Dead of Winter

“Fuck…”

“Why didn’t you tell me before? It’s no big deal.”

“I didn’t want you to think, you know, like I was some sort of bigot.”

Louis stared at him.

“I’m not a bigot,” Jesse said.

Louis let out a long breath. He needed to change the subject. “I’m sorry I asked. Let’s get this over with.” He started toward the trailer.

“Louis, wait,” Jesse called out.

Louis turned.

“First, tell me you know I’m not a bigot,” Jesse said.

“Jesus…”

“I didn’t like the guy because he was an asshole sometimes. That’s the reason. The only reason. I’m no bigot.”

Louis threw up his hands. “Okay. Okay. You’re not a fucking bigot.”

“I mean, a black guy can be an asshole, just like a white guy, can’t he?”

Louis let out a sigh. Jesse looked away, and they both just stood there, rooted by the edge of the lake. Jesse slowly began shaking his head.

“Man, that was a dumb conversation,” Jesse said.

“No shit.”

“It wasn’t just Lovejoy himself. I hadn’t seen him in years.”

“Then what was it?”

Jesse glanced back at Lovejoy’s cabin. “It’s that there are two now, two dead cops. He’s after us, man. It’s knowing that this fucker could blow us away at any time. It’s affecting everything I do. I can’t sleep, I can’t eat…I can’t…” His voice trailed off.

Louis didn’t know what to say.

“What the hell does he want?” Jesse asked. “Why us? What the hell have we done?”

“That’s what we have to find out.”

“What do you mean?”

“The case files. Maybe we’ll find something.”

Jesse nodded slowly. “Maybe,” he said. He pulled his cap back on and zipped his coat to the chin. He glanced around at the trailer. “Well, let’s get this over with. Maybe we should split up, get it over with faster.”

“Good idea. I’ll take the shanties,” Louis said.

They split up, Jesse going to the trailer, Louis heading out over the ice toward the nearest fishing shanty.

He poked his head inside. A man jumped up from his stool, dropping his pole. “Jesus, you scared the crap outta me, officer,” the man said, clutching his coat.

Louis picked up the pole and handed it back to the man. “Sorry,” he said.

“I was just reading about that Lovejoy guy,” the man said, pointing to the Argus on the ice.

Louis introduced himself, saying he wanted to just ask a few questions. The fisherman stuck out a beefy red hand and offered his name as Art Taub.

“I guess you don’t see a lot of strangers out here,” Louis began, pulling out his notebook. “Are you out here often?”

“Nearly every day, if the wife lets me,” Taub answered, dropping his line back into the water.

“What time do you usually come out?”

“Eight, usually.”

“Do you fellows normally fish at night?”

Taub shook his head. “Early morning’s best.”

“Did you ever see Mr. Lovejoy?”

“Yeah, couple times. Mostly, I heard him.”

“Heard him?”

“His generator,” Taub said with a grimace. “He’d fire it up around six, six-thirty most mornings. He’d run the damn thing for a while, then turn it off, then run it, turn it off. Drove me nuts.”

“So he was out here by six, you think?” Louis asked.

Taub nodded. “You should talk to Elton. He can tell you what time he got his bait every morning. Elton opens at five-thirty.”

Louis paused, thinking about the New York Times in Lovejoy’s mailbox. “Mr. Taub, do you remember if you were out here the first weekend of this month?”

Taub frowned. “Yeah, yeah, I was. I remember ‘cause the wife went to Grayling to visit her mother so I was out every day.”

“Did you hear anything that sounded like a gunshot, maybe around two or two-thirty in the afternoon?”

Taub shook his head. “But I wouldn’t have paid attention because of the hunters. Probably wouldn’t have heard it anyway because of that damn generator.”

Louis nodded as he wrote. “Were you friendly with Lovejoy?”

“Nah, he was a loner, never bothered to even grunt in passing. One time I went over there to borrow some line and he told me to go buy my own. I never went back.”

“Did you see anything unusual that weekend, anything at all?”

Taub shook his head.

“Think hard, Mr. Taub.”

“Well, wait a minute, there was one thing. There was a red truck driving around over in those trees north of Will Jervey’s trailer, like he was lost. Real beat up, lots of rust. It was a Ford pickup, old model. I’d never seen it around here before.”

“What time did you see it?”

“Ah, little after six. I went in about eight to refill my thermos and it was gone.”

“Did you see the driver?”

Taub shook his head.

“Anything else?” Louis pressed.

Taub shook his head again. “Nope. It was a good day, fishing-wise, I mean.”

Louis made more notes then closed his book. He thanked Art Taub and left. There were four other huts. Two were empty, but interviews with the men in the other two yielded nothing useful. Neither men had seen a red truck or heard a shot. As Louis headed back to shore he saw Jesse coming from the trees near Lovejoy’s cabin. They met at the cruiser.

“You get anything?” Jesse asked.

“One guy said he saw a suspicious red truck,” Louis said. “What about you?”