The Logan Files - Pain Center: The Logan Files

by Marshall Huffman

  Kinshaw’s life was already going down the tubes even before he crossed swords with Hanson. He was in debt up to his ears. His addiction to betting was devastating his home life. He bet on ballgames of any kind and had lost thousands of dollars. Probably the only thing keeping him from having his legs broken or worse was the fact that he was a cop. All Jerome did was put the finishing touches on it. Now he was going to extract the final pound of flesh from Kinshaw.

  Kinshaw got out of the car carrying a six-pack of beer and a bag of fast-food burgers. He came in, flipped on the lights in the front room and kitchen and placed the beer in the refrigerator. He sat down at the table and rubbed his hands over his head and face. What the hell was he going to do? He needed money. Lots of it.

  Trish and the kids were gone and he couldn’t really blame her. She was right about the gambling ruining their lives but she was dead wrong about him running around on her. He explained who he thought was behind it but to no avail. He couldn’t question or threaten Hanson but he was sure he was the one. He closed his eyes and placed his forehead on the table. It felt cool. What the hell to do? He decided he would have to really seriously think about his options.

  He took a pad of paper from a drawer and rummaged around until he found a pencil. Picking up the bag of burgers and opening a beer, he went into the front room and sat down. He started making a list while downing the beer and burgers. Three beers later he had little to show for his efforts. He had a column headed OPTIONS. Under options he had listed what he thought he might do. A list of pro’s and con’s followed and a final rating. So far all he had was:

  quit the force and get another job????

  go back to school and get a degree

  sell everything left, take off, start over

  ask father for help

  just shoot myself and get it over with

  He meant the last one as a joke but he listed it nevertheless when he couldn’t think of anything else. He also knew he would never ask his father for help. The bastard had a ton of money but he sure the hell wouldn’t share any of it without a great deal of groveling.

  He got his fourth beer and swigged half of it down at once. He honestly didn’t have a clue what to do. He headed to the bedroom and stripped down. He placed his gun, wallet, badge, and keys on the dresser and went to take a shower. It was what JJ had been waiting for. He slipped out of the hall closet and went to the bedroom. He took Kinshaw’s Glock 19 out of the holster and slipped into the closet.

  Kinshaw was in the shower for a good twenty-five minutes before he returned. He had a towel wrapped around him when he came back in the bedroom. He sat down on the edge of the bed and ran his hand through his wet hair. JJ stepped out of the closet with the gun aimed at the startled detective.

  “What the hell? How did...”

  “I get in? You really aren’t very observant for a cop. I’ve been in your house three or four times getting the layout. Once while Trish was here. She sleeps in the nude, but I guess you know that,” JJ taunted.

  “You bastard, I’ll kill you for this,” Kinshaw said standing up.

  JJ laughed, “What are you going to do, flip me with your towel? You look ridicules standing there.”

  Kinshaw looked over at the dresser and realized Hanson was holding his own gun on him. He didn’t keep a round in the chamber, did Hanson know that?

  “To the front room,” JJ said, gesturing with the Glock.

  Kinshaw glared at him as he started to the front room. He tried to close the gap between them but Hanson was having none of it. He kept out of reach.

  “Sit,” JJ ordered, pointing to a recliner.

  “What the hell are you going to do? You ain’t stupid enough to shoot a cop. Your life wouldn’t be worth spit. No one shoots a cop and gets away with it,” Kinshaw said.

  JJ pressed the barrel of the gun up under Kinshaw’s chin.

  “I’m going to count to three. If you can grab the gun before I pull the trigger, I’ll let you live. If not...”

  “You aren’t going to let me live no matter what. You know I will come after you if I do stop you from killing me. You intend to shoot me. You’re just stupid enough to do it and think you can get away with it. Just like you did with your partner” Kinshaw said.

