The short walk to the Logan’s front door was a slog through quicksand—each step more difficult than the one before it. Christine answered the door and smiled at Davis as though delighted to see her. “Hello, Detective. On your own today?”
Davis attempted a smile. “In a manner of speaking. Am I interrupting anything?”
Christine invited her inside with a curled hand. “I’ve been expecting you, actually.”
Davis followed her into the living room and was taken aback by all the baby things scattered throughout the room. Blankets, clothing, a stroller, a crib, toys. “Wow.”
Christine blushed but it only made her more radiant than she already was. “I've gone a little overboard, I’m afraid.”
Davis found an empty spot on the loveseat and eased herself down. “It's kind of sweet. Babies are good omens.” She cleared her throat. “That’s what people say, anyway.”
Christine’s eyes sparkled as she looked around the room. “People are right.” She gave her attention to Davis. “But you didn't come to talk about babies, did you?”
Davis cleared her throat—shifting from human being to cop. “You're right, I didn't. I wanted to discuss my theory of your husband’s case.”
Christine’s gaze was direct—eyes open and clear. “Theory?”
“Yeah. When you don't have hard evidence, it's a theory. But I think it’s a pretty good one.” She flapped her notebook. “Do you mind?”
Christine settled onto the sofa. “Please. I'd like to hear this theory of yours.”
“Okay, here goes. We talked to a lot of people about your husband and there was one thing that everybody mentioned. That he’d complained about his sleeping pills not working.” She tapped the side of her head. “That got me thinking that maybe that fact connected to how he died. So we had a bottle of his medication tested. Now, ordinarily, we’d test a few or maybe just one. But my intuition told me that we should test every pill in the bottle. So we did.”
The gleam in Christine’s eyes dimmed. “Really?”
Davis bobbed her head. “Yup. And we discovered that a large percentage of them contained sugar.”
“Sugar?” She sounded interested but not surprised.
“Strange, right? So, we checked with his physician and he verified the prescription was for sleeping pills, not a placebo. Then we spoke with the pharmacist who filled the prescription and she insisted it’d be impossible for them to make that kind of mistake.”
Christine nodded thoughtfully—her glow fading. “I see.”
“And if it wasn’t an error with the doc or the pharmacist, obviously, a third party had to be involved.” Davis marveled at the woman’s composure. Not a tic, flinch, or twitch. “And logic led us to believe that this third party had replaced the drug with sugar.”
Christine wrinkled her smooth fair brow. “I don’t understand. Why would somebody do that?”
Davis’ lips curled in a wry grin. “To put it simply, to trick your husband. To make him believe the pills had lost their effectiveness, you see? Not uncommon with people who stay on medications for a long time. They build up a tolerance and consequently, take more to compensate. And Phillip did take more, believing they weren’t strong enough.” She pointed at Christine. “Even you told us that.”
Christine nodded. “Yes, I did tell you that.”
“He may have even wondered if his doctor was doing it on purpose. To get him to stop taking the pills?” Christine’s face was a portrait of tranquility—but vanquished of its glow. “It could be why we found a bottle of your sister’s sleeping pills at his office. Perhaps he planned to test them against his own.” Davis shrugged. “Though it doesn’t appear he had the chance to since there weren’t any missing capsules.”
Christine took a plush teddy bear from the coffee table and sat him in her lap. “Oh?”
Davis grinned and nodded. “So all this is what we call the setup. The perpetrator gets the victim thinking something that isn't true. You leave enough of the drug in the bottle so that there's some effect. See where I'm going with this?” Christine nodded. “Then after weeks, maybe even months of this routine, the victim is convinced he needs a lot more than he really does. And he's just popping them like candy.”
Christine clutched the teddy bear to the slight swell of her belly. “Phillip was like that though. Compulsive. It was all or nothing with him. I worried about addiction. That he’d end up hurting himself.”
Davis paused. Could it be that simple? She’d replaced the drug because she was afraid Logan had become addicted? Daniels’ voice whispered in her head, Do the right thing.
They shared a look—and though Davis didn’t understand how, for just a moment, they connected as if one. And for a second, she experienced Christine’s world—completely. She understood everything the woman had gone through.
