Dead of Winter

Louis trudged through the snow to the back fence. He squinted in the fading light at the tall wooden fence of the lumberyard; there was no way a man could scale that. He looked the other way, down the long expanse of chain-link fence that separated all the yards. He could see the pines of the park at the end of the block and in between he counted six backyards that the killer could have cut through on his escape. He was assuming the killer had stayed in the back, under the cover of darkness, making his way across the yards to Pine Street. It was only a guess, but it made sense. A shotgun made a big noise; the neighbor had called it in almost immediately. The killer needed to stay hidden as long as possible. He couldn’t take a chance of being spotted in the glare of those streetlights out front.

Louis went back to Moe and Jesse.

“Jess, did you talk to everyone on this block?”

“Everyone. Moe’s the only one who saw anything, such as it is.”

“Hey, at least I saw something,” Moe protested.

“Thanks, Mr. Cohick, sorry to bother you,” Louis said.

“No problem.”

They started back toward the house. The long-snouted dog behind the fence came alive again as they neared, provoking the terrier into action as well.

Jesus, how did these people sleep? Louis stopped and turned. “Mr. Cohick, were the dogs barking that night?”

Cohick rubbed his bald head. “Well, now, come to think of it, they were.”

“Damn it, I asked you if you heard anything, Cohick, and you said no,” Jesse said.

“You asked me if I heard anything unusual,” Cohick said. “Dogs barking their asses off at three in the morning ain’t unusual around here!”

“Watch your mouth, doughboy,” Jesse snapped.

Louis stepped up. “Mr. Cohick, how many dogs are there on this block?”

“Let’s see…” He began to count on his hands.

Jesse cut in. “I can tell you how many. The Smiths, the Jessups, and what’s his name…Haskins. They all got dogs. We’re out here all the time giving them leash-law citations.”

“Pryce didn’t have a dog?” Louis asked.

“No.”

“Show me where these people live.”

Jesse pointed out the houses. It was every other one and no two butted up against each other. To avoid the dogs, the killer would have been forced to hop the fences diagonally. That’s only if he knew the dogs were there. Which meant he probably knew the neighborhood or had scoped it out to plan his escape route.

Louis started back into the yard. The dogs kept up their cacophony.

“Louis!” Jesse called out.

“Come with me,” Louis said.

“Christ, now what?” Jesse muttered, trudging after Louis.

Louis hopped the fence into Pryce’s yard and headed toward the park. The long-snouted dog charged the fence as Louis approached.

“Louis! Where the hell are you going?” Jesse yelled over the noise.

“Retracing his steps.”

They wove their way across the yards, avoiding the ones that Jesse said had dogs. At each fence, Louis would stop and brush off the snow on top.

“What are you looking for?” Jesse said, puffing to keep up.

“I don’t know.”

It was dark by the time they reached the last yard that bordered Pine Street. Louis’s boots were sodden and his hands were cold as he hoisted himself over the final section of chain-link. Across Pine Street, the park loomed dark and quiet.

Jesse was shaking with effort as he climbed over to join Louis on the side walk. His face was red and sweaty. “Now, what the fuck did we do that for?” he demanded, wiping his brow.

Louis ignored him. He was walking slowly along the fence, gently brushing away the snow. Halfway down the length of the last yard he stopped. He quickly pulled off his glove.

“Jess, come look.”

Jesse hurried over. Louis moved so the streetlight fell full on the fence. There, caught on an A-shaped spike, was a small piece of dark fabric.

“Fuck,” Jesse whispered, staring at it.

Louis searched his jacket pocket and came up with a paperclip. He used it to pluck the fabric from the fence.

“Jess, go get the car,” he said.

Jesse ran off. Louis waited, shivering in the cold, holding the tiny swatch. He turned and looked at the park behind him.

The entrance was marked by a small sign. The two-lane road going in plunged deep into thick, snow-covered pines. Not a bad place to conceal your vehicle while you committed a murder. Louis scanned the area, wondering where the killer had gone once he left the park. A left turn would have taken him right back to Main Street, exiting close to the station. Not likely. A right turn led him through a residential area and toward the freeway. More logical, but still slow going on unplowed side streets.

The cruiser pulled up and Jesse jumped out with a flashlight and evidence bag. They bagged the swatch, and Jesse stared at it in the gleam of the flashlight.

“Green,” he said. “Like an Army jacket.”

They quickly took some Polaroids and labeled the spot. Jesse was silent as they got in the car.

“I guess I blew it with Cohick,” he said finally.

“Witnesses don’t always know what they see or hear is important, Jess.”

“Well, it’s not like I couldn’t see or hear the damn dogs, is it?”