After inhaling all but one piece of the extra-large pizza, Marlee flopped backwards on the loveseat while Diane stretched out on the couch. “Oooof, I feel sick,” said Diane.
“There is a bottle of Tums in the bathroom,” said Marlee. “I think I might explode from the sheer volume of food. Why do we do this to ourselves?”
Diane shrugged, rubbing her stomach. They continued to lament their overeating until the six o’clock news came on. Perhaps there would be new developments in the investigation. Right off the bat, the Logan LeCroix death was recapped without any new information; however, there was a teaser for the ten o’clock edition in which an “MSU professor gives inside details on Logan LeCroix and his death.” The image flicked to a scene of Asshat talking into a camera.
“Oh, good God!” shrieked Marlee. “I forgot about his interview. Like he has any information to add. He just loves being in front of a camera.”
Diane nodded. Asshat was indeed a person with little-man syndrome. Because he wasn’t much bigger than dwarf-size, he tried to make himself feel bigger by seeking out attention. Even though Marlee and Diane were thoroughly disgusted with Asshat’s pathetic grab at the limelight, they both knew they would watch the ten o’clock broadcast. Not that they expected any insight to come from him, but at least they could use his interview as fodder for critiquing him. Plus, it would make for good gossip on campus the next day.
Marlee dozed on the loveseat while Diane read a novel. The television remained on, although the programming that night failed to hold their attention. When the late evening news began, both professors were sitting upright and paying full attention to the broadcast. Asshat made a series of comments that really said nothing. He talked about Logan’s death being a tragedy, the matter being investigated by local police and MSU and Elmwood being safe. Asshat reiterated Logan’s brief biography, which everyone following the case knew by now. He concluded that Logan seemed like a nice guy and added that he would be missed.
“Well, thank you Captain Obvious!” yelled Marlee as she grabbed the remote control and snapped off the television. “I hate it when people talk but say nothing.”
“Me too,” said Diane. “I’d be embarrassed to go on TV and basically report what everyone already knows.”
“I know. I would too. At least he didn’t offer up any ideas that were purely conjecture on his part,” said Marlee. “He didn’t help anything by giving the interview, but at least he didn’t put out any false information or start more rumors.”
“I wonder what Dean Green will have to say after he sees this?” asked Diane.
“I don’t know,” laughed Marlee. “He gave the interview before the Dean held the meeting directing us not to talk to the media, so I suppose Asshat can use that as a justification if he gets called on the carpet.”
“Can the dean even legally and ethically tell us not to talk to the media?” asked Diane. “It doesn’t seem right.”
“I don’t know about the legality of it, but as dean, he can sure make our lives difficult if we cross him. We don’t have tenure, and we need his positive recommendation before we can even think of applying for it. Without tenure, we’re out of jobs here at MSU. So, yeah, the dean has the power to tell us what to and what not to do,” said Marlee.
“Asshat has tenure and has been promoted to full professor, so there’s not much Dean Green can do to him,” commented Diane.
“You’re right. Probably the worst the dean can do to Asshat is deny his application for travel out of state for conferences or deny his bid for sabbatical. Or, he could put him on a committee that no one wants to be on and that has very little power or status. The dean still has a lot of power, but his hold over the tenured faculty is a lot less than his grip on us newbies.”
Diane grabbed the remote and turned the television back on. Pulling up a blanket, she settled back in on the couch to watch Letterman until she fell asleep. Marlee wasn’t really all that tired but didn’t feel like watching TV. She went to her room and resumed reading a book of short stories she had started the previous week. Short stories were perfect reading for mid-semester because she only had to commit to a few pages. If she didn’t pick up the book again for another week, she hadn’t lost her place. You began a new story with new characters, and all was right with the world. Marlee tended to be a binge reader. If she started a novel, she would do her damnedest to finish it. She was compulsive about finishing the story, even if it kept her up until 3:00 a.m. After doing this a few times last year, Marlee decided that she couldn’t effectively teach the next day if she had only had three or four hours of rest. She self-imposed the restriction of no novels during the semester. During summer vacations, holiday breaks and the first month of each semester, when grading and class prep were at a minimum, Marlee read as many novels as she could get her hands on. Her personal record was forty books of fiction during one summer.
After page three, Marlee realized that she had no idea what the short story was even about. She couldn’t concentrate on the ins and outs of someone else’s life when she had so much going on in her own at the moment. Picking up a notebook and pen from her nightstand, Marlee began jotting down the facts about the case. On the second page, she made a list of the motives for Logan’s death and the people who could possibly have killed him. Beginning on the third page, Marlee listed information she wanted to find out about Logan’s death, other than answering the obvious questions of what had happened and why.