Davis cleared her throat to break the connection. “Once Phillip got into the habit of taking more than he needed it would’ve been easy from there. Just a matter of deciding when to take the stored up drug and put it in something the killer knew he’d consume.” She shifted her gaze to the bar but all the bottles of booze were gone—just a crystal decanter of water and a few glasses. “Like, a private stock of liquor or a special food only he ate?”
Christine hugged the teddy bear. “Yes, that would be a very clever plan.”
Davis bobbed her head. “I thought so too. It would work like a charm. Everyone would believe he’d finally pushed his luck too far. Taken one too many pills. He’d been warned by everybody who knew him. He hadn’t listened. It was sad but predictable.”
A tiny but noticeable tick throbbed below Christine’s left eye. “But you’re sure that wasn’t the case? Because of the sugar?”
Davis clicked her tongue. “Can’t think of any other reason we’d find sugar in his medication, can you?”
Sadness crept into her eyes. “No, I can’t.”
Davis inched to the edge of her seat. “I don’t suppose you have any his prescriptions still around?” She glanced at the bar again. “Or wine or anything? That we could test?”
Christine shifted in her seat and stared at the empty hearth. “No, I threw it away. With the baby coming I didn’t think it was a good idea to keep it around.”
Davis took in the sight of all the baby stuff again and smiled. “Was your husband happy about the baby, Mrs. Logan?”
Christine slumped and her eyes glinted with tears. “No. He was furious. He said—”
Davis leaned across the coffee table and lightly touched her hand. “Maybe you didn't understand my question. What I asked was if Phillip was happy that he was going to be a father?” She nodded. “He was, right?”
Confused, Christine locked eyes with Davis. “Oh—I see what you mean, now.” She mirrored Davis’ nod. “Yes. Very happy about the baby.”
Davis pocketed her notepad. “I'll bet he swore he was going to change his ways, too. He was going to stop messing with other women. Become a new man?”
Tears rolled down her Christine’s cheeks. Tears of relief. Tears of gratitude. Davis couldn’t be sure. “Yes, he promised me things would change.”
“And these women he’d been seeing probably weren’t too keen on his breaking it off with them.”
Christine drew back in surprise. “ Other women?”
Davis stood. “No offense but if you ask me, it was your husband’s sex drive that killed him. Some women don’t like being dumped. You’d be amazed how far revenge can drive a person.”
Christine almost smiled. “Would I be?”
“Yeah, you would.” Davis jerked a thumb at the door. “According to your mother-in-law, you had a bad habit of leaving your door unlocked. Anybody who knew that could come in and do what they pleased while you were gone.” She shrugged. “For all you know, they had a key or knew the alarm code.” She clucked her tongue. “You might want to consider getting the locks changed.” She raised a hand. “And the alarm code.”
“I already have.” Christi
ne tilted her head. “But are you saying?”
Davis nodded slowly. “Yeah, you’ve got it now. My only regret is that I can't prove it. Any of it.”
Christine put a hand to her chest. “No?”
“Truth is, the whole department wants to close the case as an accident. Even the M.E. couldn’t determine that it wasn’t an accident.” Davis felt lighter—freed of a weight she hadn’t known was there. Whatever had haunted her about Phillip Logan’s death had been exorcised. Gone. Even if she’d wanted to push a murder charge, there was no way in hell she could prove it.
Daniels had told her to do the right thing. But maybe the right thing was to leave Christine Logan in peace to raise her baby. Hadn’t she been through enough hell in her life?
“Here’s a piece of trivia for you. Twenty-five percent of all the murders committed each year never get solved.”
“That’s remarkable.”
“And if your husband’s death was a murder, then I guess he’s just part of that twenty-five percent.”
Christine walked Davis to the door. She shook her hand and held onto it for a moment. “Thank you, Emily.” Her eyes glimmered with tears. “For everything.”
Davis hugged Christine in an act of sisterhood, kinship, or maybe for the sister she couldn’t save but was surely smiling down on her now. “Have a good life, Christine.” She opened the door. “You and your baby, I hope you’ll be happy now.”
As Davis went down the walk, Christine whispered, “I'll never forget what you've done for us. Never.”
Davis smiled at the lightness in her step and in her heart.
She got into the car and patted the dashboard. “Okay, let’s roll.”
Daniels stared at her then peered through the windshield.
“Waiting for something?”
He fanned his arms. “A suspect in custody?”
Davis buckled her seatbelt. “Nope, not tonight.” She cranked a hand. “Come on, man, let's hit it.”
