by Chris Culver
I nodded. “Have you ever found any weapons on him when you’ve picked him up?”
The officer hesitated. “Do you know something we don’t?”
“He’s a person of interest in a homicide I’m working.”
The officer raised his eyebrows and drew in a breath. “We catch students with guns occasionally, but nine times out of ten they’re hunting rifles. We don’t get too many handguns on campus, and if we find one on a student, he’s expelled. It doesn’t matter how much money his family gives to the school.”
“Has Logan ever gotten violent on campus?”
The officer shook his head. “No. He’s on alcohol probation, so if he had gotten into fights, too, we would have moved to have him expelled. We can’t have an angry drunk on campus.”
It was a big step from public intoxication to a triple homicide, but he had the motive. His mom owned Reid Chemical, and if Laura had found something incriminating about the company, his family stood to lose a lot of money. Still, I had a hard time pegging him as a murderer.
“Thank you for the background. I’ll talk to his fraternity brothers and see what I can find.”
“You want to search his room while you’re there?”
I hesitated and cocked my head to the side. “It’s a communal living environment, but I’d still need a search warrant for his room.”
“The university owns the building, and everyone who lives inside it signs a code of conduct before moving in. Since Logan’s on alcohol probation, we can search for alcohol. If we see something else during those searches, it should be admissible in court.”
I wasn’t a lawyer, but I already knew a competent defense lawyer would tear that community code of conduct apart. At the same time, my lack of law degree might benefit me. The court couldn’t hold me to the same standard as an attorney. As long as I believed my search was legal, the prosecutors could argue I had searched in good faith.
“Let’s go find his booze.”
The officer—his name was Corey Sutton, I found out—and I walked to the Sigma Iota house. Unlike my previous visit, I didn’t need to ring the bell and hope someone would come out. As a university employee, Sutton had a key. He opened the door, and we walked into the lobby. We found a shirtless young man asleep on the couch with his hand inside his pants and a wisp of a smile on his face. As I shut the front door, the kid’s eyes fluttered open and landed on me. For a second, his smile broadened, but then he saw Officer Sutton and fell off the couch. I covered a snicker by coughing into my hand. “Don’t mind us,” said Sutton. “We’re visiting one of your buddies.”
He pushed himself up and jogged toward the stairwell, shouting that the police were in the lobby. Sutton looked at me.
“Something I said?”
I knew he meant it as a joke, but my shoulders tensed up, and my fingers and toes tingled with nerves. I hadn’t been upstairs yet, but I could imagine what the place would look like. Narrow corridors, doorways everywhere, debris on the floor.
In the police academy, we had trained to clear entire floors of apartment buildings, and every time, at least one person in the unit “died.” Only in a real situation, it wouldn’t be instructors hiding behind fire doors with paintball guns. In the field, death was permanent.
Sutton looked at me up and down. He wasn’t checking me out; instead, he looked curious.
“You okay, Detective?”
I nodded. “I’m annoyed that they know we’re coming, but there’s nothing we could have done about that. We should call in some backup in case somebody’s armed. I’d rather not get ambushed up there.”
He considered me and shook his head. “You ever been in a fraternity house?”
I glanced at him and then looked to the stairwell. “It’s been a while.”
Sutton looked toward the stairs. “He went up to tell his friends to hide their beer and weed. He’s not looking to start a fight.”
“True, but we’re going upstairs to search the room of a murder suspect. I’m not interested in getting shot in the back.”
“What do you propose?” he asked.
“Clear everybody out of the building and search for stragglers. Once we’ve cleared the house, we’ll search Logan’s room. Last time, I pulled the fire alarm to get everybody out. I’m not sure they’ll fall for that again.”
Sutton sighed and swore under his breath before getting on his radio to call for backup. It took almost fifteen minutes, but three more uniformed campus police officers arrived. When Officer Sutton told them what was going on, they looked at me as if I had suggested they climb Mount Everest in their underwear. One officer screwed up his face.
“You understand you’re asking us to eat a shit sandwich, right?” he asked. “If we go in there and clear them out, we’ll deal with the fallout for a week.”
“Then I’d suggest you get ready to eat shit, Officer,” I said. “This isn’t up for debate. You guys can help me out, or I’ll call my station and get my people here. I’ll warn you now, though: My team won’t be gentle. It’s your choice, but you’ll eat shit either way.”
Nobody said anything. Then Sutton looked at me.
“Is everybody at your station this vulgar?”
“I’m a little above average,” I said. The room plunged into silence once more. Sutton looked to his fellow officers.
“The detective is working a homicide, and there’s potential evidence in the building. Janet and I will take the second floor. Shelby and Bart can get the third. We will funnel the residents down the west stairwell to the ground floor, where they can assemble on the grass. We’re only interested in Logan Reid’s room, so make sure the boys know that.”
They nodded, although they still didn’t seem too enthusiastic about the job. I stayed in the lobby while they worked. The ceiling didn’t have a lot of soundproofing, so I heard every word the officers on the second floor said. They were cordial, but they were also firm. Nobody argued with them, which was nice to see.
