Day of the Dead

by Brenda Donelan

  Dr. Stella DeVry was now standing and hopping from one foot to the other. “What made you conclude it was suicide? Was there a note?” she asked.

  “No, there wasn’t an actual note,” the chief said, not meeting Stella’s gaze. “There were no fingerprints on the gun, but we did find blowback on the gun.”

  Stella turned to her class and said, “We just studied blowback last week. Does someone want to summarize it for us?”

  The female in the blue parka raised her hand and began speaking as soon as Stella nodded in her direction. “Blowback is blood, hair or tissue that literally blows back on the person who is firing a weapon. The force of the bullet entering the body causes skin and blood to displace onto the firearm itself, or onto the shooter.”

  Chief Langdon nodded and said, “That’s correct. We found all three of those things–hair, blood and tissue–on the gun in the dumpster. All belonged to one person: Logan LeCroix.”

  “Well, if he used the gun to kill himself, why weren’t his fingerprints on the weapon?” Marlee asked from the back of the room.

  “The weapon was not wiped clean of finger prints. There had been prints on the firearm, but they were smudged. The forensics lab could not get any clear prints, even partials, from the gun,” said Chief Langdon, clearly not pleased to see her in the room and actively participating in the discussion. “Because of TV, everyone thinks all fingerprints are clear and easily obtained from any surface that we touch. Nothing could be further from the truth. Our findings indicate that Dr. LeCroix most likely handled the gun and his finger prints were smudged during the shooting and subsequent disposal in the trash dumpster.”

  Marlee was seething inside. The chief’s condescending answer insinuated that she knew no more about fingerprints than the average person who watched crime shows for entertainment. The two of them served on a committee together in the community and he well knew of her current and past work experience. She didn’t like being talked down to, but there was really no benefit to putting him in his place, other than restoring her ego. Marlee chose to let the comment slide, for the time being. Still, she could not completely resist poking the bear. “Chief, one thing I noticed about the crime scene that day was that the area grew larger over time. When I first arrived on campus that morning around seven o’clock, the crime scene tape covered a specific area. When I left campus that afternoon, the crime scene tape included a much larger area. Can you tell us about that?”

  Frowning as he looked at Marlee, he said, “The first responders were patrol officers. They roped off the scene immediately after checking to see if Dr. LeCroix was still alive. When detectives arrived a short time later, they determined the crime scene should be expanded. They based that decision on their investigation.”

  “Did they find something that made it necessary to enlarge the crime scene?” Marlee asked, not willing to let this line of questioning drop. One of the first rules in securing a crime scene was to start with a larger area than needed and then reduce it as the investigation progressed. This procedure reduced contamination of the scene.

  “I’m not getting into the specifics of the investigation,” Chief Langdon stated.

  “The reason I was wondering is that a fair amount of contamination of the scene could have occurred between the time the initial scene was roped off and when it was later expanded. There were people all over, walking across the area. Footprints, garbage or anything else that was found could have been left after Logan died,” said Marlee. She knew she was being a jerk, but loved rubbing the chief’s nose in it, especially after his condescending comments to her.

  “Look, we could play coulda-shoulda-woulda all day, and it won’t change a thing!” the chief barked. “Next question.”

  Stella asked, “If Dr. LeCroix did shoot himself, then why wasn’t there a blood trail between the dumpster, where you think he shot himself, and where his body was found? Wouldn’t lack of a blood trail indicate that he didn’t move after he was shot?”

  Chief Langdon shook his head from side to side. “Not at all. Dr. LeCroix shot himself at the dumpster, threw the gun inside and then took steps until he collapsed and died. The bleeding that occurred would have been light or non-existent in those first few moments. Someone who is shot doesn’t automatically drop several pints of blood. It takes time for someone to bleed out.”

  “Why would he shoot himself outside the building where he worked? Why not his office, or apartment or car?” Marlee couldn’t make any sense of Chief Langdon’s conclusions. The chief merely raised his eyebrows and shrugged.

