Martha’s face shadowed for a moment—she clung to her gatekeeper role for her dead boss. “I understand. If you need anything, let me know.”
Daniels raised a finger. “Now that you mention it.” Martha pivoted back. “Just a couple quick questions.” He curled a hand. “Come join me, we can finish our coffee together.”
Martha smiled thinly and pulled a chair to the desk. Her manner more formal and less friendly, she said, “How may I help you, Detective?”
Daniels wriggled into Logan’s sinfully comfortable chair and grinned. “We got a report that Phillip damaged his truck in a highway altercation. You happen to know anything about that?”
Martha shook her head. “No. If there was any damage to a company truck, we’re required to report it to the insurance company. Phillip would’ve done so. Immediately.”
Daniels felt vindicated. “He drove a company truck?”
She nodded. “Yes, usually. Christine uses the Mercedes most of the time.” She got to her feet. “If there’s nothing else—”
“Just one more thing.” Martha sat back down, but poised at the edge of the seat, ready to dash off when he was done. “Just wondering here, but were you surprised by Mr. Logan’s death?”
She sloped her brow. “Surprised?”
Daniels bobbed his head. “Yeah. Like you didn’t see it coming?” He scanned the room, wondering if Logan had a safe hidden somewhere. “I mean, sure there are a lot of accidents in the construction business. And sometimes people die. But Mr. Logan didn’t do a nose dive off a roof. He was relatively young and fit. Not the kind of guy people expect to just up and die.”
A wistful smile lifted her lips for a moment. “Sadly, no.” Daniels tilted his head in a way that kept people talking. Martha sighed, her grief over the loss of her employer rising to the surface. “He had a problem. I’m sure you’ve discovered it. Everybody knew. Everybody warned him. He just wouldn’t listen.”
Daniels nodded. “We’re talking about drugs?”
“Yes.” She got to her feet. “And he drank too much.” An unspent tear shimmered in her eye. “But Phillip was who he was. He thrived on risky behavior. Things that got his blood going. He didn’t play it safe.” She wiped her cheek with the back of her hand. “Not in his business or his life.”
Footsteps and muffled voices sounded outside the door—the crew had arrived. She eyed the door. “Anything else you’d like to know?”
“No, I think I’m good, thanks.”
She left the room to start her workday and Daniels settled in at Logan’s desk.
Shaw’s file was thin—just the facts, with no insight into the man. He was single, twenty-eight, and had about ten years experience in the construction trade. He lived in a sketchy Hollywood neighborhood, though he made a decent living and could’ve afforded better. He’d only worked for Logan Construction for a couple years but had managed to work himself up to lead carpenter in that time. Seems he was set up pretty well with the company and Daniels thought it odd that he’d quit. He put the file aside, planning to have Martha make a copy for him.
Slouching in Logan’s chair, he did a 360 around the office and it painted a picture of the man. He was arrogant—lots of pictures of himself and local big shots hung on the wall. A few awards too. The desk and chair were luxury items and not the usual beat-up metal desks and second-hand chairs you saw in construction companies. Logan catered to the high-dollar trade. He stocked pricey liquor and crystal glasses in his mini-bar. That jogged a memory—the liquor and crystal hadn’t been on display at the Logan house the night before. But he was sure he’d seen it when they’d answered the call for Logan’s death.
Among the trophies, Daniels counted only one picture of the wife. A good picture. But he doubted Christine Logan could take a bad picture. There she sat, perched on his desk, encased in a filigreed silver frame. The smile, a little too perfect, and one that didn’t reach the eyes. A woman that good-looking could’ve had anybody she wanted. Yet she stayed with a man who knocked her around.
He motor-boated his lips and tapped his fingers on the desk. The office was Logan’s little kingdom—the place where he reigned over all. And the desk was his throne—if Logan had anything important in that office it would be right where Daniels sat. Most the drawers contained office supplies but the bottom drawer was locked. “Aha, the Holy Grail.” He felt around on the underside of the desk for the key and found it taped to the bottom of the upper drawer. Daniels snorted. “Amateur.”
