Heart of Ice by P. J. Parrish

Author:P. J. Parrish [Parrish, P. J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery, Thriller, Suspense, Fiction, Crime
ISBN: 9781439189399
Publisher: Pocket Books
Published: 2013-02-25T16:00:00+00:00

25

Louis stared out the window of the police station. This morning when he had walked up to the cottage to see Maisey, the watery horizon had been bloated with steel-gray clouds. Now it was snowing.

“Louis?” Clark came up next to him. “Dancer’s attorney wants to talk to you.”

“Attorney?” Louis asked.

“Don’t ask me what got into him all of sudden, but Dancer asked for one late last night. Mackinac County sent a public defender a few hours ago. Name is Lee Troyer.”

It was inevitable that Dancer would get a lawyer for the shooting charges, but the problem was that a good attorney would steer Dancer away from answering questions about Julie Chapman.

“Do you know where Rafsky is?” Louis asked.

“He’s over in St. Ignace, visiting the chief,” Clark said.

“How’s the chief doing?”

“I went and saw him this morning,” Clark said. “He’s mad as hell that he can’t eat or talk. But I know one thing. He’s real glad Carol is there, even though he’ll never say it out loud.”

“I understand.”

Clark smiled. “I guess when it comes to women we’re all too stubborn sometimes.”

Louis was quiet. Stubborn. Was that what it was? Last night, in the cool darkness of their hotel room, wrapped in each other’s arms, listening to the clinking of the old radiator and the faraway crash of water against the giant boulders, he had almost said it.

I love you.

Until that moment he had not realized that when Joe wasn’t with him there was a strange emptiness that nothing else—no one else—could fill.

He had been about to say it, but then Joe rolled away from him and reached for her wineglass. The moment—and his courage—was gone.

“Almost forgot,” Clark said. “Rafsky said to tell you that Dancer is being transferred to the county jail in St. Ignace first thing tomorrow.”

“Okay, thanks,” Louis said.

He headed upstairs, taking Dancer’s sketchbook with him. At the top of the stairs he was met with the pungent smell of gardenias. Lee Troyer was seated in a folding chair, head down. Everything about her seemed cut on severe angles. Even her hair looked sharp, a blond pageboy style that reminded Louis of the kid in the Dutch Boy paint commercials.

“Miss Troyer? Louis Kincaid.”

She looked up from her legal pad. “You’re the person who so roughly subdued my client on the steps of his cabin.”

“After your client shot at me and two other officers.”

Louis glanced at Dancer. He was in one of two cells, drawing.

“And you, a Miss Frye, and a Detective Rafsky questioned my client that same evening?”

“Yes. And it’s Sheriff Frye.”

“You questioned him without giving him a Miranda warning?”

“He was read his rights in the cruiser, Miss Troyer.”

“For the shooting of Chief Flowers, yes,” she said. “But you then proceeded to question him about the homicide of Julie Chapman.”

“Now wait a—”

“So,” Troyer went on, “not only was he not advised of his rights pending any charges in the Chapman case but he was also questioned by two people who have no jurisdiction on this island.”

Louis studied the woman.

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