“Morning,” Louis said, glancing at their name badges. Burt Cornwall and Ernest Evans.
“Morning,” Cornwall said gruffly.
Louis pulled off his shirt. The silence lengthened.
“You were on that scene yesterday, weren’t you?” Cornwall asked.
“Lovejoy’s? Yeah, I was,” Louis answered.
“I heard the chief gave you the Pryce case, too,” Evans said. The hostility in his voice was undisguised.
“Yeah, he did,” Louis replied. Apparently, he was getting a rep as an ass-kisser. But what did he expect? A police force was no different than any other business when it came to recognition and promotions. Those who didn’t get them blamed those who did.
Louis turned to face Evans and Cornwall, wanting to tell them simply “tough shit.” But he knew he couldn’t let himself get cut off from the others, especially not veteran cops who knew the town. It would be Black Pool, Mississippi, all over again, and he couldn’t afford that if he expected help.
“So,” Louis said, “what can you guys tell me about the local dirtbags? Any suspects come to mind?”
Evans slammed his locker shut. “I give my opinions to the chief,” he said.
The men moved away to the door. Louis watched them, his jaw tightening. Cornwall was probably pissed at pulling the duty of going through the garbage hauled out of Lovejoy’s cabin. Evans, on the other hand, was more likely just a burnout, angry at being passed over on the biggest case the department had ever seen.
The hell with them. They were expected to do the job they had been assigned. And if that meant rooting through trash to find the damn killer, then that’s what they would do. God knows he had pulled his share of garbage searches as a rookie.
He yanked the fresh uniform shirt off the hanger. It felt heavy and he looked at the front, almost expecting to see Pryce’s badge still pinned on it. There was a bulge in the pocket. He unbuttoned it and pulled out a worn spiral notebook.
He flipped it open. Slowly, the crabbed handwriting registered. It was Pryce’s notebook. His wife had said that he was always leaving his things lying around. Like leaving his notebook in a dirty uniform.
Louis turned the pages. They were filled, top to bottom, margin to margin, with notes, much of it in a bizarre type of shorthand.
He felt a tightening in his gut. There had to be something in here, something he could use to kick start the investigation. He slipped the notebook in a pants pocket and hurried to get dressed.
“You find anything yet?” Jesse asked eagerly.
Louis flipped through Pryce’s notebook as they drove toward Lovejoy’s cabin to interview neighbors. Pryce’s writing was like hieroglyphics, as inscrutable as his blotter doodles.
“Man, I can’t make sense out of this,” Louis said. “‘C.L. J.L. C.I.S. @ 5661. November. Proof. Proof. Proof.’ Then at the bottom of a page ‘X31.’ What the fuck does that mean? And listen to this one: ‘Sam Yellow Lincoln 61829.’ Who’s Sam? What the hell is that number, a plate? You know anybody with a yellow Lincoln?”
Jesse shook his head.
Louis keyed the mike. “Hey, Flo, would you run a 10–29 on Sam-Adam-Mary 61829?”
A few minutes later, Florence came back on the radio. “There’s no such plate, Louis,” she said. “At least not in this state.”
Louis thanked her and closed the notebook. They were coming up on Lovejoy’s place. He would have to go over the notebook more carefully later.
Jesse pulled the cruiser over to the side of the snow-filled street and cut the engine. He sat there, staring at the cabin.
“Jess?” Louis said.
Jesse didn’t respond.
“Jess,” Louis repeated.
Jesse looked over at him. With a slight shake of his head, he got out of the cruiser. They stood in the drive for a moment and Jesse finally suggested they start with the trailer three lots north and trudged off. Louis trailed him, wondering just how much help Jesse was going to be on this investigation. Sooner or later, they were going to have to go back in Lovejoy’s cabin.
Louis slowed his step as a sudden realization hit him. Jesse had not had the same reaction at Pryce’s house. Louis remembered the feel of his own stomach turning over when he had seen the stain on the carpet made from Pryce’s blood. But Jesse had been strictly business.
“Jess!”
Jesse turned. Suddenly, Louis didn’t know how to form his question. “I want to ask you something,” he said.
“What?”
“Lovejoy’s death really bothers you.”
“Of course it bothers me. He was a cop.”
“So was Pryce.”
Jesse stared at him. “What are you saying?”
Louis looked out at the lake and then back at Jesse. “I’m not sure. It’s just that — ”
“Are you asking me if I cared more because Lovejoy was white?”
“What?” Louis said, stunned. “I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“That’s not what I — ”
“Then what did you mean?”
“Look, I just want to know why you’re taking Lovejoy’s death so much harder, that’s all.”
Jesse shrugged. “Maybe I’ve had some time to get over Pryce, know what I mean?”
“But you worked with Pryce every day.”
Jesse looked away then took off his cap, running his arm across his brow. He turned away, facing the lake.
“Jess?”
Jesse turned. “I didn’t like him, okay?”
“Who? Pryce?”
“Yeah, Pryce. He was kind of a troublemaker.”
“What do you mean?”
Jesse looked uncomfortable. “You know, not a team player.”
“How?”
“He was…shit, he wasn’t one of us, I told you that before.”
“In what way?” Louis pressed.
Jesse shook his head. “Well, like he would report us sometimes.”
“For what?”
“That’s just it. Little shit. Once he even wrote Ollie up for shooting a deer while on duty. Chief didn’t care, let us cook up the damn thing for dinner one night. But Pryce wouldn’t eat any.” He hesitated then shook his head. “He was a jerk, Louis.”
“Why didn’t you tell me that before?”
“Fuck…”
“Why didn’t you tell me before? It’s no big deal.”
“I didn’t want you to think, you know, like I was some sort of bigot.”
Louis stared at him.
“I’m not a bigot,” Jesse said.
Louis let out a long breath. He needed to change the subject. “I’m sorry I asked. Let’s get this over with.” He started toward the trailer.
“Louis, wait,” Jesse called out.
Louis turned.
“First, tell me you know I’m not a bigot,” Jesse said.
“Jesus…”
“I didn’t like the guy because he was an asshole sometimes. That’s the reason. The only reason. I’m no bigot.”
Louis threw up his hands. “Okay. Okay. You’re not a fucking bigot.”
“I mean, a black guy can be an asshole, just like a white guy, can’t he?”
Louis let out a sigh. Jesse looked away, and they both just stood there, rooted by the edge of the lake. Jesse slowly began shaking his head.
“Man, that was a dumb conversation,” Jesse said.
“No shit.”
“It wasn’t just Lovejoy himself. I hadn’t seen him in years.”
“Then what was it?”
Jesse glanced back at Lovejoy’s cabin. “It’s that there are two now, two dead cops. He’s after us, man. It’s knowing that this fucker could blow us away at any time. It’s affecting everything I do. I can’t sleep, I can’t eat…I can’t…” His voice trailed off.
Louis didn’t know what to say.
“What the hell does he want?” Jesse asked. “Why us? What the hell have we done?”
“That’s what we have to find out.”
“What do you mean?”
“The case files. Maybe we’ll find something.”
Jesse nodded slowly. “Maybe,” he said. He pulled his cap back on and zipped his coat to the chin. He glanced around at the trailer. “Well, let’s get this over with. Maybe we should split up, get it over with faster.”