26
LOGAN
T he two cops introduced themselves as Officers Keyes and Murphy. I’d never seen them before. They were two of several new police officers transferred to Smoky Vale to clean up the force and the streets.
“We’re going to have to take your car in for evidence,” Murphy said. He was a tall guy, late thirties and already sporting a head of curly gray hair. There was nothing old about him, though. His sharp blue eyes gave the impression he missed nothing. His partner looked just as shrewd. A man wearing his shoulder length hair loose and a police uniform shouldn’t go together. With his glasses on, he looked like somebody crossed the wires with a nerd and a sports buff.
“I understand.” My insurance was going to have a field day with this. No doubt they would drop me as a client, and I didn’t blame them. Good for them, with me being a high risk and all. If only Bloom would do what was best for him too.
“We’ll have to take you down to the station with us so we can take your statement and go over your story,” Murphy said. “Thanks for not resisting and not making things difficult for us. Just a week in Smoky Vale and I’ve already chased one too many perps.”
“Why would I run? I have nothing to hide.”
“Then you have nothing to worry about.”
The trip to the police station was filled with crackling from the police radio in the car. The mood was broken only when Officer Murphy’s phone rang. He answered hands-free. I didn’t bother to point out that what he was doing broke the law.
“Tyler, you’re on speaker—”
“West, I can’t do this!” a male voice screeched over the phone. “I know I said I could, but I can’t. This town is a shit hole. I never signed up for this when we got married.”
“Babe, I’m on duty. I’ll call you when—”
“But you never do! Your stupid job’s more important than me. Well, guess what? You’ll have to choose. Either we leave this town together, or I’m leaving you.”
“You know I’m on a contract with Keyes—”
“Fuck you. I’m not gonna wait until you’re scraping my dead body from a sidewalk somewhere to pay me attention. Why don’t you just go fuck your buddy Keyes and call it a day? If he weren’t straight, you would have picked him anyway.”
“Tyler, don’t—”
But his “don’t” didn’t sound convincing, even to my ears. The caller hung up, and the cop sighed.
“You married, Doc?” he asked me.
“No.”
“You’re a sensible man.”
“Getting married soon.”
“You have my sympathies.”
The cop was a strange one. Was he even a cop? The last person who was supposed to protect me had betrayed me to my family. But the phone call…it seemed genuine.
When we arrived at the police station, a bit of the tension eased. Smoky Vale PD was a joke in this town. It didn’t get enough funding, was always understaffed, and the cops usually had side gigs—working for criminals.
Entering the police station was like stepping into a place caught halfway between a fresh start and its long-standing reputation as a disaster zone. The walls, freshly painted in an off-white that almost looked yellow under the buzzing fluorescent lights, still bore scuffs near the baseboards. The front desk boasted a new glass partition, but the edges of the counter beneath it were chipped and marred from years of use.
Stacks of papers and folders cluttered desks in an organized chaos. Laughter and muttered conversations mingled with the clacking of keyboards and ringing of phones.
Murphy gestured for me to sit on one of the stiff metal chairs in the waiting area near the front. The seat was hard against my ass, but I settled in without complaint.
The clock on the wall ticked relentlessly. I tried not to fidget, but the urge to check my phone or tap my foot gnawed at me. A couple of cops passed, giving me curious glances, but no one stopped to talk. A young officer—he barely looked out of high school—muttered an apology as he bumped into a filing cabinet, sending a stack of folders tumbling to the floor. Another officer—a woman with blond hair tied back into a tight bun that pulled at her facial muscles—swooped in to help him.
I watched it all, trying to piece together whether this disorganized hustle was a symptom of the department’s infamous history or the growing pains of real change. A change would be good for Smoky Vale. Though notorious for its gangs, the town held a certain charm.
Eventually, Murphy reappeared, followed by Keyes. They led me through a labyrinth of hallways until we reached an interrogation room. It was a stark, utilitarian space—a metal table with matching chairs, a recording device on the table, and a mirror I didn’t doubt was one-way glass.
“Sit,” Murphy said, his tone neutral but firm. It was hard to take him seriously after overhearing his personal phone call and having him extend empathy about my upcoming nuptials.
I complied, folding my hands on the table. Keyes stayed standing near the door, leaning casually against the frame as if he were just here to observe.
Hmm, so he was the straight partner. Was there truth to what Murphy’s husband had said about Murphy liking him, and did Keyes know?
I shook my head. Not the time to be worrying about a stranger’s life when mine was in shambles.
Murphy dropped into the chair across from me, his expression unreadable. He flipped open a notebook and clicked his pen, the sound unnervingly loud in the otherwise silent room.
“Let’s start with your name,” he said.
“Which one?” I asked. Everyone was finding out the truth. If there was even a shed of hope that these cops meant business, they might be on our side.
“Excuse me?”
“I asked you which name? Here, I go by Logan Collier.”
The cops shared a glance that ended with Keyes shrugging.
“Just for fun, why don’t you give us all the other names you’ve used?”
“Let’s see.” I folded my arms and rocked back in the chair. “Before I was Logan, I was Christian Mulberry. Just before that John Stone.”
“Any other?”
“Yes, Keegan Agosti.”
Murphy snapped his head up, holding his pen in midair. “Agosti. As in related to Marcello Agosti?”
“Yes. He’s my father.”
Keyes let out a low whistle but didn’t say anything.
