The Winter Dark

By J.S. Cook

Veteran police chief Eli Gallagher doesn’t ask for much, but he does insist that his officers uphold the “serve” part of “serve and protect.” Conscientious young Deputy Stan Leach takes Eli’s motto to heart, maintaining a high standard of personal accountability.

When Eli’s long-distance boyfriend, Gilbert Nees, telephones from Philadelphia, Eli thinks he intends to further cement their relationship. Unfortunately, Gilbert’s news is anything but good. But Eli doesn’t have time to wallow, because a violent act results in murder in the small town of Morristown, Mississippi.

But as Eli and Stan uncover evidence, their personal lives begin to unravel. Stan, working closely with Chief Gallagher, grows increasingly attached to Eli and learns what it really means to be an advocate of justice.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dreamspinner Press
• Release date: Sep 10, 2014
• ISBN: 9781632161031

J.S. Cook

J.S. Cook grew up surrounded by the wild North Atlantic Ocean in a small fishing village on the coast of Newfoundland. An avid lover of both the sea and the outdoors, she was powerfully seduced by the lure of this rugged, untamed landscape. This love of her island heritage and its deeply Irish culture led her to create The Kildevil Cove Murder Mysteries series, police procedurals that feature career detective Deiniol Quirke and his partner, millionaire property developer Tadhg Heaney.  Her interest in police procedurals was recently reignited by an opportunity to work with a police profiler from the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department, editing two forensic field manuals to be used by LA County law enforcement and as part of the curriculum at the California Institute of Criminal Investigation. She maintains an avid interest in forensics and often designs and conducts her own forensic experiments, including a body farm in her backyard.  Reviewers have called her past work “… strong, solid detective fiction… with a depth and complexity of plot and characters….”  When she isn’t writing, J.S. Cook teaches communications and creative writing at the College of the North Atlantic. She makes her home in St. John’s with her husband Paul and her two furkids: Juniper, a border terrier, and Riley, a chiweenie.  

Book preview

Chapter One

Mississippi: Winter

WHEN STAN Leach’s alarm clock went off at three thirty that December afternoon, he shivered and tried to burrow farther into his blankets. He’d been dreaming he was making out with someone in the front seat of his patrol car, but he couldn’t see who. His unseen partner was a very good kisser and mighty handy with their hands, and when the alarm went off, Stan allowed himself the luxury of cursing.

Son of a bitch! Another good dream gone.

He slid out of bed reluctantly and turned the thermostat up. The ancient furnace shuddered to life, forcing warm air through the ductwork. Stan didn’t relish going outside today, but there was no help for it. He’d pulled the night shift this week in order to let Darryl Courtney and some of the other married guys have time to finish their holiday shopping and spend a few days with their wives and their kids. He neither needed nor wanted the holidays off. Stan had no family and few friends outside of the people at work. He had no real home to go to, no surviving relatives to cook for or eat with, no dead bird defrosting in the kitchen sink. He told himself he liked it that way. If he felt lonely, he’d go over to Libby’s Kitchen, the local diner, and treat himself to something hot and tasty, maybe with a side of fries. There was always somebody in Libby’s place who didn’t mind jawing about sports or the weather.

Stan ran the water as hot as it would go and stood under the shower, letting the heated water soak into him. He lingered as long as possible, soaping himself carefully, rinsing the lather from his skin, but eventually he could delay it no longer. He stepped out, dried himself, and combed his hair into place. He shaved, swallowed some coffee, and dressed in his uniform. Then he reached for the dark blue shearling jacket that had been issued to him when he’d joined the Morristown, Mississippi police force. Tonight would be the first time he had ever worn it.

Stan drank his third cup of coffee standing in front of the kitchen window. The outside thermometer read a frigid negative four Fahrenheit. It hadn’t been that cold in Mississippi for a hundred years.

Goddamn, Stan muttered. No, he did not relish the idea of going outside. He did not relish it at all, but that was beside the point. Serve and protect, that was what he got paid for.

His patrol car, which had been parked outdoors in Stan’s drive, hesitated and groaned before it finally started, and the front wheels slid a little as he pulled into the street. The cold weather had kept most of Morristown indoors, but Stan saw one ragged old man in a torn cardigan sweater huddled over an air vent in front of Hampson’s grocery store.

He pulled close to the curb and got out. Hey there, Jacob.

The old man raised his head and nodded. Stan.

Kinda cold to be out here with just your sweater on. Stan gestured at the torn cardigan. Got a warm coat to put on?

No, I had one, but I gave it away. He looked at Stan’s face, as if seeing something no one else could see. Never been much call for a winter coat in these parts.

Stan gestured to the patrol car. Can I give you a lift to the shelter? It wasn’t far away, and the shelter was a lot warmer than it was out here. All the volunteers there knew him, and maybe they could fix him up with some warm clothes. Get yourself something hot to drink and a wedge of pie. He didn’t give Jacob time to think about it. Come on, hop in.

The old man slid into the passenger side of the car. You ain’t gonna put no handcuffs on me? He looked disappointed.

Sorry, Jake. You know I’m not supposed to use them except when it’s official. Stan got behind the wheel and shut the door. How come you’re not over at Miz Betty’s today? I thought she always made soup when the weather got cold. Miz Betty was Elizabeth Grayle, the wife of local landowner, Stockwood Grayle. She lived in a huge antebellum mansion on the top of a hill overlooking her husband’s property. She was a socialite by trade, the original Southern belle with a heart of gold and a core of steel. She’d graduated from Vassar with a degree in sociology and was a member of the Daughters of the Confederacy. She also had a burning desire to do as much good as possible for her fellow man. Soon after marrying, she’d taken a look around Morristown and its environs and decided there were simply too many people going without proper food and a place to rest. On Wednesdays and Fridays, she opened her home to whoever felt like coming for a visit, and there was hot soup or coffee and Danish, or whatever anybody wanted to have. She was real good like that, and the news of her kindness grew over the years until she was pretty much a Morristown institution. There were a lot of people who depended on Miz Grayle when times got hard. For some people, times were never anything but.

Miz Betty’s sick these days, Jacob said. He kept his cardigan sleeves drawn down over his hands, which were clenched together in his lap. She ain’t been able to receive. He shook his head. Never thought a lady like Miz Betty would be so stricken.

Sick? Stan swerved gently to avoid a patch of ice. The last thing he wanted was to roll the patrol car. Gallagher would never let him hear the end of it. He’d be in for the same old harangue he got every time he stepped even an inch out of line. What the hell is the matter with you, son? Ain’t you got no brains? I can’t have men on this force who don’t know their way around. You need to buck up. You think I like to hear myself talk? Well, I don’t. I am only telling you this because—

At that point Stan usually tuned out. Gallagher was real nice to look at, but when he got himself all steamed up, he was torture to listen to.

Gord Wainwright over at the hardware store said she’s got cancer. Jacob sighed. Miz Betty is a great lady. I don’t know why such things happen to good people. He glanced over at Stan, who was busy steering the patrol car through a section of road rutted with potholes, some of them frozen solid. What do you think, Stan?

Can’t say I have any idea, Jacob. Stan stopped in front of the Heavenly Light homeless shelter. There you go. Now you get on inside and get a hot meal. He leaned over as Jacob got out of the car. Don’t let me catch you standing on that air vent, you hear? Last thing I need is to be hauling your frozen ass to the morgue. He waited till Jacob went inside before pulling away from the curb.

He took a detour through Hillsville, the part of Morristown inhabited by people in the lowest of all income brackets. This section of town was bordered on