Lake Silence (The Others #6)(113)

“Vicki, if he knew, he wouldn’t ask for my help. And I have a feeling, a very strong feeling, that some lives will depend on my helping him.”





CHAPTER 68





Grimshaw


Firesday, Sumor 7

Grimshaw knocked on the back door of Lettuce Reed. When no one answered, he knocked again, louder. As he debated the wisdom of breaking down the door, he saw Vicki’s face on the other side of the glass and heard locks turning.

“Officer Grimshaw.”

He scanned her face. Puffy from a crying jag but no visible bruises.

Gods. He wasn’t answering a domestic call. At least, he hoped not. Abusive relationships didn’t always include sex. “I’d like to come in.” He knew how easily he could use his size and the uniform to intimidate someone, so he made an effort not to lean forward. As Julian had said, he needed to be the good cop.

“Sure,” Vicki said, stepping back to let him in. “I’m helping Julian inventory stock, and we’re having a late lunch. Would you like something to eat? We have plenty.”

“Thanks, I could use some food.” Nerves. Awfully close to the behavior he’d seen when Detective Swinn had tried to bring her in for questioning in the death of Franklin Cartwright.

He followed Vicki into the break room. Julian’s version of the Murder game wasn’t in sight, which was good. Julian, however, looked pale and rough. And having seen that particular kind of shadow in the eyes of men who had served in the wild country for a little too long, he understood some things about Julian—and cursed his friend for hiding the difficulties so well.

He’d known better than to throw Osgood, who had seen terra indigene kill other members of Swinn’s team, back into The Jumble. But he’d pulled Julian back into working with the police because he’d needed backup he could trust and he’d needed Julian’s knowledge of the people living here as well as the man’s investigative skills. He’d ignored Julian’s half-hearted attempts to back away from this tangle of deaths; he’d thought the reluctance was because of the way Julian had left the force. He hadn’t realized that by asking for help, he’d trapped his friend between feeling compelled to help and the need for self-preservation.

“Anything I should know?” he asked.

“Rough day,” Julian replied, his tone warning Grimshaw to drop the subject.

Vicki found another plate and set out the food. The amount wasn’t excessive, but Grimshaw figured neither she nor Julian had much of an appetite. He, on the other hand, was ravenous and felt grateful he didn’t have to venture into a public place to find something to eat.

“I’m going to be making a public announcement later this afternoon,” he said. “Have to explain about closing the beach and other things.”

“You hate making public announcements,” Julian said, almost smiling. “Can’t Captain Hargreaves handle that? Isn’t the Bristol station taking the lead?”

“He’ll be there,” Grimshaw replied sourly. “And Bristol is taking the lead. But I’m still stuck with the announcement. Anyway, we’re going to close off this block of Main Street to vehicular traffic a half an hour before the announcement, which will be done outside the police station.”

“You do recall that Main Street is the only way in or out of this village?”

“Yep.” That was the reason he was closing it down. There was the odd chance of a stranger driving through, either on purpose or by accident, and hitting one of the villagers gathered in the street for an announcement he figured wouldn’t take more than five minutes. “I might cause the first traffic jam in Sproing’s history.”

“How many vehicles constitutes a traffic jam?” Vicki asked.

“One percent of the population,” he replied promptly.

She blinked. “But . . . that would be three vehicles.”

“Yep.”

Julian took a bite of a sandwich and chewed slowly. “I don’t remember that rule of thumb.”

“That’s because I made it up.”

A stupid conversation, but Grimshaw saw the change in Julian, saw the moment his friend stepped back from some personal abyss.

“Is this the first time you caused a traffic jam?” Vicki asked, as if his causing trouble this afternoon was a given.

He wasn’t sure if that assumption was an insult, but she, too, was looking calmer so he’d run with it.

“No, I’ve done it a few times. The most memorable was a couple of years ago. I came across a young deer that had been hit by . . . well, probably a truck. It was across one lane of a two-lane road in the wild country, and the carcass was surrounded by crows.” Maybe not the best story to tell while they were eating. Then again, Vicki didn’t seem to notice. “Now, I couldn’t tell if they were crows or Crowgard, but I figured the latter since several of them ran toward my cruiser with their wings raised, as if trying to intimidate me. I pulled the cruiser across both lanes, put on the lights, and got out.”

“How many Crows?” Julian asked.

“A lot. They covered both lanes. I took some heavy gloves out of the trunk and approached the carcass, thinking to pull it over to the shoulder. Nothing doing. So I walked up ahead, getting my ankles pecked for my efforts, and I held up traffic for an hour before the Crows had eaten their fill and flown up into the nearby trees. Then I pulled the carcass over to the shoulder, got back in my cruiser, and I and the dozen cars who had waited drove away.”