BLONDE DECEPTION - The Logan Files

by Marshall Huffman

  “Sorry about that,” Jonas said, “Bull and I will get the information.”

  “No need to be sorry. It’s over and done with. Now all we have to do is find out who and how.”

  “On the bright side,” Randy said, “we now know that every male instructor she ever had was being blackmailed except for one.”

  “Good golly Miss Molly, all of them?” Bull asked.

  “It seems that she had a good thing going. Enroll in the classes, seldom come to class or take the tests, then just threaten the instructors at grade time.”

  “None of them stood up to her? Called her bluff?” Jonas asked.

  “It appears not. Except for Ryan. You know professors. They live in a different world from you and me,” Logan interjected.

  “Apparently so,” Bull said.

  “So, we have even more suspects?” Jonas asked.

  “Could be. We are going to look at the most recent ones first and work back. I can’t see someone that had her two years ago doing this now,” Randy said.

  “Unless they were waiting for the right time and wanted to throw us off. Maybe they knew how she got away with this time after time and decided to put an end to it before she graduated,” Bull said.

  “That is certainly a possibility. We can’t rule it out but my gut tells me it was someone fairly recent,” Logan said.

  “And I thought your gut just told you about donuts,” Bull added.

  “Out you dorks. Go do something useful. And find out who hired Malcolm and Stine” Logan replied.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  The bullets kept kicking up the dirt just behind him as he ran across the muddy field as fast as he could. The mud was clinging to his boots, sucking at them, slowing every step, trying to drag him down. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. The unique clatter of the AK-47s and higher pitched sounds of the M-16s were nonstop. Men were screaming out in pain and a RPG round exploded onto a tree just as he was running by, sending splinters of wood flying.

  Fragments hit his left shoulder and spun him around, knocking him to the ground. He hit hard and his helmet rolled off. He could see it disappear in a clump of elephant grass.

  Blood covered his arm and his head was cut someplace. Sweat and blood were running down his face, making it almost impossible to see. Dazed, he lay there trying to understand what was happening.

  Suddenly out of the smoke and haze a VC in black clothes charged at him with his rifle raised, ready to smash him in the face and end his life. He tried to roll out of the way but was transfixed by the stock of the AK-47 as it started its descent.

  Logan sat up in bed with sweat dripping from his face. He looked around, disoriented. It took him a second to realize that he had been dreaming. His shirt was plastered to his body.

  It was strange; he hadn’t had that particular dream for several years. He thought he had finally gotten it out of his system. He slowly sat up on the side of the bed and rubbed his face. Sweat dripped from his hair as he sat there. He watched the droplets form a small pool of water.

  He glanced over at the alarm clock disgustedly. He stood up on shaky legs and headed for the bathroom, stumbling over his shoes by the nightstand. Just as he reached the bathroom and turned on the light, the phone rang. He pulled a towel off the rack and went to pick up the phone.

  “Logan.”

  “Hey, John. Sorry to call so late, or early, depending on how you look at it, but I thought you would want to know right away,” Jonas said on the other end of the phone.

  “Go ahead, I was up anyway,” Logan said.

  “You were?”

  “Yeah. Bad dream. It’s a long story. What have you got?”

  “Well, one bad dream for another. Adriane Thompson was found dead about a half hour ago. It looks like a suicide right now,” he told Logan.

  “Suicide? Any note?”

  “Yeah. Still on her computer printer. Nothing has been touched yet. I wanted everyone to hold off until you had a chance to look at the crime scene.”

  “I’ll be right over. It’s on Jackson Street, isn’t it?”

  “Yep. 2102 W. Jackson,” Jonas replied

  “I’m on my way.”

  Logan went to the bathroom and ran cold water over his face and hair. He threw his sweat soaked t-shirt in the hamper. He splashed more cold water on his face and then dried off. He rolled on some deodorant so that he wouldn’t gag a maggot and quickly dressed, putting his Sig-Saur and holster on before heading to Adriane Thompson’s apartment. It was chilly and he was glad that he had grabbed his jacket when he was going out the door. When he arrived it was a typical crime scene.

  He wondered how many times he had arrived at a location with yellow tape, ambulances and cop cars, all with their lights flashing. They lit up the night and the surrounding houses. A few people, wrapped in robes and blankets had come out to watch the spectacle. As usual, a bunch of cops were just standing around shooting the bull and drinking coffee. Where do they always get the coffee? No matter how far the crime scene is from the nearest store, they always had coffee. Several nodded at him as he came up the sidewalk.

  “Out past your bedtime aren’t you Logan?” one of the older officers yelled out.

  “Just going for a little stroll, you blockhead,” Logan shot back.

  “Though you might be out window peeping. Maybe that chick saw you looking through her window and decided suicide was the only honorable way out,” he yelled back.

  “Or she knew you were on duty tonight and thought this was the only safe thing to do,” Logan said before heading through the door.

  “Hi John,” Jonas said when he entered, “She’s over here,” he said, leading him to a small bedroom.

