“Do you run?” she asked.
“I used to in college. Cross-country.”
“What did you think about?”
Louis had only thought about winning the race but he knew that wasn’t what she meant. “Everything.”
She nodded slowly. “I’ll think about it tomorrow. When I run.”
CHAPTER 7
Louis pulled the scarf up over his face against the blinding wind. Somewhere in the darkness ahead, he could make out the glow of the station house sign and breathed an icy sigh of relief. It was only a one mile walk from his cabin to the station, but Jesus, what a long damn mile.
He forged ahead, hurrying the last steps. Inside, he fell back against the glass. The warm air filled his lungs, sending a violent shiver through him.
Florence, the day-shift dispatcher, looked up from the desk. “Louis, are you all right?”
He nodded and slowly unwrapped his scarf. He could feel the ice melting off his eyebrows. For a moment he just stood, afraid his bones would snap if he moved.
“Did you walk to work?” Florence asked.
He nodded again and moved stiffly to the fireplace, pulling off his hardened leather gloves. “Car wouldn’t start.”
Florence went to the coffee urn. “For heaven’s sake, why didn’t you call someone?”
Louis watched her as she poured a cup of coffee. She was in her sixties, a frizz of white hair topping a willow-thin body. She looked like a Q-tip, a skinny negative to Edna’s rotund positive.
“No phone yet,” Louis said. He unzipped the jacket and let it drop off his arms.
Florence pressed a mug of coffee into his hands and held her bands over his for several seconds. She smelled like peppermint and her wrinkled hands were warm. “Next time, you radio in and Dale will give you a jump.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Louis sipped the coffee, closing his eyes as the warmth trickled through him. He was pouring a second cup when Dale came through the front door, offering a cheerful “good morning.” When Dale returned from the locker room, Louis was waiting at the grating of the evidence room.
“What are you doing here so early?” Dale asked.
“Couldn’t sleep. I need the Pryce file cabinet.”
Dale snapped the keys off his belt. “Sign the log and note the time.”
Louis went to the counter, flipped open the ledger and signed in.
“You want me to bring it out?” Dale asked.
“Grab me that stool. I’ll just stay in here.”
Dale slid a rolling stool over to him and Louis wheeled it into the small room. The ceiling-high plywood shelves towered over him, sagging with age and the weight of decades of boxed and bagged evidence. Everything was sealed with orange tape and dated with wrappers’ initials. On one shelf were confiscated weapons: broken guns, knives, power tools. Louis stood up to turn on the light. His eye caught a Ziploc bag with a pair of women’s panties inside. The tag read CUNNINGHAM RAPE, 69-23119.
Louis sat down and pulled open the top drawer of the file cabinet from Stephanie Pryce. He wanted one more look before they sent it back to Flint. He sifted through the folders, pulling out one that said RECEIPTS. It was crammed with bills for gas, dry cleaning, a new holster, boots and other job-related expenses. Pryce must have been saving these for his taxes.
As Louis slipped it back in its place, he noticed another file wedged inside of it. He pulled it out; it was labeled RESUME and he knew immediately that he had missed it last night. Inside were a dozen crisp copies of Pryce’s resume, clippings of employment ads and a few letters. A familiar letterhead caught his eye: The City of Detroit. He pulled out the letter, addressed to Pryce at his home. Due to budget cuts, the city is not adding additional officers at this time…
Louis smiled wanly. So Pryce had been trying to make it to the big time, too. He thumbed through the other letters, his smile fading. There were at least a dozen letters of inquiry and almost as many rejections, the oldest dating back to February 1982. Pryce had joined the Loon Lake force in 1981. If this file was any indication he sure grew bored here quickly.
But that made no sense. Stephanie Pryce said they were happy in Loon Lake. Maybe Pryce didn’t tell her he was looking for another job. Who knew what went on between husbands and wives?
Louis set the resume file aside and continued on through the rest. Forty-five minutes later, in the second drawer, he came across a well-worn yellow legal pad that he also hadn’t noticed last night. The top binding was filled with doodles like the ones on the desk blotter. He went quickly through the pages: more doodles amid Pryce’s small, hard-to-read handwriting. A few numbers but nothing that registered.
Slowing down now, he flipped to the last page of the pad, looking for anything relevant to Pryce’s last days. He kept going, reading each page, until he got to the top again. It was dated from last summer. It contained brief notes about the burglary of a tourist cabin Jesse had mentioned.
Louis tossed the pad on the floor in disgust. Shit. Nothing…absolutely nothing.
He stared at the open drawer of the cabinet, and he kicked it closed. His eyes fell on the legal pad, lying face-down on the floor. Doodles, more damn doodles. The whole back of the pad was one giant paisley doodle that fanned out in elaborate concentric circles. In the center was one number — 61829.
Louis wheeled the stool to the room entrance. “Hey, Dale, come here a sec.”
Dale looked up from his computer and came over.
Louis held out the pad. “Look at this number. Any thoughts?”
“Too short for a social or phone,” Dale offered.
Louis stared at the number. It was probably nothing but then again maybe Pryce had drawn this elaborate design around it on purpose, like Jesse giving emphasis to his signature with a double underline.
But cops didn’t routinely record notes on bulky legal pads; they wrote important stuff in their pocket notebooks. Pryce’s was still missing. He had asked Gibralter about it but the chief said he had never seen it.
Louis gathered up the legal pad, the resume file and a few papers he had set aside to be copied. The rest, he was sure now, was useless and he could send it back to Stephanie Pryce. Standing up to stretch, he switched off the light and closed the gate behind him.
“You lock it?” Dale called out.
Louis snapped the padlock closed. “Done.”
Going to the desk, he put the materials in his drawer and glanced at the clock. It was past seven. His research time was almost up for this morning. He knew he could work late tonight, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to. He wanted to be home in case Zoe jogged by.
He went to the locker room to change into uniform. Normally, he preferred dressing at home but with the weather as cold as it was and his car on the fritz he couldn’t risk appearing at briefing less than crisp and spit-shined. Yesterday, Gibralter had blasted one guy for having mud on his shoes. Ten inches of snow and Gibralter was worried about mud.
There was a clean uniform hanging in the locker, one of the three he’d received his first day. He wondered when he’d get more. Surely, they would give him more than three. Shit, he probably had to buy them.
“Good morning,” Jesse said from behind him.
“Morning, Jess.”
“You’re here early.”
“I wanted one more crack at the file cabinet.”
“Find anything new?”
“Resumes and letters. Pryce was looking for another job.”
Jesse didn’t look up. “Not surprised. Sometimes I think he felt we weren’t good enough for him.”
Louis let the comment go. “I was also going over the case file. There’s a statement I’d like to follow up on, a Moe Cohick, lived behind Pryce. He saw a man running.”
“He saw a shadow, that’s all,” Jesse said. “Couldn’t give us any description.”
“Well, sometimes people remember things later. I’d still like to talk to him. Can you go after shift?”