And treasures did reveal themselves. “Look at all these pictures.” He flipped through them. “Oh my, Mrs. Logan, you’ve been very naughty.” He slid the photos back into their envelope and tucked them in his pocket. He also found a prescription bottle of Seconal. But the kicker was that it was a prescription for Melanie Campbell. “Tisk, tisk, Logan. Your wife’s sister?”
He dropped the bottle into an evidence bag and tucked that in his pocket too. His work was done there. He made nice with Martha and got her to copy Shaw’s personnel file then left Logan Construction.
Since Shaw’s apartment was on his way back to the station, he decided to swing by for an impromptu interview. Always good to catch a witness when they weren’t expecting you. If he got the guy to cop to the affair with Christine Logan, it’d be worth the trip. And Davis would owe him a steak dinner with all the fixings.
Daniels parked at the curb, under a jacaranda tree. The shade was nice but it also provided cover in case anybody who might be avoiding the police was looking out his window.
Shaw lived in one of those old buildings that the movie folk loved to use as locations for period pictures. ‘Old Hollywood’ is what Daniels would’ve called it.
He lumbered through the open courtyard with its flagging palms and ancient Birds of Paradise bushes and climbed the stairs to Shaw’s apartment. When he didn’t answer, Daniels persuaded the apartment manager to let him in. He was a smarmy little guy with a unibrow and garlic breath. He watched from the doorway as Daniels poked around—no doubt, worried Daniels would swipe a fork or salt shaker if he turned his back.
The apartment was minimal in décor—a bed, a bureau, a couple lamps. Not clean but not dirty. The most interesting thing about the place was what was missing—clothes, shaving gear, and tools. It seemed Shaw had left town. In a hurry. Daniels clucked his tongue. “Mr. Shaw mention a trip to you?”
Garlic breath scrunched his face. “What kind of trip?”
“Did he say he was leaving town for a while?”
The guy grunted. “His rent’s paid up, what do I care if he went out of town?”
Daniels hunched his shoulders. “Maybe he needed somebody to water his plants?”
The guy snorted. “What do I look like, a gardener?”
“What about visitors? He get any?”
The guy wrinkled his nose. “You think I’ve got nothing better to do than watch who comes and goes?”
Daniels wiggled his eyebrows. “A pretty woman, blond, kind of high class?”
The manager jangled his key ring. “Are we through here?”
Daniels ambled toward the door. He gave the guy his card. “If Shaw comes back, call me. Day or night.”
The manager locked Shaw’s apartment door and snickered. “I’ll be sure to tell him you dropped by.”
Chapter 29
DAVIS SHUFFLED THROUGH the photos of Christine Logan and Michael Shaw. She figured that the argument that Christine had downplayed was about these pictures—not her job at the Community Center. And it had been a knock-down, drag-out that ended in a punch to Christine’s face. Davis squinted at Daniels. “They were locked in his desk drawer?” Daniels bobbed his head. “Kind of weird, isn’t it? Why lock them in a drawer?”
Daniels bunched his shoulders. “I don’t know. Waiting for the right moment to spring them on her? Corner her?”
Davis nodded and dropped the photos on the desk. “Yeah, probably. He did seem to be that kind of asshole.” She rubbed her aching head. “Too bad we did
n’t get to Shaw before he went to ground. I bet his explanation for these would’ve been enlightening.” She made a face at Daniels. “These people are messed up.”
“You think?” He patted his pocket. “Oh yeah, almost forgot.” He tossed her Melanie’s prescription bottle. “This too.”
Davis shook the bottle at him. “This is a scrip for Melanie Campbell.”
Daniels waggled his shaggy brows. “That’s some kind of balls, huh? Boffing the wife’s sister and copping her pills while he’s at it?” He scratched his unshaven face. “Unless she was his dealer.”
Davis shuffled through the pictures again. “Logan wasn’t husband of the year material, that’s for sure.” She raised her eyes to Daniels. “How come we’ve only got six pictures? Did you leave some behind?”
Daniels slurped his coffee. “Nope, that’s all of them.”