  “Did you find blowback on Dr. LeCroix’s body?” asked blue parka girl.

  “We did. Tissue, blood and hair all belonging to Dr. LeCroix were found on his hand,” answered Chief Langdon.

  “Which hand?” asked Marlee. Logan was right handed, and the bullet wound was in the left side of his neck.

  “I believe it was the right hand,” replied the Chief of Police.

  “Doesn’t it seem strange that someone would commit suicide by shooting themselves in the opposite side from their dominant hand?” Marlee pressed on.

  “Stranger things have happened,” said Chief Langdon, brushing off her question and pointing to a male student in the middle wearing an MSU sweatshirt and grey sweatpants.

  “Couldn’t Dr. LeCroix have blowback on his hand because he was fighting with the person who shot him?” asked the male student.

  “Possible, but not probable,” stated the chief. His answers were getting more and more abrupt. “We found no evidence to suggest someone else fired the weapon.”

  “When you searched his office and apartment, did you find clues suggesting he was going to kill himself?” asked Marlee.

  As the chief looked toward the floor, searching for answers, Marlee knew she had hit upon something with her question. “No, we didn’t find any actual physical evidence,” said the chief, still avoiding the eyes of his audience.

  Marlee’s bullshit detector was bleeping like a fire alarm. She could feel that, although the chief may have told the truth when answering her latest question, it was not the whole truth. “What about his office and home computers? Did you find anything on either of them?” Marlee persisted.

  Chief Langdon stared straight at Marlee, his mustache twitching at the left corner. “I wasn’t going to say anything about it, but I guess I will since you asked me directly. Our computer technicians found a short story on Dr. LeCroix’s computer which details the death of a college professor in a manner very similar to how he actually died.”

  A hush fell across the room as everyone attempted to make sense of the information just revealed to them. The girl with the blue parka was the first to speak. “Was it on his home or office computer?” she asked.

  “At this point, I’d rather not give out any details. What I will say is that we believe the short story was written by Dr. LeCroix himself. Although a suicide note was not found, this short story is very similar to Dr. LeCroix’s life and how he died. We think it was autobiographical, and in a way, it was his suicide note,” said Chief Langdon. “Other than that, I really can’t give out much more detail on the story or the investigation. If you’ll all excuse me, I have an appointment back at the station in ten minutes.”

  The chief stood and started walking toward the door. Stella DeVry jumped from her chair and quickly gained enough composure to thank Chief Langdon for his time as he marched through the door. A faint sound of half-hearted clapping came from the classroom as he made his way down the hall.

  Stella leaned against the classroom wall, partially covering the periodic table while the students sat with their mouths agape. The girl in the blue parka turned toward the male student in the MSU sweatshirt. “What the hell was that?” she asked.

  It’s more of Chief Langdon’s half-truths. That’s what it is, Marlee thought.

  When the right questions are asked, those with something to hide become nervous. As they should…

  Chapter 23

&n
bsp; Marlee would have loved to hear Stella DeVry and the students process the information Chief Langdon had just delivered, but she needed to rush to the Elmwood Police Department to sit in on Joe Tisdale’s meeting with the chief. She ran from the room and hurried to the parking lot to find a folded piece of paper under the driver’s side windshield wiper of her CRV. She assumed it was from a campus group advertising their upcoming event, or a local pizza establishment providing coupons for special deals. Marlee was in a hurry, so she grabbed the folded paper and threw it on the passenger seat. She sped to the police department, hoping to have a minute or two to chat with Joe before their meeting with the chief.

  Joe stepped out of his dark blue rental car just as Marlee screeched into the police department parking lot and parked her vehicle. “It should only be another day or two, and then they’ll release Logan’s car to me, and I can drive it home,” he said, motioning to his rental.

  Marlee nodded and quickly changed the subject. “Joe, did the police say anything to you about a story on Logan’s computer that they think he wrote?”

  “No, I don’t recall anything being said about that,” he said. “Why?”