  “Well Detective Kinshaw, you’re right about me killing my partner. He was a jerk. And I did get away with it? I’m home clear on that, thanks to you. As for you, well you can try to stop me or just sit there like the loser you are and let me do it,” JJ said.

  “If I do stop you, you won’t just go ahead and shoot me?”

  “You’re a betting man. Not a good one but, yeah, you stop me before I pull this trigger and you live. After that we are even. You go your way and I go mine.”

  “Aw shit. You don’t mean that crap. You go your way and I go mine. It won’t end like that. That’s the bullshit you see in movies. We won’t be even by a long shot. No use trying to bullshit a bullshitter. Let’s just get this farce over with. I really don’t give a shit one way or the other,” Kinshaw said.

  “Works for me. One, two...”

  Kinshaw moved his hand as fast as possible to grab the Glock and knock it out of the way. It was the last thing he ever did.

  “Nice try. You really are lousy at betting,” JJ said.

  He wiped down the gun and placed Kinshaw’s hand on the Glock, pressed his fingers on the slide, handle and on the trigger before he flipped it out of his hand. It landed a few feet from where Kinshaw lay motionless. When they tested the gun and residue on Kinshaw’s hand they would find blowback from the gun. It would look like he had decided to end it all. JJ slipped his glove off. Smoke still came from the entrance wound and Kinshaw’s slack mouth. A good portion of his brain ended up on the ceiling. JJ looked at the pad of paper Kinshaw had been writing on earlier. He smiled. He decided to only add one little improvement. He laughed, looked around the room to make sure the blood splatter hadn’t been interfered with. Satisfied, he left by the same basement window, after making sure the doors were locked.

  He drove to his house in the country and immediately burned his clothes, including the shoes. He took a long hot shower, washing several times to make sure he had removed any blood or powder from the gunshot. He scrubbed his hair until his head hurt. Finally he was satisfied. He would keep an eye on Detective Sorenson for a week or two to see if he was snooping around. If he began an investigation into his former partner’s death then he would have to meet a similar fate.

  CHAPTER TEN

  When Kinshaw didn’t show up for his shift, Sorenson tried calling him at home and on his cell phone. By noon the Captain want to know where the hell he was. Sorenson drove the twelve miles to Kinshaw’s house. David’s beat-up Volvo was in the driveway. Sorenson rang the bell several times and pounded on the door. Nothing. He walked around the house trying to look in the windows but couldn’t see in any of the windows except the one in the kitchen.

  “Captain,” Sorenson said, calling in to the station.

  “Where is he?”

  “I don’t know but I have a bad feeling.”

  “What kind of bad feeling?”

  “His car is here but he doesn’t answer the door. I rang the bell and beat on both the front and back doors. Nothing stirs.”

  “Did you look in the windows?”

  “Can’t see a thing,” Sorenson said.

  “You want to break his door down?”

  “I hate to but like I said, I don’t like the way it feels,” Sorenson replied.

  “Can’t you just pick it like they do on television?”

  “Yeah, right. I guess I could try a credit card but it looks like he has a dead bolt on both doors,” Sorenson told him.

  “Break it down. I’ll authorize the replacement expense if we’re wrong,” the Captain replied.

  “You want to stay on the line while I do it?”

  “Sure, just don’t hurt yourself in the process. Now that would be embarrassing.”

  “Here g
oes,” Sorenson said.

  He reared back and gave the door a kick. The door buckled and splintered some but didn’t open. He had to kick it three more times before the door finally flew open. Sorenson slowly walked into the front room. He could see what was left of his partner slumped in his lounger. He stopped immediately; he didn’t want to contaminate the crime scene.

  “Captain, send the ME and the Crime Scene Team. It looks like he ate his gun but I want a full investigation,” Sorenson said.

  “You stay out of it. I mean it. Get your ass back here and leave this to me. I don’t want you involved in any part of this. Don’t worry, if it wasn’t a suicide we will launch a full investigation. If it was, well we will cover that as well. No one will know.”

