“It’s your show. Do you want me to do it?”
“No. Have Jonas do it. He just needs to see who had special training and when. Anything that would give someone special skills. Whoever worked Sharon over knew something about how to inflict the maximum amount of pain. Special Ops and several others teach how to interrogate prisoners to get the maximum amount of information,” Logan said.
“I’ll have him get on it first thing.”
“We, on the other hand, will re-evaluate each of the suspect’s folders to see if there are any inconsistencies or if anything jumps out at us. We need to start in on each of their financial records as well,” Logan said.
“Oh, goodie. I was afraid you might leave that to Bull,” Randy said.
“You wish. It shouldn’t take more than four or five hours,” Logan assured him.
“Great, but you’re buying lunch.”
“It will be my gourmet treat, rest assured,” Logan said.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Marcia had been pacing around the hotel room for what seemed like hours. She just couldn’t seem to sit still for more than a few minutes. She tried turning on the television but didn’t have any real interest in anything. She still hadn’t even unpacked her suitcases. ‘This is ridicules,’ she thought to herself. She needed to get into the apartment and here she was, squirreled away in some hotel.
She decided that crime scene or not, she was going to get into the apartment. She changed in to jeans and a tee shirt and called for a taxi. Within a few minutes the taxi honked its horn and she went out to get in. She looked around to see if anyone was paying any attention before she climbed in.
“Take me to Randolph and Meridian,” she told the driver.
When they arrived, she had him circle the apartment twice before deciding it was safe. After paying, she walked to a park bench across the street and sat down. She wanted to make sure no one was watching the place. She carefully studied each area and up and down the street. She looked for cars with occupancies but found none.
Satisfied she crossed back over and deciding the elevator might notify anyone on that floor, she walked up the stairs to the third floor. She opened the door slowly and peered along the hall. No one was in sight as she stepped through the door. She quickly made her way to the apartment.
The usual bright yellow and black crime scene tape was crisscrossed over the door. Not wanting to cut the tape, she reached through and unlocked the door before getting down on her stomach and crawling under the last strand of tape. She could just make it under as she wiggled her way into the room.
Once inside she could see that the place had been really gone through. Residue from finger printing dust was on almost everything. Drawers had been pulled out and closets rifled through. She shuddered when she thought of the number of people that must have been going through Andy’s and her things.
She carefully picked her way through the clutter and went into the bedroom. A chair sat back from the desk and a large blood stain covered the carpet. Blood splatters were on the wall and a small hole was visible. Someone had been digging at the spot. She shuddered. Looking at the desk she found the computer was gone.
‘Damn,’ she muttered. She was hoping they had not taken it. She went to the closet and moved aside her clothes. On her knees she removed a strip of base board that was just held on by double backed sticky tape. She reached her hand between the flooring and the wallboard and pulled out a small packet. At least the police hadn’t found that, she thought to herself.
Replacing he baseboard, she quickly made her way back across the front room and repeated the process of crawling under the crime scene tape.
It would have been great if she could have gotten to the computer but there was nothing she could do about it now. She walked back downstairs, crossed the street and went to a corner convenience store and called for a cab. It arrived a few minutes later and dropped her back off at the hotel. The undercover agents just watched and noted the event without interfering.
* * *
Detective Logan sat looking out the window as rain pelted down. It had been one of those typical Indiana days. It started out sunny and 78 degrees but within a few hours the temperature had dropped to 62 and now the rain was coming down in sweeping waves. He was deep in thought and didn’t even pay any attention to the thunder and lightning flashes dancing in the heavy clouds.
He was missing something, but what? He had gone over each of the professor’s files time and time again with Randy, but nothing was pointing them in the right direction. What part, if any, did Marcia Burton play in all of this?
“What?” Randy asked.
“What, what?” Logan said.
“You were muttering something.”
“Sorry. I was just trying to make some sense out of all of this. We are missing a piece of the puzzle.”
“I’ll say. A big piece,” Randy agreed.
“What do you think of Terry Ryan? Do you think he is totally clean in all of this?”
“Sure looks like it. He didn’t give in like the others. That has to say something for his character” Logan said.
“I suppose you’re right but still…”
“I’ll tell you what; I think we need to take a closer look at the boyfriend, what’s his name?”
“Weaver?”
“Yes, Weaver.
“Hell, he doesn’t have enough on the ball to pull this off and besides, what is his motivation? Anyway Bull feels he is pretty clean in all of this” Randy said.
“I appreciate that, but still…I don’t know, maybe I just don’t like his looks,” Logan said.
“Ah. I can see it now. Look Mr. DA, we don’t have anything on this guy but he looks like a jerk. Could you just see to it that he gets some jail time?” Randy said in an exaggerated fashion.