After about fifteen minutes, Sutton came down the stairs to tell me the house was empty. I thanked him, and the two of us walked to the third floor to search. Logan Reid had a case of beer in his minifridge, and several bottles of vodka, rum, and gin in his closet. Officer Sutton had everything he needed to charge Logan with violating the school’s alcohol policy. Evidence for my case was scarcer.
The room was small, but Logan had stuffed three ratty couches and an enormous TV inside. I sat down in front of that TV after finding nothing in the entire room. That was when I felt the hard edge of a cell phone wedged between the couch cushions. I fished it out and found a Samsung Galaxy S9 cell phone.
I took my phone from my purse. Laura Rojas had received calls from dozens of numbers, most of which we had identified. A few, though, had gone to prepaid phones without subscriber information. I had called them but didn’t get an answer on any of them. Now, I wondered. I searched through my phone’s history until I found the block of numbers I needed. Then I dialed. On my third number, the phone I had found buzzed.
“Did you find something, Detective?” asked Sutton.
No judge in the world would let me look at that phone without a search warrant, but I might be able to get one now.
“Yeah. I found something good.”
A smile cracked Sutton’s lips.
“This wasn’t a waste, then.”
“Not at all,” I said. “Congratulations, Mr. Sutton. You brought me one step closer to bringing down a murderer.”
28
I drove to my station after searching Logan Reid’s room, but Trisha stopped me in the lobby before I could reach my desk.
“Shaun Deveraux came by with file boxes,” she said. “He said they’re from Laura Rojas’s office.”
I furrowed my brow. “Already? I wasn’t expecting anything from there for several days at least.”
Trisha shrugged. “Looks like you pushed the right buttons. They’re in the conference room.”
I thanked her and then walked. Sh
aun Deveraux might have found a speedy attorney to review Laura’s files, but I doubted it. More than likely, he had found boxes of files so disconnected to any cases or clients they didn’t need a thorough vetting.
Before going to the conference room, I dropped off Logan Reid’s phone with our forensics lab and then sat at my desk for half an hour to write a search warrant affidavit for the phone’s contents. I felt good about our chances of securing a warrant, but I was less sanguine about our chances of recovering any information on it.
Nobody in my department had the expertise to crack a modern cell phone’s security, which meant we’d have to turn it over to the Highway Patrol. They had more resources than we did, but even with their help, our chances of recovering anything useful were slim. I’d worry about that later, though.
I sent the affidavit to the prosecutor’s office for review and then walked to the conference room, where I found four brown file boxes stacked along the far wall. The first held documents with Reid Chemical’s logo splashed across the top. It looked like Laura had printed off the company’s website and every financial document the company had filed with the SEC for the past decade. The second box held contracts and invoices, all of which had Reid Chemical’s logo at the top. The third and fourth boxes held even more invoices and receipts, some of which dated back years. To learn anything from them, we’d need to hire an accountant.
As I returned the documents to the boxes, somebody knocked on the door. I looked up as my boss walked inside.
“Hey, Harry,” I said.
“Evening, Joe,” he said, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorframe. “Tell me you didn’t march a bunch of college kids out of their dorm in their underwear.”
I considered before answering. “I didn’t march a bunch of college kids out of their dorm in their underwear.”
“Did you order someone else to do that?”
Again, I considered my answer before speaking. “I conducted a legal search of Logan Reid’s room in the Sigma Iota fraternity house at Waterford College. Before conducting that search, I requested that officers from the school’s Office of Public Safety clear the house of inhabitants. If those idiots walked out in their underwear, that’s their own damn fault.”
Harry ran a hand across his face and sighed.
“I’ve already gotten a call from the president at Waterford College. He wasn’t happy. Neither is Mason Stewart, who’s sitting in my office with his lawyer and his stepson. In a week, you’ve alienated the administration at Waterford College, the CEO of Reid Chemical, and the entire workforce at Ross Kelly Farms. Whose Corn Flakes are you going to take a dump in next?”
I sighed and shook my head. “I’m following the evidence. What else would you have me do?”
“You can follow the evidence and be diplomatic.”
“My methods are legal and appropriate,” I said. “I’m working a murder, Harry. I’m not planning a church picnic. If I step on someone’s toes, that means I’m doing something right. That’s what you taught me.”
“All I’m asking is that you be a little more careful,” he said. “There are considerations here beyond the law.”
“You sound like a politician.”
He shook his head and sighed. “I am a politician, Joe. Logan Reid’s in my office. You searched his room and confiscated his cell phone. He wants it back, and I’m inclined to give it to him to avoid a lawsuit. The school had a right to search his room for alcohol, but you had no right to collect his phone. What’d you hope to get from it, anyway?”
“I don’t know, but it clearly links Logan to Laura,” I said. “I’ve seen Laura’s call logs. They talked several times a day. There’s no telling what he’s got on there. I’ve already filled out a search warrant affidavit so we can look at its contents.”
“That won’t happen,” said Harry. “Find what you need another way.”
I balled my hands into fists and held my breath for a ten count so I wouldn’t snap at him.
“Fine. You said Logan Reid’s up there with his attorneys?”
