Outside, they stood by the door. It was cold, but no wind blowing. Two Loon Lake officers, just coming on night shift, eyed Louis as they passed. Louis looked away.
“All right, what’s going on here?” Steele asked, waving the file.
Suddenly Louis wasn’t sure what exactly was going on, at least as far as his own motive. No matter what he thought about Gibralter, he was still his chief. Did he really want to put the reputations of other cops on the line because he was pissed at him?
“Officer, you’re wasting my time,” Steele said.
But Louis was almost certain that Gibralter had left something out of the file he gave to Steele. Anyone reading Gibralter’s report of the raid, and those of the other men, would say the Loon Lake cops had acted in self-defense. But it was also possible to see their actions as overly aggressive. In fact, in a larger department the raid would have routinely gone to internal affairs for investigation. Gibralter knew that; he had worked in a big city department. But Gibralter also knew Steele had made a career out of carving up cops. Was he just trying to protect himself and his men from Steele?
Be careful, Kincaid. You don’t know what’s going on here.
“Officer?”
Louis met Steele’s eyes. “I am not sure but I think the original file might contain something that could be misconstrued or — ”
“Are you suggesting Chief Gibralter has a reason, other than his personal dislike of me, to withhold information?”
“Look, I don’t know — ”
“What do you know?”
Louis shook his head. Man, this guy was a prick.
“You show your chief little respect, Officer Kincaid,” Steele said.
Louis stared at him. This wasn’t going right at all.
Steele started back and then turned to Louis. “You telling me about the Dollar Bay file and Cole Lacey is appreciated,” he said. “But if you have a problem with your chief, deal with it. Don’t use it to bullshit yourself into my good graces.
Louis flushed with embarrassment and anger.
Steele went inside.
Louis stood there, staring at the streetlights. They flickered on in the quickly darkening dusk. Now he had lost Steele, too. He went back in.
He glanced at the command desk. Two aides were there but Steele was gone, apparently leaving by the locker room back door. Louis looked over at Florence. She was staring at him oddly.
This was nuts. He was going nuts. He had to get out of here. He hurried into the locker room to change. He emerged and was halfway out the door when he heard Florence calling his name.
“Louis! Telephone!”
He paused, hand on the door. “Who is it?”
“A man. Wouldn’t tell me his name.”
Louis came back and picked up the phone.
“Yeah?”
“Hey, it’s Delp.”
Louis sank into his chair. “Look, man, I told you — ”
“I know. I didn’t tell the old biddy who I was. Jesus, what’s with you?”
“What do you want?”
“I got what you asked for.”
Louis sat up straighter. “That was quick,” he said.
“Hey, I’m good. What can I say.”
“What did you find?”
“You tell me first what you’re looking for.”
“Just tell me.”
Louis waited, hearing papers being shuffled at Delp’s end. He glanced at Florence but she was busy with the dispatch mike.
“Okay, back in ’68, there was a drug scandal,” Delp said. “Seventeen Englewood cops were indicated for possession and conspiracy to sell drugs, extortion and bribery.”
Louis let out a soft breath. “He was dirty?”
“No. My buddy knew the guy working the cop shop then. He said Gibralter was squeaky clean. But the DA figured Gibralter knew something and pressured to him to testify with a grant of immunity. Gibralter refused.”
“What happened?”
“Gibralter went to jail for contempt. He got off the hook though. The DA got what he needed somewhere else.”
Louis pulled out a notebook but then decided not to write it down. Besides, it wasn’t damning; it was totally in character for Gibralter.
“That it?” Louis asked.
“No, one more thing. In 1973, Gibralter was involved in an incident on the force,” Delp said.
“Incident? What does that mean?”
“He was a sergeant, thirty at the time. Something happened when he was on patrol. Couldn’t find out what. Whatever it was, Gibralter was riding the desk for months afterward.”
Louis tapped the pencil on the desk. “Shot in the line of duty, maybe?”
“Could be. Engelwood’s a tough place. But here’s something interesting. Three weeks after Gibralter was taken off the street, three gang members went down on drug charges. Came out of nowhere and rumors had it the kids were railroaded by the cops.”
“Did it have something to do with Gibralter?”
“Don’t know.”
“Shit, man, what do you know?”
“I know that it’s been bricked over.”
“What?”
“They ain’t talking about it, Kincaid. Not even ten years later.”
“Is that why he left Chicago?” Louis asked quietly.
“Doubt it. He made captain soon after the gang thing but never rode patrol again. He came here about a year later.”
Louis rubbed the bridge of his nose.
“You still there, Kincaid?”
“Yeah. Is that it?”
“Yup.”
“Okay. Listen, thanks.”
“If you want to thank me, get me an interview with Steele.”
“Can’t help you there. He runs his own show.”
“Well, if anything breaks don’t forget me, okay?”
“I won’t.”
Louis hung up and sat back in his chair, his eyes going to Gibralter’s locked office door. The contempt charge was understandable given Gibralter’s code of conduct. But the gang thing was less clear. It would have taken something pretty damn drastic to keep a cop like Gibralter off the street. And something told him that Delp was wrong, that whatever it was it had driven Gibralter out of Chicago.
“Louis?”
He looked up at Florence.
“I forgot to tell you. The chief called for you.”
“When?”
“When you were outside.”
He stared at her but could read nothing in her bland face.
“Did he say what he wanted?” Louis asked.
“No. Just wanted to know where you were.”
“What did you tell him?”
“That you stepped out.” She blinked. “Was that okay?”
He nodded. He realized he was sitting there in his University of Michigan Jacket. And that he was sweating.
Rising quickly, he unlocked his desk drawer and pulled out the envelope of photographs Delp had given him. For a second, he couldn’t find his copy of the raid file and in his paranoia wondered if Gibralter had found it. With relief, he found it stuffed under some papers. Without a word or a look back at Florence, he left.
CHAPTER 32
The contents of the raid file were spread out on the bed. Louis rubbed his face, trying not to give in to his fatigue and disappointment.
It was here. It had to be. He just couldn’t see it. Something had gone wrong that night and there was something in this file about it that Gibralter did not want Steele to see.
What had happened? And who was involved? His gut was telling him it was Jesse. The guy had lost it just busting a harmless hippie. Had he done something at the cabin that Gibralter felt compelled to cover up?
Louis slid off the bed and went into the darkened kitchen, got another Dr Pepper and returned to the bedroom. He popped the top and took a long drink, his eyes scanning the papers and photos.
Jesse’s report was on top, the last thing he had been reading. He stared at it, taking another drink then froze, the can at his lips.
It was typed.
Louis picked it up. He hadn’t noticed it before. Dale had said Jesse couldn’t type, that he was always allowed to write out his reports. Louis himself had seen it, Jesse’s distinctively heavy, right-slanted scrawl. He had seen it on the hippie report, on Mrs. Jaspers’s reindeer report and Stephanie Pryce’s statement.