“Not like that, wiseass. I just think he is pulling our strings a little. I think he gets off on that. I’d like you to take one more run at him.”
“Hey, no problem. I would rather be sure than leaving it go unchecked.”
“While you’re doing that, I think I’m going to talk to the Burton chick again,” Logan said.
“Chick? Boy, you had better not let any of the feminists hear you say that. Chick is definitely not politically correct now days,” Randy said looking around the room quickly.
“You already know what I think about this politically correct crap. Changing the name doesn’t change the subject any.”
“Wow. You must have flunked sensitivity training.”
“Didn’t go. Wouldn’t go. Never will go. It’s all a bunch of bull and a waste of time. No one really buys into that junk; they just get badgered into pretending they will change. Out of sight, they still say the same things,” Logan said, watching people running across the street that was filling with water as the rain continued to pour down. One poor lady was up to her ankles in water when she dropped her purse. No one stopped or even slowed down to help. She was fishing around in the water frantically trying to find it when the light turned green.
Several cars went past on either side of her, spraying her with more water. What a great society we are, Logan thought to himself.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
“I need to ask you a couple of questions,” Logan said.
“Sure, you’re the detective I talked to before, right?”
“Yes I am. Good memory.”
“We don’t get many people over in my neck of the woods, especially the police. What can I do for you?” the CIT geek said.
“Just a couple of questions. Do you know the exact date and time when grades are entered?”
“Sure. It’s a part of the permanent coding. What instructor, the date and time; along with the grade are always in the system,” he said.
“What about if they change a grade? Is that logged in too?”
“Sure. Anytime the main frame is accessed, we have a record of it.”
“So a professor can go in and change a grade at any time?�
�
“Well, from the computer’s point of view, yes. The University has policies. Say instructor X wants to raise or lower someone’s grades after they have been posted. They have a Grade Change Form that must be filled out and submitted to the department head. They sign off on it and then the grade is changed. Admissions does the actual changing usually”
“Can the instructor?”
“Good heavens no. That wouldn’t be very good would it? It is never done by the original professor. Admission must actually make the change entry. We can’t have the same person making changes without some sort of check and balance.”
“What prevents them from just making the change without going through the process?”
“Like I said, they have to have the department head's approval.”
“What if they were the department head? Who approves them?” Logan asked.
“The department chair,” he said
“And the department chair is approved by?”
“Well, I don’t really know. I guess no one would.”
“Why can’t an instructor simply bypass the paperwork and access the screen that allows grade changes? Other than the policy? I mean just physically access it?” Logan asked.
“They would have to know the screen ID number and the password. Those aren’t passed out just anyone. Only three or four people know that type of information,” he told Logan.
“Hummm,” Logan uttered.
“If you tell me exactly what it is you’re looking for, maybe I can help?”
“Alright. You have to understand that this is just routine investigative work. No one is accusing anyone of anything at this point. I’m just trying to eliminate all the possibilities.”
“Ah. The disclaimer. Okay. I understand. Now, what is it you want to know?”
“Dr. Terry Ryan. When did he initially enter Sharon Lewis’ grade?”
The computer operator’s fingers went flying over the keyboard. Logan wondered how anyone could move their fingers that quickly and still come up with the right results. A screen popped up on the monitor.
“What class?”
“Business Law.”
“Do you know the section?”
“No. Is there more than one?”
“Oh yes. Three. What was the student's name?”
“Sharon Lewis.”
The computer operator went back to work and finally pulled up the right screen.
“Okay. Let’s see. Dr. Ryan made the entry on Monday, May 24th.”
“Is that when he made the other entries?”
“No. All the rest seem to be made earlier in May. Around May 21st. Those dates are all after Finals.”
“But he made no entry for Sharon Lewis until the following week?”
“According to this screen,” the operator said.
“Can you print that out for me?”
“Ah, would you mind if I checked with Administration first. Student grades are strictly confidential. We can’t even tell the parents how the kid is doing, even if they are footing the bill,” he told Logan.
“Sure, go ahead,” Logan said taking a seat as the operator dialed the number.
After a few minutes of conversation he hung up and said, “They are going to reluctantly give it to you.”
“Thank you. I will reluctantly accept their generosity,” Logan replied.
Within a few minutes Logan was holding the printout of the grades and the entry times. It had mostly stopped raining by the time he headed back to the station. He needed to spend some time going over Dr. Terry Ryan’s file. Something didn’t smell quite right.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Dr. Elaine Pratt had been teaching Political Science at the University for the past twenty-one years. She was considered a pushover by most of the female students who took her courses, and a raging bitch by most of the males, especially the heterosexual ones. It was apparent to everyone, even the Administration, that she let her own political agenda came before equal treatment of all students.