Harry nodded.
“Can I talk to him?”
“About?” asked Harry, crossing arms and lowering his chin.
“I want to offer him an apology.”
Harry cocked his head to the side. “I don’t believe you.”
“You didn’t use to be this cynical.”
“And you didn’t use to lie,” he said. “Seems we’ve both picked up character flaws over the years.”
I forced myself to smile. I respected him, so it was easier than it might have been with other people.
“The County Council has you by the balls,” I said. “I get it, and I’m sorry, but I’ve got a murder to solve. Logan Reid and Mason Stewart are both suspects, and they’re both sitting upstairs with an attorney. I need to talk to them. Are you going to let me do my job or not?”
Harry swore under his breath and then took a step back. “Fine. Do your job, but don’t expect me to keep sweeping your messes under the rug.”
“I’ve never expected that,” I said, lowering my chin. “And if that’s what you think you’re doing here, do us both a favor and quit. You’re not cut out to be the sheriff.”
I regretted the comment almost the moment the words left my mouth.
“That was out of line,” I said, lowering my voice and dropping my chin to my chest. “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry.”
Harry drew in a slow breath but said nothing. When I looked up to meet his gaze, he looked away and nodded.
“I hate this job. I should have known better when the County Council offered me the position. They’re not competent enough to offer it to someone qualified.”
I smiled. “You can still get back at them for making you sheriff. Let me work my case. I can almost guarantee I’ll piss off somebody important.”
He chuckled but then considered me before responding.
“You think there’s something to find at Reid Chemical?”
“Laura Rojas did. I’m following her lead.”
He looked away and then covered his mouth before nodding.
“Have at it,” he said. “Reid and Stewart are in my office. Good luck.”
“Thanks, boss,” I said, walking toward the door. “You want to supervise my interview?”
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I’d rather have some plausible deniability in case you do something stupid.”
“That’s a good idea,” I said, nodding to him as I left the room. Even with all the work I had done, I didn’t know why Laura Rojas was dead, but I was getting closer to finding her killer with every step I made. I hoped that’d be enough. We had enough victims already.
I walked to Harry’s office, where I found Logan Reid, Mason Stewart, and a man in a suit I didn’t recognize. They sat around Harry’s small conference table. As I walked toward them, the man in the suit stood and positioned himself between me and his clients.
“Kevin Rasmussen,” he said, holding out his hand. He was middle aged, and he wore a well-cut charcoal gray suit, white shirt, and gray tie. I shook his hand and nodded.
“Detective Joe Court. I understand my search of the Sigma Iota fraternity at Waterford College has ruffled a few feathers.”
“Your search was illegal,” said Rasmussen, walking back to the table. “We’d like the phone you stole. If you return it to us, we’ll consider not filing theft charges against you.”
“That’s tempting,” I said, nodding. “But I’m not sure the search was illegal. Your client was on alcohol probation with the school. The school’s personal conduct policy allows the school’s Office of Public Safety to search his room for alcoholic beverages. If, during that search, they find evidence of other crimes, that should be admissible in court, don’t you think?”
The attorney humored me with a smile.
“Are you an attorney or a detective, Detective Court?”
“A detective, but even I can see the obvious counter to the argument you�
�re making. Since I’m not a lawyer, I can’t say whether a judge will side with me, but I’m willing to roll the dice. How about you guys?”
“What do you expect to find on the phone?” asked Rasmussen.
“Evidence of contact with a murder victim.”
“There’s nothing on it,” said Logan. “Just some pictures.”
“Shut up, Logan,” said Stewart.
I looked past the lawyer to his young client.
“What pictures?” I asked. Logan wouldn’t meet my gaze, so I looked at his lawyer and raised my eyebrows. “I guess we’ll find out, huh?”
“The photographs on that phone would embarrass Mr. Reid,” said Rasmussen. “They have no evidentiary value.”
“I’d like to assess that for myself,” I said.
The lawyer leaned forward.
“If my client unlocks his phone and shows you the pictures, would you agree to release it back to him?”
“Will he answer questions, too?”
Rasmussen blinked. “My client will sit for a voluntary interview if he can leave when he chooses, and if he can refuse to answer whatever questions he’d like.”
“Sure,” I said. “That’s fine. The phone’s downstairs. Give me a minute, and I’ll get it.”
The lawyer agreed, so I walked downstairs to the crime lab, where one of our technicians gave me Logan’s phone. When I returned, Rasmussen sat beside his clients on the far side of the table. I sat on the other side and slid the phone toward Logan.
He picked it up and looked to his lawyer. “So I unlock it and give it to her?”
Rasmussen looked to him. “Just show her the pictures. She can get everything else with a search warrant from your phone company.”
Logan slid his thumb across the screen and then tapped a few times before he slid the phone toward me to show me a picture of a naked young woman.
“Friend of yours?” I asked, looking to Logan and raising my eyebrows.
“She goes to Waterford with me. We hook up sometimes.”
I nodded and used my thumb to open the next picture. It, too, was a photograph of a nude woman in her late teens to early twenties. She had sent Logan at least three pictures. A third woman sent half a dozen.