Chapter 20 #2
I struggle to keep my expression calm as the two CIB investigators watch intently, waiting for an explanation. I’m usually a master of compartmentalizing. I’ve had to become that way to get through life with this job and all that I’ve been through.
With Holly’s disappearance, I’ve been able to box up all feelings and thoughts about my night with Logan to deal with later. But it seems later is becoming now, as Mike aims to shine a spotlight on him.
“Logan Landry was given statutory release after serving time for double manslaughter. He returned home a week ago.” Stick to the facts, Emery. “One of those victims was Officer Eric Whitley, who happened to be a cousin of Holly.” Gone before she was even born.
“I remember this story now.” Schmidt scratches his chin. “Routine stop. They were moving guns and drugs. Two cops died.”
“As well as Logan’s brother Jay and Ian Murphy,” I say.
“There’s that name again.” Terry pokes his notepad with the end of his pen in thought.
“Logan was at the Bale House with his family on Friday night. He went to use the washroom and Holly followed closely after.” I provide a brief rundown of the encounter I witnessed. “Honestly, the last thing Logan wants to do is get tangled up with a fifteen-year-old girl.”
“She doesn’t look fifteen.” Terry taps a photograph her mother gave us. “And he’s a guy who’s spent how long behind bars with nothing but—” He makes a jerking-off motion. “Think your gut’s wrong on that one, McAllister.”
“Staff Sergeant,” Mike barks before I have a chance to say anything.
I have no time for pissing contests over rank. “Logan left around nine, well before his probation curfew. His cousin Jack drove him home.”
“Doesn’t mean he couldn’t break that curfew and drive back,” Terry counters. “A convict with a hard-on? Wouldn’t be the first time.”
My stomach clenches. Oh, he had one of those all right, but it wasn’t for anyone but me.
Terry jots down Logan Landry followed by an asterisk on his stupid fucking notepad.
“So, you know this Logan well, then? That’s the impression I’m getting,” Schmidt asks more cordially.
“I know his family. I live next door to them. But Logan’s been gone for twenty years.
Who he is, I don’t know anymore.” The words coming out of my mouth feel like sand on my tongue—gritty and unwelcome.
It’s a lie and a betrayal. The Logan I knew is still in there.
I just don’t know what other version of him exists now too.
“We definitely need to talk to him,” Terry declares.
I hum in agreement, even as my pulse races. I don’t care that Terry wrote witness at the top of his sheet. He’s already building his list of potential suspects, and he’s put Logan on it, which means he’s going to go digging for an alibi.
I know Logan had nothing to do with Holly’s disappearance because I was with him all night. But when Terry shows up there and starts poking around …
I swallow against my rising panic. “Of course you do, but make it clear that he’s not a suspect.”
“That’s for us to decide, Staff Sergeant McAllister.”
“Watch your fucking tone,” Mike finally snaps. He’s hungry and tired, and he’s had enough of this prick investigator who we both outrank and who clearly didn’t get moved to CIB for his winning personality or ability to work well with others.
If we weren’t in a race to find Holly, I’d try getting Terry replaced, but I don’t have time for games. “Mike, you’ve already put in a lot of extra hours. Get some rest.” The man hasn’t slept since we rallied the detachment yesterday, and he isn’t quarterbacking this case.
“Not as many as you,” Mike counters.
I know why he’s reluctant to leave. His daughter Ashley is twelve. “Go home. See your family. You’re on day shift tomorrow, and you need to be at one hundred percent.”
With a pause and then a nod, Mike abandons his chair and ducks out.
“Your guys need to go through that video again and ID everyone who left that bar between midnight and 2:30 a.m.” Terry stabs at the table surface with his index finger. “Someone in there must have seen something.”
I level the detective constable with an even stare.
Is this guy for real? “Justin’s been working since yesterday afternoon.
” I found him passed out on the staff room couch this morning when I came in, and when he heard me, he rolled off the cushions and was back at it.
“You have him on this for another hour and then he’s going home to his family.
He needs to step away, or he’s liable to miss things.
He and Nick will be back tomorrow morning to continue.
Or you can review the video yourselves.” These two have their salaries paid for by the region.
They can work around the clock as far as I’m concerned.
But I see where this is going, and I need to nip it in the bud.
“My officers cover over thirteen thousand square kilometers of ground, which includes dense forest, rivers, provincial parks, and several First Nations reservations that we support. They work hard, and they’ve all given up their weekend to pitch in for Holly.
“But Cold River is a small and understaffed detachment, with a limited budget to work with.” I’ve probably blown what little I had left for this year on overtime.
Jim will update me about that tomorrow. “You may be running this investigation, but this is my detachment, and it’s not at your disposal.
” I aim this at Terry because he’s the exact type of douchebag to try to delegate work he should be doing.
“Under no circumstances are you to pull my on-duties off the road to aid your investigation. Am I clear?”