“Well, this makes things more complicated,” Murphy said.
“You’re familiar with my history, then?”
“Any cop who’s serious about his job knows about the Agosti Anathema. Keegan Agosti, once the favorite and most promising son of the capo dei capi, becoming a pariah after he supplied evidence of his father’s dealings in exchange for protection. “
“That about sums it up.”
“Your cover’s blown, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“Since the incident at the hospital, I presume.”
“Tell us what happened today.”
I recapped my encounter with the two shooters, omitting Bloom’s presence from my narration.
“I can confirm I found the weapon in the car,” Keyes said.
“It’s registered,” I said.
“That’s good to know. Were you alone?”
I looked him dead in the eye. “Yes.”
“We found blond hair in the car. Your fiancé’s a natural blond, isn’t he? I saw his roots were showing when we picked you up.”
I shrugged. “He does. But he travels with me all the time. Of course you’ll find evidence of him being in the car.”
“And you’re sure you want to stick to the story that you were alone?”
I placed my arms on the table and leaned in. “Yes. Next question?”
Murphy nodded at Keyes, who dropped a folder on the table. He flipped it open, showing the body of a man lying on a metal table in the morgue.
“Before we picked you up, we retrieved this body from an alley, a hundred yards from where the shooting took place this morning. Is this the guy you shot?”
“I don’t know. They were both wearing masks, but he has the build.”
“Thanks for that. We’re still trying to confirm his identity. You don’t recognize him as someone working for your father?”
I shook my head.
“Who do you think they work for? Did you piss anyone off recently?”
I shrugged. “My family is always a strong possibility, but I wasn’t the most well-liked doctor at the hospital. Then after the incident, it could be any of the gang members remaining.”
“All right, we’ll verify the deceased’s identity and see if that can give us a clue. Is there anything else you would like to share with us, Dr. Collier? Or do you prefer to go by Agosti?”
“I haven’t been an Agosti in over a decade. I prefer to go by Logan Collier. And no, I can’t think of anything else besides my father requesting I see him in person.”
Murphy frowned. “Interesting. If he wants you to visit him in prison, why would he attempt to kill you?”
Exactly what Joel had said, but I couldn’t imagine a world in which my father didn’t want to kill me.
“I wish I had all the answers. Is that all?”
“Not quite.” Murphy flipped another page to a picture of the bloody body of a man horrifically stabbed to death. A tremor ran up my spine.
“Jesus.”
“Do you recognize this man?”
I averted my eyes as bile filled my throat. “No, I don’t.”
“The image is quite gruesome, but I need you to look again, Dr. Collier. Are you sure you don’t recognize him?”
Taking a deep breath, I steeled myself and leaned in to scrutinize the photograph. There were so many open wounds. So much blood around the body on the floor. His intestines were spilling out from his stomach, his eye socket devoid of its organ, and the savagery of his slashed throat was so grotesque I had to fight back the urge to throw up.
I sucked in a deep breath. The clothes. Oh my god. He was wearing the same clothes when I’d last met him at the Inconnu. I swallowed hard, my throat tight and dry. As if on its own accord, my hand reached out to slowly trace the edge of the photograph. Sweat pooled at the base of my neck as realization sunk like a cold stone into my chest.
Bloom did this?
That night he’d had so much pent-up anger when he attacked Joel. He’d even stabbed me, and he’d confirmed he’d killed the marshal. I’d just never expected anything this gruesome, like a bloodthirsty killer who’d been biding his time for the right person to cross him.
“Dr. Collier?” Murphy’s voice interrupted my spiraling thoughts.
“That’s… that’s Marshal Livingston,” I finally managed to say, barely above a whisper. “He was working on relocating me in WITSEC.”
“He was found stabbed to death in his motel room last night. I can see his death has come as a shock for you.” Not his death but the way he’d been mutilated, yes. “The US Marshals are sending someone to work with us to investigate the case. They’ll want to speak to you, so don’t plan any trips in the near future.”
“Understood.”
“Dr. Collier, we’re understaffed at the moment, so we can’t assign you protection. Do you have anywhere safe to stay?”
“Yes, I do. I’ll be staying with friends.”
“With the bikers?” From his frown, he disapproved.
“Yes. My fiancé is one of them.”
“I’m going to be blunt with you, Dr. Collier. You hanging around those bikers won’t do you any good. We’ve been tasked specifically with turning this town around, and we have every intention of doing so. If your bikers are taking the law into their own hands, it’s going to be a big problem.”
“Believe me, there’s no one else who would rather see this town cleaned up than me. I’ve enjoyed working here. But you’re making a big mistake by automatically seeing these bikers as your enemies. They’ve policed this town while the cops here have collected salaries and done nothing about the murders, the rapes, and the burglaries. If you want to make this town better, I’d consider working alongside these bikers who know the town inside out. Get to know them, and you’ll see.”
Just as I’d gotten to know them—still was. They were definitely not saints. Exhibit B, the photo of the marshal’s dead body. But the people they hurt usually deserved it.
“Hmm, you may be on to something there, Dr. Collier. I’ll talk to my partner and superiors about it.”
“Am I free to go, then?”
“Yes, for now. Officer Keyes will give you a ride to your destination. We know the PD here in Smoky Vale has not always done the best work, but you can trust that my team and I will be working hard to turn this around and to become an institution the people have faith in.”