“No, no…”
“You were this close,” Louis whispered, holding two fingers in front of Jesse’s face. “This close to being behind bars, your worst fear.”
“No, I didn’t — ”
Louis’s hand balled into a fist and Jesse tried to squirm away. “How’d it feel?” Louis hissed.
Jesse swatted Louis’s hand and jumped to his feet. “No!” he yelled. “I didn’t kill Pryce! Lacey killed Pryce!”
Louis grabbed his arm. “You used Lacey! You killed Pryce and used Lacey to cover it up!”
Jesse jerked away, stumbling back. “You’re nuts! Lacey killed — ”
“Yeah, stick to your story! You were stupid enough to let Gibralter suck you into one murder, why not more? Why not Ollie and Lovejoy? Tell me this, you bastard, who shot me in the back? You or him?”
Jesse stared at him, his face twisted.
Louis drew in a deep breath. Now that he had said it, put his thoughts into words, it didn’t seem so outrageous. For a second he felt a pang of sympathy for Jesse but it dissipated fast, replaced by rage. He couldn’t see Jesse as any kind of victim in this.
“Give it up,” Louis said.
Jesse was shaking his head, raking a hand through his hair.
“Maybe you can strike a deal for Gibralter,” Louis said.
“No,” Jesse said quickly. “No, no.”
Louis reached out to grab Jesse’s arm but Jesse spun away, stumbling against the counter and knocking over a stool. He pulled himself upright and started to the door.
“Where are you going?” Louis said.
Jesse didn’t answer.
“Stop,” Louis said, moving toward the door.
Jesse glared at him. “Either you arrest me or let me get the fuck out of here.”
Louis started to the counter to get his cuffs from his belt but Jesse moved more quickly, pulling out his gun and pointing it at Louis.
Louis stared at the gun, not moving. “Jess, this isn’t the answer.”
“Let me go, Louis. I’ve got something to take care of.”
Jesse moved slowly toward the door.
“Don’t do this, don’t make it worse,” Louis said.
Jesse flung open the door and ran out, the door banging against the wall and slamming closed behind him.
“Jess!”
Louis grabbed his gun, ran to the door and jerked it open. He ran outside and stood for a moment, scanning the darkness. He went quickly around the side of the cabin. Jesse’s cruiser was parked where he had left it. Louis circled the cruiser, peering inside. An empty Jack Daniel’s bottle lay on the seat.
“Jesse!” he shouted.
He ran up the driveway toward the main road. He stopped, looking off into the night. Fresh boot prints led off down the road in the direction of town.
“Fuck,” he murmured.
He had blown it. He had tipped his hand and let Jesse get away. And now he was probably on his way to alert Gibralter.
Louis looked down the road and scanned the dark trees. He shivered. He had been walking in Pryce’s shadow for weeks and now, like Pryce, he was a threat.
He went quickly back into the cabin. He locked the door and pulled all the curtains closed. He paused to survey the room then dragged around a chair from the corner to face the door. He turned off the lights.
The walls of the cabin pulsated with the light of the dying fire. Picking up his gun and portable radio, he sat down in the chair. He pulled the afghan up around his chest and over the gun resting in his lap.
CHAPTER 37
The cabin was dark and cold. He had let the fire burn out, not wanting to have any light detectable from outside.
The phone rang but he ignored it. It was the fourth time it had rung in the two hours since Jesse had left, and each time he had let it ring. This time, though, it wouldn’t stop, and finally he jumped out of the chair and grabbed it.
“Yeah?”
“Louis?” It was a woman.
“Who is this?”
“Julie Harrison, Jesse’s wife. Is Jesse there?”
“No, Julie. He was, but he left hours ago.”
“Oh, God…”
He could hear the fear in her voice and wished he had lied.
“Do you know where he went?”
“No, I don’t. Julie…Julie?”
She was crying.
“Listen, Julie — ”
She had hung up. Louis set the phone back in the cradle and returned to his chair. He pulled the afghan over his shoulders and laid the gun in his lap. He massaged his right hand; it was stiff from gripping the gun.
He glanced at his watch. Just past eleven. His whole body was stiff with tension but sleep was out of the question. He had decided on his plan — just get through the night until the morning when Steele was due back from Detroit.
A crackle of static drew his attention to the portable radio on the table at his side. “All units in the area, stand by for a BOLO.”
Louis picked up the radio, turning up the volume on Edna’s voice. “L-1 advises to be on the lookout for L-13. Subject has not been in contact with his residence and is reported missing.”
Louis listened as Edna gave a brief description of Jesse. Damn him. His wife was going crazy worrying about him and the asshole was probably passed out in a snowdrift somewhere.
He tensed. A light appeared against the curtain, the wash of headlights on the trees. He heard a car and then silence as the motor died. He shrugged off the afghan and gripped the gun.
Footsteps on the porch, heavy, a man. A knock.
“Kincaid! You in there?”
Gibralter.
Louis rose slowly, holding the gun at his side as he slid along the wall toward the kitchen.
“Kincaid! It’s the chief. I need to talk to you.”
He looked out the kitchen window and saw the Bronco. His chest tightened and he flexed his fingers around the grip of the gun. What was Gibralter doing here? He didn’t come to kill him, not in the Bronco, right here at the cabin. He was too smart for that.
Louis went to the door. “What do you want?” he called out.
“I’m looking for Jesse,” Gibralter called back.
There was something strange in Gibralter’s voice, a quiver of concern.
“Kincaid? His cruiser’s here. Is he there with you?”
“He left.”
“When?”
“Two hours ago.”
There was silence on the other side of the door and then Louis heard the retreat of footsteps from the porch. He went quickly to the kitchen window. Through the falling snow, he could see Gibralter shining a flashlight into Jesse’s cruiser. He headed back to the porch and pounded again on the door.
“Kincaid! Let me in. I need your help.”
Louis hesitated, debating what to do. He slipped the gun in his belt at the small of his back and unlocked the door.
Gibralter’s silhouette filled the door frame. “Why do you have the lights out?” he asked.
“I was asleep,” Louis said.
Gibralter took a step inside. Louis switched on a lamp, blinking in the light. Gibralter glanced around the cabin, his eyes coming back quickly to Louis. “Jesse’s missing,” he said.
“How do you know?”
“Julie’s called the station twice. He didn’t make it home.”
“Maybe he stopped for a drink,” Louis said. He was careful to stand a good ten feet away.
“On foot? There are no bars between here and his place.”
Louis watched Gibralter carefully, trying to reconcile what he knew about the man with what he was seeing in his eyes, a strange look of dread.
“What was he doing here?” Gibralter asked.
“He wanted to talk.”
“About what?”
“About you firing him today.”
“Was he drunk?”
“Wasted.”
“Why’d you let him leave on foot?”
“We argued. He ran out.”
Gibralter paused, his eyes steady on Louis. “I fired Jess to protect him.”
“He doesn’t see it that way.”
Gibralter let out a sigh. “I know. I didn’t handle it well.”