  “Can I at least stay while the Crime Scene Team is here? I won’t interfere, I promise. I will stay totally out of the way.”

  “That’s not a good idea. I know how you feel but...”

  “No disrespect meant Captain, but you have no idea how I am feeling at the moment. Please, I just want to see that nothing is overlooked.”

  The Captain waited several seconds.

  “Don’t you get in the way. I’m serious.”

  “Thanks Captain,” he said, hanging up quickly in case he would add more. He sat on the front steps until the ME arrived followed closely by the Crime Scene Investigation Team. Myler came walking up the sidewalk with his black bag that accompanied him at every crime.

  “Hi Myler,” Sorenson said, letting out a puff of air.

  “Sorry about this. I know how hard it must be for you. I’ll make sure there isn’t a thing overlooked.”

  “I know you will. You’re the best. Thanks for coming yourself.”

  “Couldn’t have kept me away. I know how important this is,” he said, patting him on the shoulder as he walked by.

  The Crime Team was busy taping off the area. Neighbors had already begun to gather. Sorenson knew that that the media wouldn’t be far behind. Two of the crime scene team headed to the back of the house and two were going over the front yard.

  “Sorenson,” Ralph Peacock, head of the team, said.

  “Ralph.”

  “Your partner?”

  “What’s left of him,” he replied.

  “We’ll double check everything twice. This gets our in-house special,” Ralph said.

  Sorenson just nodded.

  Myler came out about forty minutes later and sat down beside Sorenson.

  “It doesn’t look good so far. It appears that he just got to the end of his rope.”

  He handed the pad of paper to Sorenson. The fifth item was circled. Sorenson looked at it for several seconds then lowered his head. It was David’s distinct writing, no doubt about it.

  “What else?”

  “Angle of entry appears consistent with a self-inflicted gunshot by a semi-automatic. CS has the gun and most of the bullet. I’m sure they will match. The gun was just recently fired. Splatter patterns look consistent. I may be able to find something else when we get back to the morgue. There is blowback from the shot on his hands. Do you know if he had been shooting recently?”

  “I don’t think so. He wasn’t much up on that. Hell, he hated to even go thought the re-qual for shooting,” Sorenson said.

  Myler raised his eyes, “Okay. Well, like I said, I’ll know more after I get him back. CS found four empty beers. It doesn’t mean anything but they will test them for DNA.”

  “Thanks Myler. Will you send me a copy of the report?”

  “You’ll be one of the first to get it. I will start on it today,” he said, getting up slowly.

  Twenty minutes later Ralph came out and said to Sorenson, “It looks like he did it himself. So far nothing is out of place. It’s his gun, we ran the numbers and the holster is on his dresser. One round is missing from the clip. Blood splatters look right. We went around the house, nothing. We also checked for prints. We have some latent prints but nothing other than his look fresh. Of course we will check them all out. We will pull a DNA on anything we find that looks promising. The boys are going to keep looking and re-check everything. We will close the place up. We aren’t going to get anything else just now. You might as well go home.”

  “Thanks Ralph. Let me know everything, good, bad, and ugly,” he said.

  “You’ll get it.”

  Sorenson walked down the sidewalk and into the crowd of waiting reporters. They yelled questions at him and he tried to ignore them.

  “Detective, was it your partner they scraped off the ceiling?”

  Sorenson stopped in his tracks. He turned to face the reporter. He just looked at him with a deep furrow on his face. Finally he took his gun out. He removed the clip and ejected the shell in the chamber. He pointed the gun at the reporter.

  “How much do you think they would scrape off the sidewalk if I was to empty this clip into you?” he said holding the clip out.

  The reporter went pale.

  “Now, how about a little respect for the dead? You think maybe you could do that?” he said.

