Louis jumped. He hadn’t heard Jesse come back.
“A movie I saw this past summer,” Jesse went on. “Julie and me went down to the drive-in at Rose City. It was about some caveman they found frozen in the ice of the North Pole. Shit, what was the name of that movie?”
Louis looked toward the road, hoping to see headlights. “Didn’t see it,” he muttered.
“That guy was in it, you know, the one that was in the movie about the kid who drowns and the brother tries to slit his wrists?”
Louis was thinking about Zoe. Maybe she wouldn’t run tonight. It was too cold.
“Louis, what was the name of that movie?”
“Shit, Jess, I don’t know.”
“Mary Tyler Moore was in it. And the guy from Taxi was in it. Played a shrink.”
“Ordinary People. Judd Hirsch.”
“Yeah! That’s it. He was in the caveman movie.”
“Judd Hirsch was a caveman?”
“No, no, the kid in Ordinary People,” Jesse said impatiently. “He was the scientist who found the caveman frozen in the ice. I can’t remember how they got him out though.”
“Chain saws, I’d bet,” Louis muttered.
They fell silent for several minutes.
“Iceman!” Jesse said suddenly.
“What?”
“That was the name of the movie.”
They were quiet again. A dog barked somewhere far-off, the sound caroming against the pines surrounding the lake. They stood, staring at the body in its ice coffin.
“Gives a whole new meaning to the word ‘stiff,’” Jesse said.
Louis looked up at him. Jesse grinned. Louis started to laugh. Jesse joined in, their cackles echoing in the dark trees. It broke the tension, lessened the irritation. It felt odd, laughing. Louis couldn’t remember the last time he had laughed so hard out loud.
“Chief’s here,” Jesse said.
Louis sobered quickly and looked toward the road. Gibralter’s cruiser came to a stop atop the bank. As he was getting out, two other cars and an Oscoda County Electric Company truck pulled up behind. The crewmen began unloading portable spotlights while Gibralter and a second man Louis did not recognize came down to the shore’s edge. A third man, lugging a Nikon and bag, stumbled behind them.
“Jess, who’s that?”
“Delp. Little snot-nose from the Argus, the local rag. Thinks he’s Geraldo Rivera or something.”
“What we got here, Jess?” Gibralter said.
“I’d bet an East Egger left over from hunting season,” Jesse said.
“Do we know who it is?”
“No,” Jesse answered.
“Who found it?”
“Some kids ice skating. It was hidden by some snow that was cleared away.”
Gibralter stared down at the body, his face as hard set as the ice. The thin-faced man with glasses, in a massive hooded parka, pulled out a flashlight and ventured carefully down onto the ice. Louis guessed he was probably the Oscoda County coroner, Ralph Drexler.
“What you think, Ralph?” Gibralter asked.
The coroner looked up and shrugged. “No way to tell anything ‘til we get him back to the shop and thaw him out.”
“We called the fire department,” Louis offered.
“Fire department?” Drexler said.
“We figured they’d have the equipment to chip him out, or chain saws or something,” Louis said.
“Well, be careful,” Drexler said. “I need the body intact. Don’t break off any damn arms. Or fingers. The fingers are important. Be careful with the fingers.”
The coroner bent back over the body. The reporter began screwing attachments onto a camera. Louis watched the chief as he trudged back up the bank and toward his cruiser. A moment later, he saw the flick of a lighter and the glow of the chief’s cigarette.
“Man, this is going to make a great picture.”
Louis turned. The reporter was looking at him, grinning. He couldn’t have been more than twenty and his face was flushed from the cold. He wore a red down vest over a heavy turtleneck sweater. Wild blond hair stuck out the sides of his wool cap. He made his way down toward the shoreline and began to take pictures, his strobe sending surreal flashes into the dark night.
“Hey, back off a little,” Gibralter hollered from the cruiser.
The kid looked up at Gibralter then at Louis. “I got enough.” He retreated to the bank to take pictures of the electrical crew unloading lights.
The six men of the Loon Lake Volunteer Fire Department ambled down to the body and stood gawking, making bad jokes. Louis stuffed his hands in his pockets, growing colder and more irritable. He watched as one man yanked on a chain saw, trying in vain to bring it to life as the others stood silently by, shivering. He looked up at the black sky and let out a long breath, trying to imagine Zoe on the frayed bear rug.
Two hours later, a six-by-six-foot block of ice was unloosed from the lake and hoisted up by pulleys rigged to a tow truck. It hung there, gleaming and dripping in the harsh glare of the lights. Everyone stood in a semicircle, silently looking at it for several minutes. A flash of light made Louis glance over his shoulder. He spotted the reporter a few yards off, recording the grisly tableau.
After a half hour of debate it was decided to call Noel Wolfe, who ran the granite quarry, to get a truck big enough to transport the ice block. But when the truck arrived, Ralph Drexler stepped forward.
“That body will break into pieces if you hit a bump. We need something to cushion it,” he said.
Gibralter looked at Jesse. “Go find a cushion,” he said.
“Where the fuck…?” Jesse pulled off his cap. “Okay, Chief. It’s only fucking midnight. We’re in the middle of nowhere and you want a fucking pillow for this stiff? Jesus Christ, in another hour, you’re going to have to chisel all of us out of the damn ice.”
“Harrison!” Gibralter bellowed, silencing the crowd. “I have given you a directive. Now follow it!”
Jesse stared at the chief, his mouth agape. Louis watched, sensing that Gibralter’s reprimand was totally unexpected. Apparently, under better circumstances, Jesse was allowed his little fits of temper. But not tonight.
Jesse disappeared into the darkness and Louis watched as he flipped on the lights and ran code three back to town. Again, the men fell silent, a few going back to trucks to turn on heaters and thaw out. Louis went to the truck and ducked under the hoisted block of ice, shining his flashlight on the man’s face.
It was distorted by ice, grotesque and pale. The man was caucasian and chubby, his clean-shaven face clearly visible beneath the crystal pattern of the ice. His eyes were open, two little holes burnt in the ice, with a mild look of bewilderment. His mouth was open, and the upper plate of his dentures had worked its way loose.
A flash of light went off next to him. The damn reporter had ducked under the block with him and taken a picture.
“This one’s not so bad,” he said, looking at Louis.
“What?” Louis said.
“Pryce. Pryce was still warm when I got there.” The young man thrust out a hand. “Delp,” he said with a smile. “Doug Delp. Oscoda County Argus.”
Louis stared at the man’s bare red hand for a moment then reluctantly shook it.
“You’re the guy who replaced Pryce, right?” Delp asked.
“Yeah,” Louis said. “Excuse me, will you?”
Ollie was peeking in at them. “Is it worth coming under there to take photos? Or should I wait?” he asked hopefully.
“Wickshaw! Kincaid!” Gibralter yelled. “Get out of there before that damn block of ice falls and kills you both.”
Ollie backed off, followed by Louis and Delp. Louis walked up the bank to the cruisers.
Thirty minutes later, Jesse returned with a queen-size mattress tied to the roof of the cruiser. The mattress was placed on the flatbed truck and the ice-encased body gently lowered onto it. Once the block was secured with rope, bungee cords and straps, the electrical crew and firemen began to quickly pack up their gear. No one wanted to linger a moment longer than necessary in the freezing night. Even the reporter had long since hit the road.