She had organized the Gay, Lesbian, and Trans-Gender Association on campus and had headed rallies for same sex privileges on campus. Her current activities revolved around getting family medical insurance for same sex couples or ‘partners’ as she referred to them. She never passed up the chance to voice her opinion and whenever anything didn’t go her way, she was the first to cry discrimination.
Her hair was cut short and even had a part on one side. She always wore loose pants and a jacket, most of the time with a man’s tie. She intended to flaunt her sexual preference and would try to run over anyone that would not give into her whims. Political Science was taught from a decidedly biased point of view with almost everything bad that happened in the world, the result of male domination.
It made for many lively discussions and most males ended up with a C or worse with a vast majority withdrawing before the semester deadline. While the Administration wrung its hands, there was little or nothing they could, or would do, since she was in a tenured position. She would start every class at the beginning of the semester with the same speech.
“Many of you will not make it to the end of this class. That is to be expected. Those that do will find it difficult unless you understand from the very beginning that this is my class and it will be taught my way. You may not like it, if you don’t, you can either leave or shut up. I don’t care one way or the other….”
Many students had complained to the Department Chair and even to Administration but nothing was ever done about her teaching style. Since it was a freshman class, few knew about her until they ended up in the classroom and she started her annual warning.
***
She had finished for the semester and was online, making arrangements to fly to California for three weeks. She had just finished booking her flight and was checking on hotel reservations when the doorbell rang. She frowned and went to answer the door. She was dressed as usual when she was not working. Slacks, polo shirt and men’s loafers.
“What the hell are you doing here?” she asked the visitor.
“We need to talk. Things are getting worse. That detective Logan is nosing around more. He was at the geek freak hut today.”
The main frame lab was often referred to as the geek freak hut by faculty and staff alike.
“So?”
“He was checking on grade entry dates. Admin let him have a printout of the grades. They called to let me know what was going on,” he said.
“That sounds like a personal problem to me,” Pratt said, not offering to let him come in.
“May I?” he said, trying to open the door further.
“Just for a minute. I have too much to do to listen to you whine,” she said.
Her house was like the lifestyle she led. It was masculine in décor and appointments. It fitted her personality to a tee.
“What do you think I can do about it?” she asked once he was inside.
“Do you still have the wig?”
“Of course, why?”
“We need to get rid of it. Logan may well figure it out that it was me that bought the gun,” he said.
“I doubt it. I made you up myself. No one would have known it was you in drag unless they reached up under your skirt.”
“Still. I would feel better if we got rid of it. What is the point of keeping it anyway?”
“It cost a ton. It isn’t some cheap Walmart wig. This thing cost over six hundred dollars. Besides I like to wear it from time to time,” she told him.
“I’ll give you the money. I want to make sure it is destroyed.”
“I think you’re overreacting. Anyway, surely you have a story about grade entries. Something that will hold up,” she said.
“I may have goofed on that. I’ll think of something but I want to make sure everything else is covered as well,” he said.
“How in the hell would he ever know I had the wig and that you were the one wearing it? You’re borrowing trouble. Why don’t you just go on vacatio
n and forget about this. By the end of summer it will be long forgotten. Once the trail goes cold, most cases are never solved,” she told him.
“Look. I don’t want to stand here and argue. Just get the damn wig and I’ll pay you for it, okay?” he said, raising his voice.
“Men. Balls are useless on you. Women have more balls than most of you slugs,” she said, turning to go get the wig.
She walked back to her bedroom to get the wig but when she turned around, he was standing in the doorway.
“Hey. This is my house. Get your butt back in the front room. I don’t like people, especially men, traipsing through my house,” she said.
“That the wig?” he asked.
“Didn’t you hear me? Get back in the other room. What’s with the gloves,” she yelled, her eyes widening.
He rushed across the room and grabbed her by the throat, pushing her backwards. She struggled and the fell across the bed. She was stronger than he had thought but she was still not a match for him.
He placed both hands around her neck and squeezed as hard as he could. She continued to fight, hitting him in the nose and trying to get a knee in his groin but she had no leverage. She stuck her fingers in his eyes and tried to push them back in the socket and he was forced to release one hand and slug her across the jaw. She was stunned and grew less forceful.
He hit her again and her hands fell away from his face. Once more he hit her and heard a cracking sound. He had broken her jaw. She fought back feebly and finally went limp. He continued to apply pressure to her throat. It took longer than he expected before he was sure she had stopped breathing. He had effectively crushed her windpipe causing her to suffocate.
He rolled off of her and lay on the bed for several minutes panting. His hands and arms ached from applying so much pressure. His eyes burned and his left eye watered continually. She must have scraped it when she was gouging at his eyes. He checked for a pulse and found none. He went to the bathroom and looked at his face in the mirror. It was flushed and he had a scrape across the bridge of his nose.
BLONDE DECEPTION - The Logan Files Page 11