  The reporter was still nodding when he started walking off. The crowd parted as he walked to his car. He knew he would get his ass in trouble but these smart mouth reporters think they can get away with saying whatever they please. He was sure that the little prick would complain but he was equally sure that the Captain wouldn’t take it very seriously.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Sorenson read the two reports for the third time. Both were straight forward. The ME had found no ligature marks on the victim’s wrists or ankles. He had not been bound. There were no bruises, contusions, or other marks found to indicate that he had been involved in a scuffle or altercation. His BAC was .15, almost twice the legal amount for alcohol consumption to be considered inebriated. That in itself wasn’t important because he wasn’t driving. Residue on his hand indicated that he had fired his weapon within the last twenty-four hours. Skipping through all the medical jargon, the bottom line was, it appeared to be a case of suicide. A personal note was attached to the bottom of the report.

  Sorry, I found nothing which would indicate that this was not self-inflicted. I don’t see anything to suggest foul play. I know you were partners for a long time and I am truly sorry for your loss.

  Myler

  The CSI’s report was similar. There was no forced entry and no unidentified fingerprints. His wife was in Montana at the time of death. The DNA was consistent with the family’s. The trajectory of the bullet was not unusual for a self-inflicted gunshot. The splatter patter was also consistent. The bullet had come from the victim’s gun. No footprints were found outside any of the windows that would indicate that someone had tried to enter.

  A long list of physical evidence collected was included and the results of the tests that were performed. His bank records showed that Kinshaw’s financial situation was bleak. It was apparent that something was happening to their finances that was draining their savings. It wasn’t hard to figure out what.

  Several notes in his wallet indicated that he was betting at the OTB horse track. Phone numbers were connected to three known bookies in town. They had talked to each of the bookies and a list of what he owed to each was attached.

  None wanted to see anything happen to Detective Kinshaw and all had alibis. The handwriting on the pad found at the house was the victim’s. Once again, the conclusion was the same as the ME’s, self-inflicted. Sorenson tossed the reports on the table. Detective John Logan came up the stairs and walked over to Sorenson’s desk.

  “Sorry about your partner,” he said.

  “Yeah, thanks. I really don’t understand it. Not once has he ever mentioned that he was in debt. He owed Big Al sixteen-grand. You know Al, he doesn’t mess around but he didn’t do it. He is pissed now because it is lost revenue.”

  “I was talking to Kinshaw the other day. He seemed agitated but nothing to indicate that he was under that kind of stress. Not enough to eat his gun,” Logan said.

  Sorens
on flinched at the term.

  “I knew Trish had left him but he seemed to be handling it. I should have made him do something with me this weekend,” Sorenson said.

  “Don’t go blaming yourself. Nothing you could have done would have made a difference. Once someone gets that worked up it becomes ‘when’ they are going to do it, not ‘if’,” Logan said.

  “Still.”

  “Yeah, I know, it’s the natural process. Cops always think they could have prevented something if they would have done this or that. Truth is, we are only human; we can’t change what a person is going to do. You couldn’t spend the rest of your life living for your partner. We are all responsible for ourselves, not who we live with or are close to. David made the decision, you could have done nothing to change it,” Logan said.

  “I guess I know that but it still hurts that I wasn’t there for him.”

  “You were there; he just didn’t need you for this act. This is what he wanted and you weren’t asked for your input. He was ready or he wouldn’t have been able to pull the trigger. It takes a hell of a lot of fortitude to actually pull that trigger. Once someone works himself up to that point, nothing can change the outcome,” Logan said.

  “I know,” Sorenson said.

  “Anyway, if there’s anything I can do, anything, let me know. Do you have any suspicion that this wasn’t a suicide?”

  “Nah. Everything points to that conclusion. I keep seeing the list and killing himself circled. I think he just got to a breaking point and thought that was the best way out,” Sorenson replied.

  “If anything else comes up, I’ll be glad to work with you on it. Off the clock or whenever,” Logan said.

  “Thanks. I know I can always count on you John,” Sorenson said shaking his hand.