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“How do you know, Mr. Logan?” a uniformed cop named Murphy asked Jake while a couple of young paramedics tended to Logan. Murphy had a low forehead and wide-set eyes, and spoke like he’d been dropped on his head multiple times as a child.
“We work together.”
“You a PI, too?”
“Sort of. I was learning the ropes from Jack. Don’t have a license yet.”
Murphy jotted in a notebook. Paramedics wheeled Logan out of the office on a stretcher, and Jake wondered how they would get him down those three flights of narrow stairs. A rail-thin, black detective with a shaved head and a cheap, tan suit slipped into the room. His polar opposite partner squeezed through the door, red faced with beads of sweat rolling down his jowls from the three-flight climb. The fat one was as tall as he was wide and waddled into Logan’s office. The bald one talked to Murphy, took some notes, and turned to Jake.
“I’m Detective Ogio. You know Jack Logan long, Mr. Caldwell?”
“Three years,” Jake answered. “We were supposed to meet tonight.”
“To do what?”
The detective waited with raised eyebrows for an answer. Ogio’s acorn eyes were hooded, giving him a sleepy look, but there was light there. The guy wasn’t stupid. He was suspicious of Jake, which pissed him off because he’d given them no reason to be suspicious. Plus, Jake couldn’t tell the cop the truth because it would start a whole line of questions he didn’t want to answer. He had to stonewall them.
“We were going out to dinner,” Jake lied.
“Does it matter?”
“It does if I’m asking the question.”
“I didn’t do this,” Jake said.
“I didn’t say you did. You’re a big guy, though. Six two and what…two hundred twenty pounds?”
“Six three, two thirty. Like that matters. Why would I beat the shit out of him and then call you guys?”
“Like I said, I didn’t say you did. Why are you getting defensive?”
“You think I’m being defensive?” Jake asked.
Ogio’s head ticked to the side. “A little.”
“I’m worried, that’s all. My buddy just got his ass kicked.”
“What were you guys working on?”
Jake shifted, tired of answering these banal questions.
“We were between jobs.”
“Must make it tough to learn the ropes.”
Ogio’s thin lips pressed together. “The ones Officer Murphy said you were learning from Mr. Logan.”
“A bit. We done here? I want to go to the hospital.”
“Why do you think Mr. Logan’s office was trashed?”
“Somebody was looking for something.” Jake hoped the detective caught his sarcasm. He laid it on pretty thick.
“You think? Maybe you should be a detective.”
“Maybe you should too.”
Ogio grinned. He clearly had a good nature. “He say anything to you about anyone being after him?”
“He said he did a lot of divorce cases. Maybe someone looked for photos of their cheating wife.”
“Always possible,” the detective said. He handed Jake his card—Thomas Ogio.
“Where are they taking Logan?”
“Truman Medical Center,” Ogio answered, flipping his notebook shut. “You got my number. Call me if you think of anything else. Stay reachable.”
Ogio headed toward Logan’s office to join his partner. Jake strode out the door, down the steps, and out into the early March evening. He stood on the sidewalk wondering what to do. Did Logan meet with his contact that would lead them to Voleski? Did the contact do this to him? Was this about another case? Somebody wanted something up there and it wasn’t divorce photos. What did Logan say? The less you know on this one, the better.
Jake rubbed his hand over the day’s growth on his face. The one person who could answer his questions and give him a direction to go was Logan. Jake jumped in his truck and headed toward Truman Medical Center.
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