  “Chief Langdon just spoke in Dr. DeVry’s Criminalistics class and said that, during the investigation, they found a short story they believe was written by Logan. It was about a college professor who kills himself on a college campus, and many of the details apparently mirror Logan’s actual death. They are considering it a suicide note, of sorts,” Marlee said, words spilling over each other as she rushed to get them out.

  “Nobody said anything about that to me!” said Joe. “Why would they think that was a suicide note? Logan wrote a lot of short stories about a variety of things. It was his hobby.”

  “You have to admit, it does seem strange that he died in a way very similar to his short story. That seems really odd,” admitted Marlee.

  “Now you think that it’s suicide because of some story Logan wrote?” asked Joe, taking a step away from Marlee.

  “No, I don’t, Joe. But I do think it’s odd that Logan died in much the same way the story played out,” said Marlee.

  “Did the chief show you a copy of the story or let you read it?” Joe inquired.

  “No, he didn’t. And he didn’t provide a whole lot of detail other than to say it was remarkably similar to Logan’s real death,” Marlee stated.

  “If you don’t know what the story actually revealed, then we don’t know for sure if the chief even interpreted it correctly,” Joe stated in a matter of fact tone.

  “You’re absolutely right, Joe! I hadn’t thought of that. In fact, it may not even exist at all,” Marlee said.

  “I’m going to ask to see it today during our meeting,” said Joe. “He’ll have to let me see it.”

  Marlee nodded in agreement as the two made their way inside the police station. They approached the security window, and Lois looked at them with a blank stare. After indicating they were there for a meeting with the chief, Lois asked, “And you are?”

  Marlee resisted the urge to give Lois a fake name. She recalled Bettina Crawford’s assertion that Lois preferred to maintain a certain distance from everyone so they would not ask her for favors. It made complete sense, but it was still annoying.

  After giving their real names, Lois motioned them into the chief’s office to wait for him. “Chief Langdon called me a minute ago and said he was running a few minutes late and you were to wait in his office. He’ll be here shortly,” Lois said, turning on her heel and going back to her duty station to pretend she didn’t recognize people she had known for years.

  The chief’s office looked much as she suspected it would. There was a Terry Redlin print of a pheasant in a field hanging on the east wall and a book case with a few books and procedural manuals against the west wall. Most of the bookcase was not filled with books, but rather trophies and awards. A double-sized window with partially closed tan blinds lined the south wall and the chief’s desk faced the window. Three padded brown chairs were pulled in front of the chief’s desk. It was a typical authoritarian room arrangement for a meeting. There was no question who would be doing the asking, and who would be doing the telling.

  As they waited, Marlee’s nerves got the better of her. She stood and paced around the room, stopping in front of the trophies and awards. She noted that most of them had nothing to do with police work past or present, but were for bowling, baseball and community service. Marlee also found it curious that none of them were from Elmwood, South Dakota. They were all from Butte, Montana, which Marlee had heard was the place where Langdon was employed prior to being hired in their community. She recalled hearing that Chief Langdon was a police chief before coming to Elmwood. Why would someone scrap their career as chief of police in one area to take the same job in another? wondered Marlee. The only reasons Marlee could think of were that he or his wife had ties to South Dakota, or they found Elmwood a better location to live and work than Butte, Montana. Marlee did not recall hearing anything about family living in South Dakota, and she made a mental note to ask around about it. She considered the possibility that Elmwood paid their chief of police more than did Butte, but she soon rejected that notion since South Dakota was usually toward the bottom in wages at the federal, state, city and county levels. The last explanation for the chief and his family to move to Elmwood was that he had gotten into some type of hot water at his old job and either chose to leave, or was forced out. This explanation definitely needed some further investigation too.

  “Mr. Tisdale, sorry to keep you waiting, I was…” Chief Langdon entered the room and paused in his movement and conversation as he caught sight of Marlee. “What are you doing here?” he asked, glaring at her.

  “Joe asked me to accompany him here today,” said Marlee, trying to suppress an arrogant smile. It made her day anytime she could get the best of Chief Langdon.

