Jesse shot Louis a look and followed Gibralter up over a slope toward the cruisers. Louis looked back to see Steele heading to an unmarked black sedan. The two flunkies hurried to open the door.
The cemetery was emptying fast, the cruisers and cars pulling away in a slow line. Louis spotted Jesse and Gibralter standing near the hood of Jesse’s cruiser. They were talking heatedly, Jesse shaking his head. Finally, Jesse hung his head and Gibralter slipped an arm around his shoulders.
It was clear that Jesse was falling apart, and what was that son of a bitch going to do to help him? Probably laying another of his fucking loyalty guilt trips on him.
Louis looked back to the gravesite. Ollie’s black coffin glistening in the sunlight. Two cemetery workers hovered nearby, impatiently waiting to finish their task.
Shivering, Louis stuck his hands in the pockets of his overcoat. His right hand closed over something hard and cold, and he pulled it out. It was the snowflake obsidian Ollie had given him on Christmas Eve. On impulse, Louis had slipped the thing in his pocket as he went out the door that morning.
Louis looked at the small black stone for a moment, turning it over between his fingers. With a last look back at the coffin, he started up the snowy slope to his car.
The Mustang rounded the curve in the road, and Louis saw the sign: LOON LAKE-12 MILES. It had been a pain in the ass, but it was over. That quack Serbo had given him a full release to go back to work. The rational part of him knew it was too soon. He’d seen cops who came back only a few days after a traumatic incident and almost always they cracked. But he had to get back to work, if for nothing else than to get back some of his dignity.
Fragments of the sessions with Serbo floated back as he drove.
It has been the first time he had told a stranger about his real mother Lila. It had been the first time in years he had said the name of the father who had deserted him, Jordan Kincaid, and peeled back the thin layer of anger that covered his heart.
It was also the first time he had told anyone he was afraid. He admitted to Serbo that his confidence was broken, his nerves shredded. And, at the end, he had talked of Gibralter.
It hadn’t been easy. How could you tell a shrink you thought your boss was out to get you without sounding like a paranoid? How could you explain to a stranger you were involved with your boss’s wife without looking like a complete fuckup? And how could you admit you didn’t know how to fight back?
Serbo had offered only one observation. “Maybe you should deal with your chief as you do this man Lacey,” he had said. “You have studied Lacey’s life, looking for his weakness. Maybe you need to do the same with your chief to level the playing field.”
Louis shook his head. If Gibralter had any human frailty, he sure the hell wasn’t going to let anyone see it.
Louis approached the station, slowing. The lot was filled with strange sedans and a shiny blue chopper sat like a giant insect on the courthouse lawn next door. Mark Steele had taken over, just as he had promised.
Louis was forced to park near the supermarket and walk back to the station. Inside, it was crowded with strange men who with their bland faces and black wingtips looked like J.C. Penney catalog clones. One corner desk had been taken over as a command post, stocked with extra phones and heaped with files. The place even smelled different. No fire in the hearth, just the stink of cigarettes.
Louis noticed Dale’s radio was not playing. There was also no sign of Dale. He went over to the dispatch desk.
“Hey, Flo.”
She looked up and smiled. “Oh, Louis, I’m so glad you’re back,” she said jumping up. “Let me get you a coffee.”
“No, don’t bother. Listen, where’s Dale?”
A frown creased on her face. “Out on patrol. Chief put him with Jess.”
Louis shook his head. Dale had no business out on the street.
“Things are not the same here, Louis,” Florence said softly.
“I know,” he said. “Is the chief in?”
“Yes, but he hasn’t come out of his office in the last hour. Want me to buzz him?”
Louis nodded. Florence paged Gibralter on his intercom and his voice came back telling her to have Louis wait. Louis’s eyes drifted up to the wall and he saw that Ollie’s portrait had been hung next to Pryce’s and Lovejoy’s, all with black bands. Four days had passed since Ollie’s death. Jesse had told him that there had been no sign of Lacey.
He felt a rush of cold air at his back and turned to see Steele come in. Steele went straight to the command desk, pulling off his black overcoat and handing it off to an aide. Rubbing his hands, he went to the coffeepot and poured a cup, using Jesse’s mug.
Florence looked at Louis and frowned. With a shake of her head she turned back to the dispatch radio.
“Kincaid.”
