Pryce knew about what happened at the cabin and it explained a lot of things. It explained Pryce’s secrecy and his sudden desire to get out of Loon Lake. But why hadn’t he done anything with the information?
“Louis?”
He spun around.
It was Edna. She was standing just outside the grating. “The chief just called for you.”
“What did he want?” he asked.
“I don’t know. He just asked if you were still here.”
“Did he say anything else?”
“Just wanted to know if Mr. Steele was here too.”
Edna gazed at him over the top of her cats-eye glasses. For several seconds she just looked at him as she munched on a cookie. “Want one?” she asked suddenly, holding out the bag.
Louis shook his head. She withdrew the bag, her eyes drifting down to the sweatshirt draped across the evidence box and then back up to Louis. She trudged back to the dispatch desk, shooting Louis a final look over her shoulder.
Louis let out a long breath. Had she told Gibralter he was in the evidence room? Had someone else seen him? No, no, he was getting paranoid. No one in the department could possibly know what he was doing. But why the hell was Gibralter checking up on him? Christ, maybe he was just trying to find out if he was with Zoe.
He was clammy with sweat and the small, warm room seemed to close in around him. It hit him in that instant, the gravity of what he was doing. He wasn’t just breaking the rules; he was breaking the code among cops. He was turning against his own.
Had Pryce had the same doubts? Had he come to the same choice? Is that why he hadn’t acted on what he knew? Had he simply decided to turn his back and get out? But there was no way to know what Pryce’s plan had been because it was cut short by Lacey.
Louis put the beer bottle shard back in the Hammersmith evidence bag. He hesitated then folded the log and slipped it in his pocket. Refolding Angela’s sweatshirt, he put it back in its evidence box but stuck that log in his pocket, too.
He picked up the plastic-wrapped Beretta, turning it over in his hands. With a look back at Edna, he turned his back and slipped the gun in his belt under his shirt. After putting the raid box back in its place on the shelf he left the evidence room, locking it behind him.
Edna didn’t look up at him. No one in the office did, as he went back to his desk. He stopped short.
The two German shepherds were staring at him. A trickle of sweat made its way down his back. Holding his breath, he reached between the two dogs for his jacket. Slowly, very slowly, he backed up, moving toward the door.
The damn Mustang wouldn’t start again. Louis looked at his watch, deciding against calling Dale for a jump. The kid had his own problems after yesterday’s mess with Cole.
Grabbing the black garbage bag off the seat, Louis climbed out, slamming the door. It was snowing, a wet snow that coated everything like heavy cake icing. Gray clouds hung low in the morning sky and a mist hovered over the lake. Hefting the bag under his arm, Louis turned up his collar and started to walk.
A church bell clanged somewhere in the distance. A few cars puttered down the street. Everything seemed to be running in slow motion this morning, even his mind. He hadn’t slept. Partly, it was because he was afraid that Gibralter would discover the Beretta missing from evidence.
But mainly it was because he was uneasy about what he was going to do this morning. He had decided to go to Steele with the evidence he had against Jesse and Gibralter. It had to be done, but that didn’t make things any easier. It didn’t make his thoughts less chaotic.
As he walked, he had a vision of Jesse and Gibralter being hauled off in handcuffs, the damn TV cameras capturing it all for national feed.
He could see Steele standing there, spewing out his self-righteous crap about corrupt cops. As much as he hated what Gibralter and Jesse had done he couldn’t stand the idea that Steele would come out of this with another notch on his belt. What did Steele know about cops? The man had never worn a uniform, had never known what it felt like to be pushed to the limit.
He himself knew. He had felt it that day at Red Oak when he knocked Cole Lacey back in the chair. He knew what it felt like to teeter on the edge.
Another image flashed into Louis’s mind. Jesse’s face caught in the glare of headlights that night they rode with Lovejoy’s body in the flatbed truck.
Louis rounded the corner onto Main Street. The garbage bag under his arm held only the Hammersmith gun, the evidence logs and a copy of the raid file, but it felt heavy. He gripped the garbage bag tighter. There was no turning back, no room in his head for second thoughts. Kids were dead. Soon, cops’ careers would be dead.