She put together a plan for the following day. Instead of just aimlessly wandering around and inserting herself into ongoing conversations, hoping to overhear some details from the secretary, Marlee would instead try to systematically gather information through people who might actually have some helpful knowledge on the matter. Given that she was untenured and that the dean had given a specific directive for all MSU employees to stay out of the investigation, it was risky for her to engage in her own investigation. Still, Marlee couldn’t let it rest. She knew there was much more to the story than was being revealed by the PD and by MSU. She also knew that the police department didn’t have a stellar record in solving what few murders had occurred in Elmwood in the past ten years. There was no way she was going to let an ineffective investigation, or a university trying to hold onto its reputation, undermine justice for Logan. Conducting her own investigation would be risky, very risky. She would have to keep a low profile.
Pieces of the puzzle start falling into place. One by one they begin to fit together. My life and my death were being picked over with a fine-tooth comb. No one wants all of their personal information on display for the world to view.
No one.
Chapter 10
Marlee’s first order of business after waking was to check the newspaper. Maybe something developed overnight or had been uncovered by an industrious reporter. Scanning the pages of the Elmwood Examiner, it was clear to her that nothing new was being reported on Logan’s death. There were short quotes from both Celeste and Asshat, but neither offered anything newsworthy. After making coffee, Marlee showered and quickly got dressed. It was a little before 7:00 a.m., and Diane was snoring softly on the couch. She didn’t have classes or office hours today, so she was free to sleep in. Marlee was a bit envious until she remembered all of the people she wanted to talk to today. First up on her list was Alice Olson, since Alice went to view Logan’s body at the funeral home yesterday. Marlee also wanted to talk to Donnie Stacks from her Policing class to find out firsthand the information she told Jasper Evans and Dom Schmidt. Finally, she hoped to get some information directly from an officer at the Elmwood Police Department. She had contacts in the department and needed to see what she could garner from the law enforcement angle.
Before leaving the house, Marlee jotted a quick note to Diane and taped it to the counter near the coffee pot. In a nutshell, she told Diane she was going to do some digging on her own on the case and that she would be home around five o’clock that evening. Marlee filled her travel mug with coffee
and grabbed two protein bars, one for breakfast and one for lunch, as she hurried out the door. She had a bit of time after arriving on campus before Alice would be at work at 8:00 a.m. Marlee used the time to go over her notes for classes that morning and to consult her day planner about upcoming tests and quizzes. She also made a quick trip to Louise’s office to retrieve her mail. Louise’s door was locked, and the lights were off. Neither she nor the dean was in yet. Marlee walked to her mail box and grabbed the two fliers inside. One was from an academic publishing house and advertised new Criminology books that would be on the market later this year. The other was an intra-campus notification of an upcoming debate between the presidents of the campus Democrats and Republicans. It was open to anyone on campus, and everyone was encouraged to attend. Marlee threw both fliers in the recycling bin near Louise’s chair. She had no interest in the debate and had already decided on her new textbooks for next semester.
By this time it was eight fifteen. Marlee hoped that she had allowed enough time for Alice to arrive in her office and get settled in a bit. Ideally, Alice would be alone in her office, and the two could chat without interruption, but Marlee knew that would be a longshot. Arriving in Alice’s office a few minutes later, Marlee saw Alice sitting at her desk staring at her computer. She still wore her tan coat and had her purse over her arm. The computer was turned off. Judging by Alice’s appearance, Marlee figured she hadn’t been sleeping well. Her eyes were still bloodshot, and huge dark circles encased them. Alice’s skin had a yellow cast to it, which may have partly been due to the harsh overhead lighting. Most likely, Logan’s death was taking a toll on Alice more so than most people on campus since she knew him the best.
“Good morning, Alice,” Marlee said, entering the secretary’s small, cramped office.
“Oh, hi,” said Alice, still looking confused and out of sorts.
“How are you doing?” asked Marlee. She was genuinely concerned about Alice. She looked worse every time Marlee saw her this week.
“I just can’t get it out of my mind. Who would do this to Logan? Why?” Alice was still asking the hard questions that no one seemed to be able to answer at this point. She stood up, placing her coat on a hook behind the door and her purse in her desk drawer. She flicked the computer on and sat back down. She was operating on auto pilot, and Marlee suspected she had no recollection of just tending to her coat and purse.
“I don’t know, Alice. Maybe the cops will release more information today,” Marlee said, even though she held out little hope. “Did you go to the funeral home yesterday afternoon to see Logan?”
Alice nodded, tears welling up in her eyes. “They had him lying on a table, and he was covered up with a blanket. He looked like he was asleep.”
Marlee didn’t know how to approach the next questions without being overly graphic. Alice was clearly upset, and she didn’t want to add to her trauma. “Did he look pretty bad because of the… gunshot?”