  Logan looked around the room before stepping inside. All the room had was a bed, a lamp with a crooked shade, a cheap computer table and chair, and a computer that looked like it had been around a while. Pushed back from the desk was the chair with Adriane Thompson. She was sitting there with her head back like she was looking for something on the ceiling. Her legs were stretched out in front of her with her feet spread. Blood had congealed down the front of her face and a pool had formed on the floor behind her head. It looked like she was staring up at the crack in the ceiling. A gun lay on the floor a few feet from the chair. Stepping carefully, he walked to the computer. He put on his latex gloves and read the note without removing it.

  I can no longer live with myself. I didn’t mean to but I killed the only person I ever loved. All I wanted was for her to come back to me. Now that she is gone, I have nothing left to live for. Sharon was my world and I destroyed her. I am going to find her now and tell her how sorry I am and beg her for forgiveness.

  Logan left it in the printer and moved the mouse for the computer. The same message was on the screen. He went around and looked at Adriane and carefully looked at the entrance wound. It was not very large and he could see the black-gray powder burn on her forehead. He carefully reached around behind her head and felt the exit wound. Most of the back of her head was missing. The initial appearance was that she had put the gun to the center of her forehead and pulled the trigger after writing the note. He picked up the semi-automatic off the floor. It was a 9mm. Beretta 92F. It was pretty beat up and looked like it has been poorly taken care of. He smelled the chamber and removed the clip. He looked around the floor and found the shell casing under the computer desk. He picked up her right hand and looked closely at it and smelled it as well.

  “Logan you dumb butt, I’m tired of meeting like this,” a gruff voice said from the doorway.

  “Gee Doc. I hate to inconvenience you like this. If you could leave me your schedule, I would arrange things like this at a more convenient time.”

  “Well, I wish you would. Who in their right mind wants to be out at this hour? So what have you got here? They said it was a suicide,” the M.E. said.

  “Looks like that’s what we are supposed to think,” Logan said.

  “You are a suspicious and si
nister old fart Logan. You never believe people just get tired of living and shoot themselves?” he shot back.

  “Take a gander, oh learned master,” Logan said, stepping out of the way.

  “Let a pro take a look,” he said and went to work examining the stiffening body of Adriane Thompson.

  He muttered to himself as he worked. He took measurements, samples of the residue off her forehead and scrapings from under her nails before placing the hands in plastic baggies. Logan just stood in the doorway watching. He knew it was a staged suicide but Myler was dragging it out so he wouldn’t have to say he was right. Finally he stood up and looked at Logan.

  “So what makes you think it wasn’t a suicide, smart boy?”

  “Entry wound. It is in the center of her forehead. Her hands have no residue that I could smell,” Logan told him.

  “Not bad. You have learned something from me. You’re right. People don’t commit suicide by placing the gun in the center of their forehead. It is too hard to hold the gun and you would have almost had to pull it with your thumb. The side of the head, in the mouth or under the chin, but not in the center of the forehead. It would be way too awkward. Someone else put the gun to her head and shot her. I would imagine we will find only one set of prints, hers, where the gun was pressed into her hand. The trigger will probably have her fingerprint on it. The cartridges will be clean,” he said.

  “Yeah, like someone who was worked up enough to commit suicide would even think to wipe down the gun and clean the cartridges. She was murdered; it’s that simple.”

  “It’s a setup alright,” Myler agreed

  “Most of her brains are on the wall over there,” Logan said.

  “Well duh, I can pretty well figure that out for myself. It’s just a wild guess, but we will probably find a hole in the wall and a neat little 9mm bullet will the there as well.”

  “Wow. You might make a cop with just a few more years of following me around,” Logan replied.

  “You always this funny at this hour or is this a special day? Now get out of here and let me finish up. Go scare little children.”

  “Can’t. You did that when you came up the sidewalk. Won’t find a kid within a mile of this place now,” Logan replied, heading out the door.

  “Out.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The print on the trigger was from her right forefinger,” Logan said, reading from the forensic report. “The gun was resting directly against her forehead when the trigger was pulled. No prints on the magazine or bullets in the clip”

  “So she shot herself?” Bull asked.

  “No. It was a setup. Someone wanted us to think it was a suicide. You don’t put a gun in the center of your head to blow it off. It’s awkward and almost impossible to pull the trigger with your finger. You would have to use your thumb. No other fingerprints were found on the gun or cartridges. That alone is enough.”

  “And the note?”

  “It was from her printer alright. Of course no signature means anyone could have typed it. The keyboard had no fingerprints on it. Hard to write a suicide note without touching the keyboard, don’t you think?”

  “Hey, she was a lez, maybe she used her tongue,” Bull said.

  “You are soooo politically incorrect,” Randy said.

  “Nasty boy,” Jonas added.

  “Yeah. I feel real bad about it too,” he said.

  “Anyway, getting back to the matter at hand. It was intended to look like she lost it with Sharon, killed her, and then couldn’t live with herself. That means that we have two murders and someone is trying to tie up loose ends,” Logan said.

  “We could leave it like that. It doesn’t sound like either would be missed too much,” Jonas said.

  “Jonas. I’m surprised at you. I could accept Bull saying that, but you?” Randy said.

