Louis stared at Gibralter’s back. He was being exiled. Lacey wasn’t going back to the U.P. now. He was still here, hiding and waiting until he could kill the rest of the men who had been at the raid that night. Lacey was here. And Louis was not going to be allowed in on the real work of finding him.
Louis left the briefing room, closing the door. The outer office was deserted, except for Florence, who gave him a quick look of sympathy then averted her eyes.
He went quickly to his desk, threw some things into a large manila envelope and headed to the locker room. It was empty and as he approached his locker, he slowed. The locker was ajar. He never locked it; no one here did.
He opened it slowly. Hanging from the hook was a used Kotex sanitary napkin with a note that had one word: Pussy.
CHAPTER 20
There was too much empty road and too much time to think on the way to Dollar Bay.
About Pryce, Lovejoy and Lacey. About watches that ran in cold water, serial numbers on meaningless guns. About dead teenage girls and Jesse’s hair-trigger temper. About Gibralter. About Zoe. About himself.
Keeping his left hand on the wheel, Louis used his thumb of his bandaged right hand to ease the lid off the Styrofoam cup. He took a sip of the hot coffee and carefully set it back in the cup holder. His stomach was sending up groans of hunger, despite the greasy 7-Eleven muffin he had already downed. He glanced at his watch. Back at the 7-Eleven he had called Dollar Bay and was told Sheriff Bjork would meet him at twelve-thirty at a local tavern. He was running late and he pressed the gas pedal, easing up over the speed limit. No matter. The road was empty. It pretty much had been that way since he crossed the Mackinac Bridge about an hour back.
The stunning scenery flew by but he didn’t really notice it. It occurred to him that he was becoming immune to the vistas of pristine snow with their black-green frames of pine forest. He no longer saw the beauty in it, no longer found anything of charm in the stark serenity of the Michigan wilderness. Now, it all looked just…lonely. So incredibly, terribly lonely.
He passed through a tiny town, some speck called Little Bear, and didn’t slow down. It was like the countless others he had seen as he made his way north up the peninsula. Not a human being in sight. He pressed on.
A half hour later, he came to a sign announcing the city of Houghton. He glanced down at the map open on the passenger seat. Dollar Bay was just beyond.
He had half expected Houghton to be like some Siberian tin-shack outpost but it turned out to be a pretty town, handsome red brick buildings built on snowy bluffs overlooking the river below. The streets were freshly plowed, lined with towering drifts. As he drove along the river, he passed the modern buildings of Michigan Tech. On the other side of the river, he could see the colorful parkas of skiers racing down a steep hill. The town had the cozy bustle of any college town and it reminded him a little of an arctic version of Ann Arbor.
He headed the Bronco to the center of town, slowing to look for King’s Tavern, where Bjork said he would meet him for lunch. He would have preferred to conduct business at the sheriff’s department but he knew how these small-town sheriffs could be. Long on down-home wisdom but short on the kind of technical know-how that solved murder cases.
King’s Tavern was a small log building set down between an antique shop and a bookstore. Louis parked, fed a couple quarters into the meter and went in.
It took him a few minutes to adjust to the dim light within, but he soon picked out the requisite mahogany bar, jukebox, pool table and booths. It looked like Jo-Jo’s, but cleaner with a pleasing hickory smell coming from a black potbellied stove. His nose also picked up a delicious meaty smell.
His eyes swept the flannel-clad patrons. Great, so where was Dudley Do-Right already?
“Kincaid?”
Louis turned at the sound of the soft voice. A woman’s face poked out from the last booth. She was wearing a brown shirt. Louis stared. There was a badge pinned to it.
“Over here.” She waved him over.
He went slowly to the booth, taking off his hat. She stuck out her hand.
“Sheriff Bjork,” she said.
He stared at her.
“Sit down, please,” she said.
Louis slid across from her. She was about forty, with a strong square-jawed, sun-freckled face. Lines fanned out from her lively blue eyes, framed by sprigs of red hair that sprouted from her heavy braid. Christ, a woman sheriff. Louis could almost feel the gears shifting as his brain tried to digest this.
A small smile played on her lips. She was enjoying his confusion and wasn’t going to give him an easy entree into conversation by apologizing for her gender.
“I hope you don’t mind but I went ahead and ordered for us,” she said.
“That’s fine,” Louis said.
“What’ll ya have to drink?”
“Ah, Dr Pepper, if they’ve got it.”
“Dave!” Sheriff Bjork yelled out.
“Yeah, Liddie?”
“You got Dr Pepper back there?”
“Got Coke, Vernors, Faygo Rock and Rye. That’s it for pop.”
Bjork looked at Louis.
“Coke,” Louis said.
Sheriff Bjork settled back in the booth. Louis found himself staring at her badge. And at her breasts. They were big and healthy, like the sheriff herself seemed to be. He was grateful when Dave brought over a Coke and glass, and he immersed himself in the process of pouring it.
“So, how was the drive up?” Sheriff Bjork asked.
“Fine. Roads were pretty clear.”
“You have trouble finding King’s here?”
“No, Not at all.”
“Saw that little U-ey you did out there. That’s illegal here.”
He managed a smile. “Professional courtesy?”
She returned the smile and nodded. “So, where you want to start with Lacey?”
“Well, with any records you might have on him.”
She set a thick folder on the table. “I could have faxed you this stuff. You didn’t have to make the trip.”
“My chief thought it would be better this way,” Louis said. “Plus, I want to talk to his mother.”
“Millie?” Bjork slowly shook her head. “I don’t know how much help she can be to you.”
“Why?”
“She’s not exactly Donna Reed.”
Louis nodded. “Just the same, I need to see Lacey’s home.”
Bjork shrugged. “It’s after noon. She might be sobered up by now.”
Dave came to the table and deposited two plates between them. Louis looked down at the steaming, fragrant pie-like concoction.
“It’s a pastie,” Bjork said. “Kinda like a Swanson’s pot pie, only better.” She smiled. “It’s the ne plus ultra of Yooper cuisine.”
Louis took a bite. It was delicious. “May I?” he said, pulling over the file.
Bjork nodded, digging into her food. Louis quickly scanned the contents of the file. It was filled with detailed reports: Lacey’s arrest records, including copies of every incident report, judicial files, fingerprints, even high school transcripts. Louis focused on the military record. It took him a moment but he found it: Lacey had been attached to the 123rd squadron in Vietnam. He closed the file.
“This is very complete,” he said.
Bjork gazed at him over the frosty glass. “You sound surprised.”
“No, I just…”
“We run a very professional department here, Officer Kincaid,” Bjork said.
“I didn’t mean — ”
“Do you know how many Yoopers it takes to screw in a lightbulb?”
“Pardon?”
“None. We don’t have electricity here.”
Louis smiled weakly.
“You hear about the Yooper who saw the billboard that said ‘Drink Canada Dry’? He’s been trying to ever since.”