Davis put the photos back in the evidence baggie and set them on the desk. “A roll has a minimum of twelve and a max of thirty-six exposures on it.” She craned her neck as though she’d find the photos on somebody else’s desk. “Where’d the rest of them go?”
Daniels crushed his empty cup and tossed it in the trash. “Everything’s digital these days. Maybe he only printed the ones he liked.”
Davis shook her head. “These were shot with an old school camera.” She flipped the bag over and tapped the back of a photo. “No watermark from a lab either. Probably developed by the photographer.”
Daniels’ brow sloped. “Who goes to that kind of trouble anymore?”
They stared at each other—their brains spinning for a few seconds. The answer came to them at the same time.
CHAUNCEY’S DOOR WAS ajar and a ballgame played on the TV inside. Without alerting him to their presence, Davis and Daniels slipped into the apartment. The little gnome sprawled on the couch in his boxers and a tee-shirt—eating spaghetti from a pan and slurping a canned wine cooler.
The TV squawked— “here comes the pitch—there he goes—it's going, going, going—”
Daniels’ voice boomed, “Gone!”
Chauncey jumped and dropped the spaghetti on the floor. He scowled at them as he scooped the pasta back into the pan. “Hey. Look what you made me do.” He thunked the pan on the coffee table. “That was my lunch, man.”
Davis switched off the TV. “Oh, boo-hoo.”
Chauncey wiped his spaghetti stained hands on his shirt and snarled. “I was watching that. You can’t come into my place and turn off my game.”
Daniels leaned over him and rapped him on the head with his knuckles. “Game over, buddy.”
Davis slid next to Chauncey. “You’ve got something we want.”
Chauncey flicked a look at her chest. “If only.”
Daniels waved the dirty pictures under the little guy’s nose. “Get your mind out of the gutter, you dick.”
Chauncey blanched at the photos. He swatted them out of his face. “Yeah, okay, I’ve seen them. What’s your point?”
Daniels plopped down on the other side of Chauncey, forcing all the air out of the cushions. “We want the rest of them.”
Chauncey snickered. “I want the winning Lotto numbers, can I have them, please?” Neither cop cracked a grin. “Sorry, man. Client's got them. Negatives, too.” He squinted at the photos in Daniels’ hand. “How’d you get them?”
Each taking an arm, they lifted him to his feet. “Damn, you stink.”
Chauncey puckered up. “I love it when you talk dirty, Davis.”
They dragged him across the room to the closet. Daniels opened the door. “Oh look, a dark room.”
Chauncey wriggled free and swept a hand at his do-it-yourself photo lab. “Help yourself. I got nothing to hide. Go ahead, see for yourself. I’m legit. I cooperate with law enforcement.”
Davis was two steps ahead of Chauncey granting permission and dug through the cramped space, knocking things over, and rifling through the shelves.
Chauncey squealed. “Hey. Jeez, be careful, will you? I got equipment in there.” Davis shoved past him and shook her head at Daniels. “See? Told you.” He swiped the remote off the coffee table. “Now, can I go back to my game?”
Daniels clutched his shoulder and held him in place. “Sure, buddy. As soon as you tell us what we want to know.”
Chauncey pried at Daniels’ fingers. “That hurts, man. No need to bruise the merchandise.”
Daniels let him go “So?”
Chauncey massaged his shoulder. “What’s to tell? Some guy gets me off the Internet.” He grinned. “Got a four-star rating on Yelp. Yeah, that’s right.” He flapped a hand in front of his face as though shooing flies. “Anyway, he wants me to follow the wife. I say, okay. I mean, who’s going to say no to work in this economy, right? Click click. A couple pictures for him, a couple bucks for me. Thanks, pleasure doing business. See ya.” He hunched his narrow shoulders. “End of story.”
Davis got in his face just enough to make him sputter. “Liar.”
As she advanced, he backed up and bumped into Daniels who came up from behind. “But then your client turned up dead?”
Chauncey stared at his hairy toes “I might’ve read something about it.”
Davis raised her hands and backed toward the door. “Fine, you want to dick us around, I’ll just go get a warrant.” She hooked an arm toward the door. “Come on, Daniels, if we hurry we can catch the judge before he hits the golf course.”
