

A door opened and Gibralter emerged. He came over to Jesse.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing’s wrong. I...” Jesse looked at Jean, who had curled into a chair near the fireplace with a book on her lap. “I just wanted to talk to you.”

“About what?”

“It’s kind of personal,” Jesse said quietly.

Gibralter motioned for Jesse to follow him into the den. Gibralter closed the door then went to the bar to turn down the scanner.

“Beer?” he asked, opening a small refrigerator.

Jesse didn’t want one but he accepted the can of Budweiser Gibralter pressed into his hand. Gibralter moved to a stool at the bar where he had spread out his reloading gear.

“What’s the problem?” Gibralter asked, hoisting a hip onto a bar stool.

“I want to know why you split Louis and me up,” Jesse said.

“I don’t need to explain my actions to you, Jess.” Gibralter picked up a shell casing and carefully poured powder into it.

“I know. But Louis is my partner.”

“We don’t have partners in this department, you know that.”

Jesse came forward and set the beer on the bar. “I know that, too. But you doubled us up —- ”

“That was temporary.”

“Well, maybe it shouldn’t be.”

Gibralter leveled his eyes at Jesse.

“I mean, I like riding with someone,” Jesse said. “I’ve learned shit from Louis. He’s –- ”

“Your friend?” Gibralter said.

Jesse hesitated. “Well, yeah, I guess he is.”

Gibralter turned back to his shell loading.

Jesse stared at Gibralter’s broad back then moved around near the bar so he could see Gibralter’s profile. “Is something wrong with that?”

Gibralter didn’t look up. “In this job, there must be a blind faith and unbreakable trust, or we can’t function.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Kincaid is a lone wolf. He is a cop without loyalty, without purpose.”

Jesse shook his head slowly. “I think you’re wrong, Chief. Louis has purpose. His purpose is...well, it’s the law.”

Gibralter picked up another gold shell casing. “Trust me, Jess.”

Jesse fell silent, frustrated. Finally, after a moment, he added, “Chief, I need to say something here.”

“Don’t.”

“Damn it, I’m going to.” He hesitated then spoke quickly. “It isn’t all Louis’s fault that Lacey was cut loose. If I had told him about the raid then maybe he would’ve made a better call.”

“It’s more than that.”

“What? That thing in Mississippi? I don’t —- ”

“It’s more than that too.”

Gibralter held the newly made bullet between his thumb and forefinger, moving it so it caught the light.

“See this?” he said softly. “This can take a life or it can save a life. We decide.”

Jesse waited. He knew there was no point of doing otherwise when the chief was in this kind of mood.

Gibralter finally looked over at him. “We enforce the law, right? But what is the law?”

Jesse wondered if Gibralter expected an answer this time. He was relieved when Gibralter put aside the finished bullet and picked up another empty casing.

“What is the law?” Gibralter repeated. “A bunch of statutes in a courthouse somewhere? A set of old leather books in a lawyer’s office? Nine old men in black robes?” Gibralter shook his head. “People want to see the law as this beautiful clean-running stream. But it’s not like that. It can’t be because there is always someone kicking up the bottom or throwing in shit.”

Jesse stared at him, uncomprehending.

“That’s what Kincaid does,” Gibralter said.

Jesse moved to a chair and sat down.

“I don’t think he can be trusted.” Gibralter said. “You
can
trust me. You know that, don’t you, Jess?”

“Sure,” Jesse bowed his head, running a hand through his hair. When he looked up Gibralter was watching him.

“You remember that New Year’s Eve you showed up at my house at three a.m. shit-faced?” Gibralter said.

Jesse nodded slowly.

Gibralter took a swig of beer. “You were seventeen. You ran away from the halfway house and you showed up on my doorstep, half frozen and drunk from that Boone’s Farm shit you stole from the party store.”

Jesse nodded again, his gaze going to the floor.

“You sat on Jeannie’s new white sofa, dripping on her new carpet. You were trying so damn hard to look tough. You said your girlfriend dumped you. What was her name?”

“Dee Dee,” Jesse whispered.

“You said you had called your father.” Gibralter paused. “You remember what he told you? He told you that your running away was the best thing that ever happened to your family. He told you not to call back. You remember that, Jess?”

Jesse said nothing.

Gibralter came over to stand at his side. “You asked me for a glass of water. I went into the kitchen and you picked up my service revolver off the bar.”

“You saw that?”

Gibralter nodded. “I knew what you were thinking of doing.”

“You would have let me do it?”

Gibralter put a hand on Jesse’s shoulder, cupping the knotty muscle. “Jess, the gun was empty.”

“Jesus,” Jesse breathed, looking away. He rose, going to the window.

“But I knew you wouldn’t do it,” Gibralter said. “You didn’t let me down then and you never have since. And I know you never will.”

“I still don’t get it,” Jesse said after a moment.

“Get what?”

He turned to look at Gibralter. “Why’d you split us up?”

Gibralter’s eyes softened. “Sit down, Jess. I’ll tell you,” he said.

The blackness stretched before them, a tunnel of trees, asphalt and night sky. The snow, caught in a glare of the cruiser’s headlights, rushed toward them out of the dark void.

“Looks kind of like the
Enterprise
at warp speed,” Ollie said.

