When he was done he set the report aside and leaned back in the seat. A huge wave of fatigue rolled slowly over him and he had to fight to keep his eyes open. He pushed himself up, put on his jacket and got out of the Bronco.
He searched the crowd for Gibralter, finally spotting him standing by the open door of Ollie’s cruiser. Louis walked over to him.
“The report is finished. What do you want me to do now?”
“Go home,” Gibralter said, not looking at him.
“Chief — ”
“I said go home.”
“I need to be here.”
“This isn’t about what you need, Kincaid. You’re on administrative leave pending psychiatric evaluation.”
“A shrink? I don’t need a shrink.”
“It’s departmental policy. Make an appointment in the morning.”
“I can help search — ”
“We don’t need you,” Gibralter said. He turned away before Louis could answer. “Evans!” he called out.
The other officer looked up and trotted over.
“Evans, take Kincaid home.”
“Wait a minute,” Louis said, moving into Gibralter’s line of vision. “I want — ”
“I don’t care what you want,” Gibralter said sharply. “In your mental state, you’re no use to us. Now go home.”
Louis walked stiffly to Evans’s cruiser and got in, unable to look at Evans as he started the engine. They pulled slowly away and were soon engulfed by the darkness and quiet.
Louis leaned his head back on the seat. A thought penetrated the fog in his head. “Did they find it?” he asked dully.
“Find what?” Evans said.
“The card.”
Evans hesitated. “Yeah.”
“Where was it?”
“On the floor of the cruiser.”
Louis closed his eyes. That’s why the motherfucker ran near the cruiser, to throw in the damn card.
“What was it? What card?” Louis asked.
“Eight of clubs.”
Eight? Just like Ollie’s call number.
Something inside him stirred. Fred Lovejoy’s number was ten. “Radio numbers,” Louis mumbled softly. “He’s using their damn call numbers.”
Evans glanced at him. “What?”
Except Pryce. Pryce’s number was two, not one as the ace of spades would indicate. Why hadn’t Pryce been tossed a two?
Evans brought the car to a sudden stop. Louis looked up, saw he was home and jumped out of the cruiser without a word. He went inside and walked to the kitchen. He uncapped the bottle of Christian Brothers and took a long swallow. It dribbled down his chin and he coughed, setting the bottle down. Bent over the sink, he wiped his chin with his hand.
You’re no use to us….
His hand was trembling. He brought it up to his face, turning it over slowly. He stared at his nails, rimmed with dried blood. He turned on the faucet, grabbed a Brillo pad and thrust his hands under the water, tearing the pad across his nails. Finally, he threw it aside and turned off the water.
There was a knock and his eyes shot to the door. His hand went to his holster. It was empty; he had turned over his gun at the scene as routine procedure.
“Louis?” a soft voice called. “Louis? It’s Zoe.”
He let out a breath, went slowly to the door and opened it. She stood there in the darkness of the porch, her head uncovered, her face shadowed. She waited and finally he moved aside and she came in.
The cabin was dark, the only light filtering in from the kitchen. She looked around, her eyes coming back finally to him. He saw them move down from his face to his chest. He had forgotten he was still wearing his police parka, the front stained brown with Ollie’s blood.
He turned away, going to the sofa. He switched on a lamp and slipped off the jacket, throwing it in a corner. He sat down, leaning forward, hands on his knees, closing his eyes. After a moment, he felt the sofa sag with her weight as she sat down next to him.
“I heard what happened,” she said.
Her voice was distant in his brain, childlike, fearful. He didn’t want to answer. He was afraid his own would sound the same.
“I had to come,” she said.
He shook his head slowly, not daring to look at her. He wanted to ask her why she had to come back but he didn’t want to hear what he knew was the truth, that she came back of pity.
“Go away, Zoe,” he said softly.
“Louis…”
“I need to be alone right now.”
She touched his back. “Don’t push me away. I understand — ”
“Please…please go. Now, please.” He started to pull away, but her hand moved up to his neck, pulling him closer.
“Don’t,” she said.
He tried to push away but her hand grew firmer. “Don’t,” she said.
He began to tremble and shut his eyes.
“Don’t” she whispered.
Something ripped inside his chest and he fell against her. Her arms encircled his back and she pulled him to her. He began to cry.
CHAPTER 28
Louis stepped out onto the porch, stretching his arms up over his head. He looked left, to where the setting sun had left a smudge of orange over the western trees. Dusk had always been his favorite time to run.
He hadn’t run in years, except for that one time with Zoe, and was probably risking a muscle pull but he didn’t care. He had to get out. Running had always helped him clear his head, helped him think straight, and God knew he needed help with that right now.
Stretching his calves, he thought about his appointment earlier that afternoon over in Grayling with the psychiatrist Vincent Serbo. He was a phlegmatic old fart, used to treating depressed housewives and wigged-out military types from the base. He told Louis that in his thirty years of practice he had never seen a police officer. He seemed fascinated by the smallest detail of cop life.
Not that Louis had volunteered much. He knew that seeing a shrink was standard procedure after a shooting, especially when it involved another cop. But he didn’t share his feelings with friends let alone strangers.
Besides, it was all crap anyway. Ollie’s death had been a hit to the gut but he would deal with it and get back to work.
He stepped off the porch, swinging his arms to get the blood moving, and started down toward the shoreline.
“Hey, Louis!”
Louis turned to see Jesse walking down the road toward the cabin. He was in uniform but there was no sign of his cruiser.
Jesse came up to him. “Where you headed?”
“Going for a run,” Louis said. He hadn’t spoken to Jesse since the shooting. They hadn’t talked about anything since Gibralter had split them up. As glad as he was to see Jesse, Louis had trouble meeting his eyes.
“Where’s your unit?” Louis asked.
“I was over at Dot’s after shift and decided to take a walk, do some thinking. Been doing a lot of that lately, thinking.”
Louis nodded. “How’d it go at work today?”
Jesse gave a sigh. “Everybody’s pretty upset. Chief sent Florence home because she wouldn’t stop crying.”
Louis nodded again and looked out to the lake. He wasn’t sure he wanted to talk about Ollie’s death, even with Jesse.
“Louis, can we go in side?” Jesse asked.
“Sure.”
They went back in the cabin. Jesse pulled off his parka and sat down on a chair, wringing his hands, trying to warm them. He seemed edgy, even more than he had after finding Lovejoy. There were only two cops left now from the raid — he and Gibralter.
“You want a drink?” Louis asked.
Jesse shook his head.
Louis picked up a half-finished can of Dr Pepper and took a drink, leaning against the counter to wait for Jesse to bring up whatever was obviously on his mind.
“So,” Jesse said, “how’d the thing with the shrink go?”
“It’s bullshit, a game,” Louis said with a shrug. “I’ll tell the guy what he wants to hear and get back to work.”