  Langdon paused, trying to think of a way to exclude her from the meeting. Failing to think of any excuse other than his dislike of her, he motioned for both Joe and Marlee to sit. Joe sat in the padded chair to the chief’s left, while Marlee occupied the center padded chair. She pulled it up a bit closer to the chief’s desk, not only to better observe him but also to put him even more out of his comfort zone. Her knees were now touching the front of his desk, and she rested her right elbow atop the desk. The chief compensated by sitting in his swivel chair behind the desk and pushing the chair back several inches toward the wall. By widening the gap between himself and the pair, he attempted to gain the upper hand in the conversation. Noticing Marlee’s actions, Joe also pulled up his chair and placed his folded hands on the chief’s desk.

  “So, what can I do for you today?” asked Chief Langdon, looking only at Joe.

  “I have a number of things I’d like to discuss today,” said Joe, with an air of confidence she had not seen in him thus far. “First, I’d like to know what made you rule Logan’s death a suicide. And why was I not notified prior to you making a public statement about it?”

  Bill Langdon cleared his throat and blinked a few times before answering Joe’s questions. He reiterated the same reasoning behind the finding of suicide that he had discussed in Stella DeVry’s Criminalistics class less than an hour ago. “It was an oversight on our part that you were not contacted prior to the meeting on campus. I asked my captain in the Detective Division to inform you of the finding, but he did not follow through. I apologize. Rest assured, I will be speaking to him about this.”

  Way to pass the buck, thought Marlee. She felt one hundred percent sure that no conversation of this type had ever occurred between any police captain and the chief, and that he was simply using this fabrication as a way of dodging responsibility for shoddy treatment of the victim’s family. In the event Chief Langdon had actually asked his captain to contact Joe, it was still a poor way to handle the matter. A finding of suicide should be provided to the family by the chief, not through one of his subordinates.

  “Aren
’t you required to notify the next of kin of the findings before you make a public announcement?” asked Marlee, no longer caring if she upset the chief. The gloves were off, and she intended to get some answers from this jackass.

  “Technically, Mr. Tisdale is not next of kin. He was Dr. LeCroix’s same-sex partner and that holds no legal status,” said Chief Langdon. “I personally informed Dr. LeCroix’s sister over the telephone the morning before the announcement. Mr. Tisdale was being notified as a courtesy.”

  Joe leaned back in his chair as if he had been slapped. “Well, why did you tell me I could take Logan’s car home if I’m not his next of kin?”

  “Because you are listed as Dr. LeCroix’s beneficiary of all his money, possessions and life insurance benefits in the event of his death. He could choose to leave his belongings to anyone, and we would be obliged to release those items when they are no longer pertinent to the case. Plus, your name is on the car title, so you are a co-owner.” Chief Langdon replied in monotone voice.

  “We’ve been together for over twenty years! How can you say I’m not the next of kin? Logan and his sister have been estranged for years!” Joe shouted.

  “Calm down, Mr. Tisdale. Surely you are aware that domestic partners have no legal status as next of kin,” said the chief.

  “Yes, Chief, as a gay man I am fully aware of the limitations that exist with domestic partnerships,” Joe said bitterly. He had experienced discrimination at all levels since coming out in his early twenties. Joe and Logan took as many steps as they could to ensure their rights as a couple. Both had made the other one the beneficiary in their respective wills. Over the years, however, they had faced numerous restrictions. One that had occurred just a few years prior involved Logan and Joe being turned down for a family membership at their local YMCA, even though other unmarried couples received that discount. The difference was that the unmarried couples who received the benefit were of the opposite sex. Joe and Logan challenged the decision of the YMCA board; they refused to offer family memberships to any same-sex couples. When asked for justification on their decision, the board stated that if gay domestic partners were allowed family membership discounts, then roommates would expect them too. The board also reminded Joe and Logan that the C in YMCA stood for Christian and homosexuality might make some families uncomfortable, although they were allowed to join the gym and exercise there as long as they did not promote gay values.