Chauncey put his hands on his hips and jutted his nubby chin. “Go ahead. I got nothing to hide.” He crossed his heart like a boy scout. “I swear on a stack of bibles, that’s the God’s honest truth.”
Daniels clapped him on the back. “Oh, okay.” He fanned his enormous arms. “If you swear, then that’s different. We believe you. Huh, Davis?”
Davis wagged a finger at him. “Don’t go anyplace we can’t find you.” She hooked her head toward Daniels. “Come on, let’s get out of here before we catch something.”
Chauncey bowed and smiled. “I’m fully transparent, Davis. Come back any time. But maybe knock next time?”
Davis answered him by slamming the door.
Chapter 30
WHEN THEY GOT BACK to the station, the desk sergeant waved them toward an interview room where Christine Logan waited for them.
Daniels paused outside the door. “You think the little shit called her?”
Davis considered it for a moment but it was clearly Phillip Logan who’d hired him. Christine Logan wouldn’t have hired Chauncey to take dirty pictures of herself and Shaw. “Doubtful. How would she even know the guy?”
Daniels chewed on his lip. “Pretty effing weird. We’ve got her next on our list and boom, she's here waiting for us?”
It was weird, but the whole case was weird. Davis shrugged. “Just let her talk. See where she tries to lead us.”
Christine Logan greeted them with a timid smile, apprehension flickering in her eyes. She fidgeted with a Manila envelope on the table.
Davis took a chair while Daniels hovered by the door. “Mrs. Logan, this is a surprise. Something happen?”
She looked paler than usual and the fluorescent lighting accentuated the dark circles under her eyes. Not sleeping well, Mrs. Logan? Christine stammered. “I was going through some of my husband's things. Legal papers. I...” She sighed and slid the envelope to Davis. “You can see for yourself.”
Davis slid a single photograph out of the envelope. More dirty pictures. But it was Philip Logan and his sister-in-law, Melanie Campbell, in the starring roles. She raised it for Daniels to see then slid it back into the envelope. “Interesting.”
Daniels approached the table. “You just happened to find it in your husband's things?”
Her cheeks colored. “I doubt he expected me to find it. I wouldn't have if he hadn't—died.”
“Find any others?”
Christine shook her head. “No. Maybe there are more but I didn’t conduct a search.” She winced. “Hardly something I’d want to see more of.”
Daniels dragged a chair next to Christine. “What do you think this means, ma'am?”
Christine’s face contorted in pain. “I'm not an idiot, Detective, I know what it means. Anyone who looked at it would know what it means.”
Davis cut in. “What my partner is asking, is other than the obvious, what does it mean to you?”
Christine’s gaze wandered for a moment, then returned to Davis. “You’re asking if I was surprised? I don’t suppose I should’ve been. I thought they despised each other. I guess that was a lie too.”
Davis rolled her tongue against her cheek. “So, you aren’t showing us this so we’ll think Melanie had anything to do with Phillip’s death?”
Christine bowed her head and mumbled. “Our marriage wasn't the best. I knew there were other women.” She tilted her head at Davis. “But what would that have to do with his death?”
Daniels rapped his knuckles on the table and Christine reacted with a jerk of the head. “What about you, Mrs. Logan? Ever feel like paying him back? With other men?”
Her cheeks flushed and she averted his gaze. “I was going to tell you about Michael. The other night. I was just—embarrassed.”
Davis slapped her notebook on the table. “Okay, great. You can tell us about Shaw, now. Starting with where he is.”
She shook her head slowly. “I don't know. He’s moved on.” She covered her face with her hands. “I think he’s left town. For good.”
Daniels wasn’t any more convinced by Christine Logan’s explanations than Davis. “Must be some reason you came here to show us this picture.”
Christine Logan raised her head and held his gaze. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. I don't know. Maybe I thought I'd feel less disgusted about my own actions. More justified in betraying Phillip.” She scraped back her chair and stood. “But I don't feel better at all.” She swayed and grasped the table edge to steady herself. “I feel...”
Davis jumped from her seat and rounded the table. “You okay, Mrs. Logan?”
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