Louis didn’t reply. He sat back in the passenger seat, adjusting his body to get the gun butt out of his ribs. He was tired, beyond tired and moving fast toward exhaustion. All his life he had been a light sleeper and had learned to function on five hours of fitful sleep. But the churning wake of the week’s events had left him storm tossed, with the burning eyes, heavy limbs and dulled brain of a drowning man. And now he was riding night shift.

Louis closed his eyes and leaned his temple against the cold window. He wasn’t going to make it through the shift awake. New Year’s Eve. The drunks would be out in force soon.

“You haven’t said a word for two hours, Kincaid,” Ollie said.

Reluctantly, Louis opened his eyes and looked over. Ollie Wickshaw was tall and thin, all angles, elbows and eggshell skin. He had a weird mechanical way of moving, as though he were built from Erector set parts. Louis had watched him earlier that night as he got into the cruiser, folding his body down into the seat like one of those old-fashioned wooden carpenter rulers.

Louis focused on Ollie’s hands gripping the wheel. His fingers had the pale brown tint of a chain smoker. Ollie reached up on the dash for his pack of Kools and with a few snaps of movement had the cigarette lit and in his mouth.

“They say
I’m
the man of few words around here,” Ollie said.

Louis cracked the window. “It’s not personal.”

“I know.”

They rode another mile and Louis looked at his watch. It was almost 1 a.m. and he hadn’t eaten. They hadn’t had a call in an hour.

“Is there someplace open to get something to eat?” Louis asked.

“On New Year’s? Jo-Jo’s about it.” Ollie pushed a brown bag toward Louis on the seat. “You can share my dinner. Got some carrots and celery sticks in there and a soy burger. You ever tried soy?”

Louis sank deeper into the seat. “No.”

“Tastes just like hamburger but you have to know how to work it, you know, seasonings. Cumin is good. And there’s this Cajun spice stuff I get over at Grayling. I buy it by the case. I’m a vegetarian. Gave up meat eight years ago. The other guys think I’m a little strange but meat’s bad for the arteries. You ever seen a picture of an artery coated with plaque?”

“Nope,” Louis said. “You ever seen a picture of a smoker’s lungs?”

Ollie glanced at him, blinked twice, and looked back out at the road.

Louis sighed, resting his head back against the seat. Wickshaw didn’t deserve this. It wasn’t his fault Gibralter was such a prick. He had just decided to apologize when Ollie spoke.

“You have to know him.”

“Who?” Louis asked.

“The chief. He’s not what you think.”

“Right.”

“He’s an Aries.”

“What?”

“That’s the chief’s sun sign. Aries.”

Louis rolled his eyes. Not that shit.

“Aries have an inbred desire to be in charge. To be number one. All the great leaders were Aries.” Ollie reached down to snuff his cigarette out in the ashtray. “What are you?”

Don’t even answer this, Kincaid.

“I bet you’re a Scorpio.”

“How did you know that?”

“I do charts. You ever had your chart done?”

“No. It’s bullshit.”

Ollie was quiet for several miles. They passed the road to the lake and Ollie made a left turn. The headlights illuminated a sign that said: U.S. 33 4 MILES.

“Where and what time were you born?” Ollie asked.

Louis stared out the window. “Five-thirty a.m. Mississippi.”

“Ah.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means you have Libra rising. Of course, I would have to calculate the exact hour to be sure but it’s a fair guess. Libra is the sign —- ”

“I don’t care.”

“Of beauty and fairness. Its symbol is the balanced scales. You must get very confused sometimes.”

Louis didn’t reply. He watched Ollie use his free hand to open his Ziploc bag and pull out a carrot.

“Scorpios are very moody and often immerse themselves in the morbid and sometimes violent aspects of life,” Ollie said, between bites of the carrot. “You probably have a Mars or Mercury in Aries, which would account for your love of police work. Aries is the god of war and rules police and the military.”

“So why am I confused?” Louis asked. He couldn’t believe he was asking this nut anything.

“Because Libra is your secondary ruler and Libras are very peaceful by nature. Totally nonviolent. So, you see, you have this urge to subject yourself to violence yet your gentler nature abhors it. Thus, the confusion.”

Louis stared at him.

“Want a carrot?” Ollie asked.

Louis nodded and took one.

“Should I go on?” Ollie asked.

Louis nodded slowly, munching on the carrot.

“I bet you like very passionate women.”

“Doesn’t everyone?” Louis laughed. The laugh trailed off quickly. He didn’t need to be thinking of Zoe right now.

“No, not really. But you like women who drive you crazy, physically and mentally. The woman you will marry is elusive by nature, mysterious and probably loves the water.”

“The water?”

“As do you.”

“I never thought about it one way or the other.”

“You should,” Ollie said, looking at him. The dashboard lights caught Ollie’s benign eyes. “The water is where you need to settle.”

“Well, I get the feeling the chief is not going to let me do that. I don’t think he wants me here.”

“It doesn’t have to be here. There’s lots of water in the world.” Ollie held out the Ziploc. “Another carrot?”

Louis shook his head. They drove on without speaking for several miles while Louis stared out at the swirling snow. The radio belched a burst of static. Ollie reached over to turn down the volume.

“Hey, Ollie,” Louis said finally.

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For that crack I made about smoking.”

Ollie’s veiny temples twitched. “Forget it. I should quit anyway. Would make my wife happy. But it’s my only vice left.” He suddenly slowed the car and did a U-turn.