  “Well, they are the same amount of dead and nothing will change that,” he said, trying to defend himself.

  “You know that isn’t the way we work. Someone killed these two women and it’s our job to figure out who is responsible. The way they are? That way doesn’t figure into the equation,” Logan told him.

  “I know. It’s just that this Sharon blackmailed a lot of people and got away with it for years. She is going to wreck some careers even after she is dead. Someone had had enough and did her in. You have to pay the piper eventually,” Jonas replied.

  “Well, we can’t allow citizens to appoint themselves the piper,” Logan said.

  “What was the time of death?” Bull asked.

  “The M.E. places it between 1:00 a.m. and 2:30 a.m.,” Logan said, reading from the report.

  “Man, that isn’t gonna’ be much help when we start checking peoples' stories. They will all have been in bed or so they will say,” Bull replied.

  “True, but someone will be lying and it’s up to us to figure out who.”

  “Where do you want us to start?” Randy asked.

  “Let’s take a look at the four professors, Richards, Ryan, Keller and Pratt. We need to lean on them a little and see what shakes loose,” Logan said.

  “But we don’t have anything to lean on them with,” Jonas added.

  “They don’t know that. We need to make them think we know something and are closing in.”

  “Hell, we don’t even know if it was one of them. It could be someone else,” Bull said.

  “Very true, but we need to start somewhere, even if it just eliminates them from the pool.”

  “It would be a whole lot better if we had something concrete,” Bull replied.

  “Every case would be better if we had everything handed to us,” Logan said.

  “And what about the little girl friend, Marcia Burton?” Randy asked.

  “We think she is at a wedding in Florida. We’ll start checking on that right away,” Bull said

  “Out of town when the murder took place. Hummm,” Logan said.

  “Could be a coincidence. Maybe the person who did this was watching the place,” Randy said.

  “Possible, but I doubt it. We will want to get her back here,” Logan said.

  “Want us to have her brought back?” Bull asked.

  “No. Just grab her up when she does return.”

  “And if she doesn’t come back?”

  “Then we will have the Florida police take her down.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  The tedious work of getting statements started all over again. The one advantage was that they knew the personalities a little better this time around. Keller was his usual sarcastic, vague and condescending self. As predicted, he stated that he had gone to bed early and was alone the entire night. He did not hear the news until he was driving to his office around 8:30 a.m. and did not link them together until he heard the name Sharon Lewis.

  It was a similar story from everyone they talked to. Almost to a person, they had retired early and did not know of the suicide until the following morning. They were all glad that the murder of Sharon Lewis had been solved.

  “We are going in circles,” Randy said as they headed back to the station.

  “With homicides, that is often the case. You just try to make the circles a little smaller each time until you arrive at the perpetrator. Homicide is ninety percent legwork and crosschecking stories. It’s not like Blue Bloods or CSI where you solve the whole crime in one or two hours. It would be great if it was, but it just doesn’t work that way.”

  When they got back to the station, the Captain was waiting for them. He wanted a status report. He did not like what he heard.

  “You need to come up with something fast. These two are linked according to you. It won’t be long before others start poking around and make the same connection. I need answers. Do you have anyone you consider a prime suspect?”

  “Not really. We have some people we are looking at hard right now but nothing I wouldn’t want to hang my hat on,” Logan said.

  “But you have ruled out some of them, right?”

&nb
sp; “That’s fair to say, but we have a lot still on the list as well,” Logan warned.

  “Damn, I can hear it now. Just what are you doing about this? Why haven’t you got the person? You know how it goes. I have to have something to tell them and I need it fast,” he said.

  “Look. I understand your problem but we are working as fast as we can. No one is dragging their feet on this. What do you want us to do differently?” Logan said, starting to get angry.

  “I know. It’s just that it is my butt they will chew on,” the Captain said.

  “That’s why you get the big bucks,” Logan replied.

  “Big bucks my big butt.”

  “Okay. Just tell them that Thompson may well have been the perp and couldn’t live with it any longer. We will continue to investigate but that is the way it looks at this point,” Logan suggested.

  “You haven’t said anything about this not being a suicide yet, have you?”

  “Well duh. Not likely. We will make it look like that is our focus and in the meantime we will continue to investigate behind the scenes. I’ll follow up with the M.E. to make sure he doesn’t say anything, not that he would anyway. He knows the drill,” Logan said.

  “Alright. I’ll let it out that we now consider it a love-suicide and that we are still looking into why Adriane Thompson committed the murder of Sharon Lewis. I don’t like doing it this way but it will buy you time to get to the bottom of this, I hope. I’ll discreetly let it be known that we are considering this a murder and a suicide of two ex-lovers,” he said.

  “It will get it out of the papers immediately and will be yesterday’s news, buried in the back pages by the end of the week. Ya gotta’ love the press for that. You never have to worry about deep thinkers in that trade,” Logan said.

  “So what’s next?”

  “We are trying to trace the gun. The numbers were filed off as you would expect. Just another reason I know it wasn’t suicide. We sent it to the FBI lab to see if they could raise the numbers.”