“Understood, Staff Sergeant. You need minimum coverage at all times.” Schmidt nods. He at least has a modicum of respect.
Terry, on the other hand, offers a sloppy salute.
I check my watch. “When do you plan on stopping by the Landrys?”
“Missing girls don’t wait for turkey dinners.”
“No, they don’t.” At least he’s not lazy. “Do me a favor and scan Logan’s file before you question him. I think it’ll be educational for you, Detective.”
“Why? He’s just a witness, right?”
“Right.” One with a record that can taint even the best cop’s approach. “And send me the draft media release as soon as you have it so I can sign off. We need to get as many eyes looking for Holly as possible.” With that, I duck out of the conference room that has turned into CIB’s staging area.
And run smack into Mike.
“Why are you still here?” I groan, even though he only left minutes ago.
“Brad Whitley’s looking for you. He’s waiting out front.”
I let out a second groan, even though I’ve been anticipating this visit.
It was only a matter of time before he tried to insert himself into the investigation.
“Okay. Thanks.” I march toward the small visitor lobby that’s divided by a secure door and Plexiglas and hit the red button under the desk.
Normally that’s Grace’s job, but admin only work weekdays.
So do I … allegedly.
The buzzer sounds, unlocking the door.
“McAllister.” Brad Whitley nods. “Any news yet?”
“None to share.”
“And what do you have so far?” he presses. “What leads?”
“You know I can’t give you specifics. It’s an active investigation.” I choose my words carefully. “We had a lead, but it turned out to be nothing. The investigators are casting a wider net now.”
“Is that what this is?” He throws a hand out toward the empty station, his anger flaring. “An active investigation?”
I remind myself that, above all else, he has a family member missing, and reply calmly, “We’ve had everyone we can spare on the case. We’re working hard.”
“You’re looking into the people who were at the Bale House that night, right?”
“We’re looking for any witnesses at this point, which includes people who were at the Bale House, yes.” But I know where this is going.
“Logan Landry was there.”
People are already talking. “Yes, I’m aware that he was there with his family. I saw him. I also saw him leave early in the night.”
“Not long after Holly, from what I hear. So, where’d he go?”
“Home. But CIB will learn more when they speak to him.”
“Why haven’t they already been out there!” Brad’s voice booms.
From the corner of my eye, I catch Justin’s head pop up from his computer screen, and the meeting room door creaks open. “We’re focused on gathering critical information from the staff—”
“A week after that dangerous criminal is out and a Whitley is already missing. You’re not naive enough to believe that’s a coincidence, are you?”
“Watch yourself, Brad,” I warn, letting the sharpness slide into my voice.
But he’s not listening. “I told you he’d bring nothing but trouble to this community. Look what happened last weekend. That incident with Holly and his window—”
“Logan had nothing to do with that,” I snap. “Logan could have pressed charges for vandalism, but he declined.”
“And why is that?” Brad throws his arms out in the air, his wing span intimidating. “Maybe he had other plans for her.”
I stare at him with incredulity. “This is your fear talking.” Because it’s clearly not common sense.
A buzz sounds and the door swings open. Terry hangs halfway through, thrusting a hand out. “Hi, I’m Detective Constable Ethan Terry. I’m here investigating Holly’s disappearance. What’s this about an incident involving Holly and Logan Landry’s window?”
Before Brad has an opportunity to share his warped version, I jump in.
“My daughter and her friends were having a bonfire on my property, and they decided to trespass onto the Landrys’ property to convince Logan to come outside.
They were curious about him. Holly threw a rock at his window, breaking it.
The girls went home, and I arranged for the window to be repaired.
I witnessed it all. That’s it. That’s the end of the story. ”
“So, Logan Landry and Holly knew each other before Friday night?” Terry asks.
“No. They don’t know each other.” I’m done wasting my time here.
To Brad, I say, “We have officers canvassing and searching for any clue to Holly’s whereabouts.
Every detachment in the region received a BOLO for her, and as soon as the detective constable sends the draft media release for my approval, the public will be informed.
” I give Terry a “What are you waiting for?” glare.
As obnoxious as he is, he heeds it. “Don’t you worry, sir. I’m heading out to the Landrys shortly to get answers.”
I stifle my groan as the ass-kissing prick vanishes back behind the Plexiglas and then I return my attention to Brad. “Holly is my daughter’s best friend.” For better or worse. “I promise you, we are doing everything we can to find her.”
My words seem to deflate Brad’s bluster. He sighs heavily and then nods, and in that moment, he doesn’t look like the haughty, weight-throwing bastard anymore. All I see is an eighty-odd-year-old man who’s faced his share of heartache.
“The best place for you right now is with your family,” I say more gently. It’s where I wish I could be, at home and holding Isla tight.
But she’s not even there.
And I guess I’m going to Thanksgiving dinner after all.