Dead of Winter

Jesse hadn’t said much on the way over. Louis wanted to question him about local history, possible suspects and anything else Jesse could tell him. But the look on Jesse’s face and the subtle shaking in his hands stopped him. Jesse had lost two coworkers in less than a month. The questions could wait.

Jesse swung the cruiser to the side of the plowed road. Louis got out and paused, looking at the cabin. Lovejoy’s place looked like the others, a small, dark-green box with a few scraggly evergreens out front. Jesse started up the snowy walk.

“Jess, just a minute,” Louis called out. He opened the large metal mailbox. It was crammed with papers. Louis dug it all out and sifted through it. The pile appeared to be nothing but bills, junk mail and one copy each of Field and Stream and Hustler. There were also three thick newspapers, stuffed in blue plastic bags emblazoned with the New York Times logo.

Next to the mailbox was a bright green plastic mail tube with the Oscoda County Argus logo on the side but there were no papers inside. Louis stuffed the newspapers and mail into a bag, tossed it on the seat of the cruiser and followed Jesse to the front door. He noticed a late-model Buick parked in the narrow driveway, covered with a foot-deep layer of snow.

Jesse saw Louis looking at it. “Fred loved his Buicks,” he said. “Bought a new one every other year.”

“Not bad for a retired cop living on a pension,” Louis said.

“He drew some big bucks when he retired. Worker’s comp settlement to the tune of thirty grand.”

“For what?” Louis asked as he shoved gently on the door. He was surprised to find the door unlocked. He had to remind himself that unlocked doors were the norm in Loon Lake.

“Shattered disc or something. Got it taking down a drunk.” Jesse’s voice trailed off as they surveyed the inside of the cabin.

It was apparent that, other than the Buick, Lovejoy did not spend his money on any other comforts. The place was a dump.

“Jesus, what’s that smell?” Jesse said, recoiling slightly in the doorway.

“Garbage, I think. I hope,” Louis said. “Just be thankful it’s so cold.”

He took two steps into the tiny living room. The old yellowed shades were pulled down on the windows, casting the room in a murky gold light. The ancient sofa was half covered with a cheap chenille bedspread. The mismatched end tables were heaped with yellowed newspapers, magazines, dirty dishes and Pabst Blue Ribbon bottles. An old Danish-modern Zenith console TV sat in the corner, its top heaped with more papers and trash. Three-foot stacks of newspapers lined the walls, some spilling onto the floor. The green shag carpeting was littered with empty pizza boxes, open tin cans, and what looked to be bones.

Jesse’s eyes widened as he noticed the bones. Louis pulled a pair of latex gloves from his pocket and slipped them on as he squatted down. He picked up one bone then tossed it down. “Chicken,” he said.

Jesse let out a breath and followed Louis into the kitchen.

“Damn, it’s cold in here,” Louis said.

Jesse stopped at the black potbellied stove. It was dark and cold. “This must be the only heat Fred had.”

They made their way to the kitchen. A large plastic trash can lay overturned in the middle of the linoleum floor, garbage strewn everywhere. A box of Cheerios lay on the counter, most of the cereal shaken out. A set of metal canisters had also been overturned, leaving a blanket of sugar and flour over the counter and floor. All the bottom cupboards had been opened, with the pots and pans thrown across the floor.

“Someone was looking for something,” Jesse said.

“Doesn’t look like he had anything worth a damn,” Louis said.

Jesse headed down the hall. Louis continued to search the kitchen, squatting to peer into the cabinets, then standing up. Strange, the upper cabinets were untouched.

“Oh, shit…”

“What it is?” Louis called out.

“You’d better come back here.”

Louis hurried back to the bedroom. Jesse was staring at something in a corner. Louis went around the rumpled bed and drew up short. It was a dog, a large brown-speckled one, a spaniel of some kind. It was dead, lying on its side, stiff from the cold.

“I forgot Fred had a dog,” Jesse said. He ran a hand over his face. “That explains the smell. There’s dog shit all over the place.”

“It might explain the mess, too,” Louis said. “Maybe the dog was looking for something to eat.”

Jesse grimaced. “You think it starved to death?”

“Maybe.”

Jesse reached down and pulled a blanket off the bed. He carefully laid it over the dog. Without looking at Louis, he hurried out of the room.