Louis felt his hand curl into a fist. The hell with Steele. He would see this through himself, take the damn evidence wherever he needed to take it, give it to NBC or the fucking FBI, if he had to. They liked to bust cops, too.
He went back to his desk, tossed down the bag and dropped into the chair. Make a damn appointment. Fuck him.
He was staring vacantly at Pryce’s doodles on the blotter, the curlicues and numbers fading in and out.
Slowly, a phone number came into focus in his head. He looked down at the blotter, at the number. He grabbed the phone and dialed it.
“Michigan State Police. How may I direct your call?”
Louis swiveled to look out the front window. He could see the chopper lifting off. “Mark Steele’s office, please.”
“That line is busy. For future reference, the extension is thirty-one.”
Louis hung up. He unlocked his desk drawer and pulled out Pryce’s small notebook. He flipped through it, stopping when he found the right page.
C.L. was Cole Lacey.
J.L. was Johnny Lacey.
CIS was Chief Investigator Steele.
And 5661 X 31 was his phone number.
That was exactly what Pryce had done. Pryce had found the proof about the raid that he needed to bury Gibralter and the others and he planned to take it all to Steele.
Louis redialed the state police, asking for extension thirty-one this time.
“Chief Steele’s office,” a woman answered.
Louis introduced himself, explaining he was investigating the death of a police officer and needed to track the officer’s last movements.
“How can we be of help?” she asked politely.
“I need to know if Thomas Pryce made an appointment with Chief Steele around the end of November,” Louis said.
He heard pages turning. “No, I don’t see one.”
Louis started to thank her when she interrupted. “I do have one for December third but Officer Pryce didn’t keep it.”
Louis thanked her and hung up. His thoughts began to coalesce, coming together with cold certainty. Pryce had found out that something about the raid was dirty and started his campaign to get out of Loon Lake. But something happened to make him change his mind and he decided to go after Jesse and Gibralter.
Pryce was going to Steele. He had been within days, maybe hours, of taking down four respected police officers for the murders of two kids. But then Lacey surfaced and began his rampage, blowing Pryce away.
What a stroke of luck for the Loon Lake police.
Louis felt a chill creep up his back and he turned to see if someone had opened the door. No one was there. The cold spread slowly through him and with it came a horrible new thought. Was it really luck?
Gibralter’s words came back to him, and the coolness with which he had spoken them.
Had Gibralter somehow found out what Pryce was going to do? Had Gibralter killed Pryce to silence him?
Louis ran a hand over his forehead. No, no, his mind was outracing all logic now. Gibralter had been involved in the deaths of the Lacey kids but no matter how threatened he felt he would never kill one of his own men.
A shadow moved behind the glass of Gibralter’s door. Louis held his breath as his eyes followed it. He felt suddenly nauseous, lightheaded. He rose quickly, picked up the garbage bag and threw Pryce’s notebook inside. Grabbing the bag and his jacket, he bolted for the door.
Louis set down the pen and leaned his head back on the sofa, closing his eyes. For the last three hours the same looped tape had been running through his head and everything on it was leading him to the same conclusion: Gibralter had murdered Pryce.
It didn’t matter how Gibralter had found out Pryce was on to them. Gibralter had decided that “a permanent sacrifice” had to be made and with Jesse had formulated a plan to kill Pryce.
But Lacey…that was the ingenious part. However they had found out about Lacey they had used him. Lacey was, after all, the perfect suspect, a wacko vet with a hard-on toward authority. A suspect who would not be able to defend himself because Gibralter had always intended Lacey to be conveniently shot and killed during his capture. That was why Gibralter had not wanted any outside help.
Louis opened his eyes and looked down at the legal pad in his lap, at the notes he had made in the last couple of hours. He stared at the names at the top of the page: PRYCE…WICKSHAW, LOVEJOY.