Daniels switched on the engine but idled. Eying Christine Logan’s front door, he said, “What are you doing?”
Davis stared at the house too, believing it’d be a much happier place in the coming years. “Knowing and proving, two different things, right?” She glanced at her partner. “Isn't that what you said?”
Daniels wheeled away from the curb. “Yeah, but I’m full of shit.”
Davis clapped him on the back. “That you are, my friend. This one's just part of that twenty-five percent you're always yammering about. Can't win 'em all. Better luck next time. That's the way the ball bounces.”
Daniels increased his speed and navigated the car toward the freeway. “I don't say that shit. I don’t talk like that.”
Davis backhanded him. “Every, single, day you say that kind of shit.”
Daniels gave her a playful shove. “Oh, shut up.”
Davis buzzed down the window and the evening air felt wonderful on her face and arms. “I'm starving. Where should we go?”
Daniels chuckled. “Food? Now you’re speaking my language.” He thrummed his lips. “How about a chili dog, or ribs? Yeah, ribs sound really good.” He shook his head and raised a finger. “No, pizza. We haven't had a good pizza in a long time.”
“No such thing as good pizza in L.A.”
Daniels disagreed. “Mama Cora's. Now there’s some good pizza. And they have a volume discount too.”
Davis laughed and checked to make sure she had her acid reflux pills with her.
A Message From the Author
HELLO,
If you are a victim of domestic abuse, it is not your fault and you are not alone:
In the United States, nearly 20 people per minute are physically abused by an intimate partner. Which adds up to over 10 million women and men per year.
Most cases of domestic violence are never reported to the police.
Only 1 out of 3 people who are injured during a domestic violence incident receive medical care for their injuries.
Intimate partner violence accounts for 15% of all violent crime.
Nearly 1 in 4 women and 1 in 7 men have experienced severe physical violence by an intimate partner during their lifetime.
85% of domestic violence victims are female, and 15% are male.
In 15 states, over 40% of all homicides of women involved intimate partner violence.
Women with disabilities have a 40% greater risk of intimate partner violence than women without disabilities.
Approximately 63% of homeless women have experienced domestic violence in their adult lives.
Nearly half of all women and men in the U.S. will experience psychological aggression by an intimate partner in their lifetime.
Approximately 5 million children are exposed to domestic violence every year. These children are more likely to attempt suicide, abuse drugs and alcohol, run away from home, engage in teenage prostitution, and commit sexual assault crimes.
Nationally, 50% of batterers who abuse their intimate partners also abuse their children.
Men who are victimized are far less likely than women to report the incident to police.
These statistics may be overwhelming, but there are many organizations working to both end domestic violence and support its victims.
If you or someone you know is a victim of domestic violence, please seek help to protect yourself and your loved ones. You can call The National Domestic Violence Hotline at (800)799−7233 or visit their website to chat online 24/7.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ANITA RODGERS IS THE author of the psychological thriller, False Witness, The Scotti Fitzgerald Mystery Series and the Dead Dog Trilogy.
She’s a writer, a pet mom, a gardener, a cook, and a lover of puzzles. She lives in Southern California with her beloved terrier mix, Lily, and silly cat Bitzy. And can often be found at Starbucks contemplating the perfect crime over a cup of Sumatra.
She has a serious social media addiction, is a GIF-aholic, and loves to interact with family, friends, and fans on FACEBOOK and TWITTER.
Stay up to date on what’s happening with Anita’s current mystery books, upcoming projects, and new releases; bonus & free content; and other fun stuff by subscribing to her NEWSLETTER.
THANKS FOR READING
DID YOU ENJOY THIS story? If so, I’d be honored if you shared it your with friends and family.
A review on Amazon or GoodReads would be greatly appreciated as well.
I thank you so much for reading and supporting my work. Your support does make a difference and I read all the reviews personally so I can get your feedback to make my books even better.
BOOKS BY ANITA RODGERS
COFFEE & CRIME
Murder Ready to Eat
Death of the Family Recipe
False Witness
Let Dead Dogs Lie
Every Dog Has His Day
Dog in the Hunt
The Dead Dog Trilogy, Boxed Set
Short Stories
NICK
Escaping the Bear
In the Wrong Mind
Free Stories
Sally & Gem
Rain
A Dread So Deep Page 17
