Dead of Winter

“Get out your notebook,” Louis said. “You’re going to get the biggest story of your life.”

“You’re awake.”

Jesse looked up to see Louis standing at the door.

“Yeah, on and off.”

With a grimace, Jesse tried to sit up straighter in the bed. Louis came forward and slipped an arm behind his back, helping him.

“Thanks.” Jesse held up his bandaged hands. “Doc says I might lose a finger, maybe a toe.”

“I’m sorry,” Louis said.

Jesse shrugged, his gaze dropping to the bed. Louis let out a breath, not knowing where to start.

“I know what happened,” Jesse said. “Dale was here earlier and told me what he knew.”

“He told you I shot Gibralter?”

Jesse nodded.

Louis hesitated. “I’m sorry for what I said when you came to my cabin to talk. I was wrong.”

Jesse shook his head slowly. “You weren’t wrong about Johnny Lacey.”

“But the other stuff, you – ”

“Forget it,” Jesse said quickly. “If you hadn’t accused me of those other things I would have never figured things out, that the chief…” His voice trailed off.

When Jesse spoke again, it was in a whisper. “I was on my way to see him,” he said. “He picked me up on the road and I told him it was over, that we couldn’t keep the raid quiet anymore.”

Jesse paused, not looking at Louis. “That’s when he told me everything. He told me we had to see it through together. But I couldn’t anymore, not after he told me he killed Pryce.”

“You told him you were turning yourself in?” Louis asked.

Jesse nodded. “That’s when…”

“He put you in the back of the Bronco,” Louis finished.

Jesse picked at the gauze on his left hand. It was quiet except for the hum of a monitor above the bed.

“I was laying in that cage,” Jesse said softly. “I was laying there and after a while it was like the cold affected my brain or something and I could see things real clear. I saw what he did, what he was. And I saw what I did, really saw it.”

He looked at Louis. “I knew I was going to die but I saw it was, like okay, suddenly.” He shook his head slowly. “Seppuku.”

Louis looked up. “What?” he asked softly.

Jesse looked at him vacantly.

“That last word you said.”

“Seppuku?”

Louis nodded. “Gibralter said that, in the woods.”

Jesse leaned back in the pillows with a tired sigh. “It’s Japanese.”

“What does it mean?”

“It’s how a samarai commits suicide, you know, when they ram their sword up into their guts? They do it as punishment, when they’ve dishonored themselves.”

The room was silent again. Louis rose and went to the window, staring out at the gray day.

“Jess, I have to tell you something.”

“What?”

Louis turned to face him. “Cole’s going public. He’s telling what he saw during the raid.”

Jesse kept his eyes locked on Louis for several seconds then lowered them.

“You’re going to lose your job, maybe worse,” Louis said.

Jesse was staring at his bandaged hands. Louis turned to the window again.

“Louis?”

He turned.

“Would you do me a favor?”

“Anything.”

“Call Julie for me. Ask her to come over here.”

Louis nodded and moved toward the door.

“Louis?”

He turned again.

Jesse’s eyes were bright with tears. “You did the right thing.”

CHAPTER 44

He had to leave the Mustang at the bottom of the hill and walk the rest of the way up. When he reached the cabin, he paused.

What was he afraid of? That she would look different now? What was a woman supposed to look like after her husband was shot to death? Was he afraid of what she would say? What did a woman say to the man who had killed her husband?

He knocked. For a long time, there was no answer but then the door opened and she stood before him. Her eyes narrowed against the bright sunlight as she looked at him.

“Can I come in?” he asked.

Zoe nodded and moved away. He came in and she closed the door. The drapes were closed, the lights low. As his eyes adjusted, he made out the cardboard boxes stacked near the door. The paisley sofa was gone, and most of the other furniture. He looked to the fireplace. The Manet print had been taken down.

“What’s going on?” he asked, turning to her.

“I’m closing the cabin,” she said.

“Why?”

She rubbed the sleeves of her baggy red sweater, looking around, at anything but him. “I don’t know. I don’t feel right here anymore.”

“Zoe…”

“Don’t call me that, please,” she said softly.

She moved away, going to a table to pick up some books. He watched her as she stacked them in a box. She moved slowly, as if something hurt deep in her bones. He heard a sound, a soft mewing and turned. Two animal carriers sat by the door. He could see the white cat behind the grating.

“You’re going away?” he asked. “Where?”

“Chicago.”

“When?”

Her eyes met his. “Tomorrow, after the funeral.”

“Zoe, we have to talk.”

Her eyes brimmed. “About what, Louis? What can we say to each other now?”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

She spun away, covering her face with her hands.

He was rooted to the floor by the sound of her crying. He wanted to hold her but he was afraid she would push him away.

“I don’t blame you,” she said.

He closed his eyes.

“Brian died a long time ago,” she said. “If anyone’s to blame, it’s me.”