Stop, stop…
He picked up the clipboard and sat down on the edge of the passenger seat, pulling his jacket up over his shoulders. He faced away from the field and the lights.
Slowly, the words came. They came, the words that explained what had happened, pouring out onto the lined form. They were the words of his job, words like
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.
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 – ”