“He wasn’t bloody or anything. I suppose they cleaned him up at the funeral home. I just saw a small hole on the side of his neck,” recalled Alice, still teary eyed but not weeping.
“That had to be so hard for you. I know how much Logan meant to you, Alice.”
She nodded, the tears now freely flowing down her cheeks. She removed her glasses and wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt. Then came the sobs. Marlee wasn’t comfortable with such displays of emotion and was even less equipped to deal with comforting someone in emotional distress. Nonetheless, she crossed over to Alice’s chair, leaned in and gave her a small hug.
Alice smiled through her tears and wiped her eyes again. “It was so hard, but I felt like I had to see him one last time. He needed a friend.”
Marlee felt guilty, not only because she hadn’t gone to the funeral home to support Alice, but also because she hadn’t been there to see Logan one last time. She reminded herself that people can only do what they are equipped to do, but this still didn’t assuage her guilt.
“Did the people at the funeral home have any information about Logan or his next of kin?” asked Marlee.
“They said Joe Tisdale authorized Logan’s body to be cared for by their funeral home. He’s going to be cremated, and Joe will take the ashes with him back to California,” said Alice.
“Who’s that?” asked Marlee. Finally, some new information!
“It’s Logan’s partner from California. He’s on his way here. The cops just located him yesterday. At least that’s what the lady from the funeral home told me,” reported Alice.
“I wonder why this wasn’t in the paper this morning,” mused Marlee. “Maybe the police are keeping it quiet for some reason. I wonder if Dean Green knew yesterday when we had our meeting.” Every new bit of information provided more questions about Logan’s death instead of answers.
Alice glanced at the clock on the wall above her desk. “I have a meeting with the dean and the other secretaries at eight thirty, so I have to leave in a minute.”
“Sure, thanks for letting me know what you found out, Alice,” said Marlee, heading toward the door. “By the way, which side of the neck was the gunshot wound on?”
Alice thought for a minute, rubbing her temples while visualizing the dismal scene. “It was on his left side. Right below his ear.”
“Okay, thanks, Alice,” said Marlee. “I’ll catch up with you later.”
Marlee was nearly out the door when she heard Alice say, “That’s how I know it wasn’t suicide.”
“What do you mean?” Marlee stopped in her tracks and turned to face Alice.
“The bullet wound was on the left side of his neck. Logan was right handed,” said Alice, the tears again streaming down her face.
Back in her office, Marlee shut the door and tried to make sense of everything she had just learned from Alice. She grabbed a couple sheets of white printer paper and a blue pen. She was an organized person, and putting words on paper and into charts helped her make sense of the material. First, she jotted down an outline of the information she had on Logan’s death. Then she added new information, such as the location of the bullet wound and Logan’s life partner coming to claim the body. Given everything that had happened in the last two days, she thought it best to start recording all information and from whom she received it. Marlee grabbed one of the protein bars she brought from home and munched on it as she moved bits of information around on the paper. Finally, she listed the possible motives for Logan’s death and the suspects. Luckily, she had just discussed motives and suspects with Dom Schmidt and Jasper Evans the previous morning and had also made some notes last night, so that information was fresh in her mind. Putting information on paper kept Marlee busy until nine forty-five when she had to leave for her first morning class. It was located nearby in the Putnam building. Her second class was right after that in the same room. By noon or shortly thereafter, Marlee would be back in her office until two o’clock for office hours. Then she’d be able to do some more sleuthing.
After two uneventful classes, Marlee returned to her office and wolfed down the second protein bar she had brought with her. It wasn’t a very satisfying lunch, but it stopped the hunger pangs and allowed her to focus on the investigation. I’m thinking of this as my investigation, she thought. She realized that she had better not make that comment aloud or there would be negative consequences for her career if the dean caught wind of it.
After fulfilling her required office hours for the day, Marlee locked her door and set out to find Donnie Stacks. Jasper and Dom said that she had some inside information from one of the police officers, and Marlee wanted to find out exactly what she knew. Donnie worked at the Student Union on campus as part of her work-study program. She tended the information booth on the lower level from time to time, so Marlee used that as her starting point. She entered the spacious Student Union, which had just been remodeled the previous year. The fireplaces provided a homey touch, although Marlee found that the over-use of gray tones gave the building too m
uch of an industrial feel. The interior of the building was gray, and the weather was overcast and dreary much of the fall. Logan’s death was the final straw in setting a dismal mood.
Her first stop was at the information desk on the lower level where Donnie usually worked. A female student with blond dreadlocks and a tie-dyed shirt was staffing the desk and looked up as Marlee approached. She had seen this student on campus but had never had her in a class. “Hey, is Donnie Stacks working here today?” she asked.
“Nah, I’m filling in for Donnie today. She’s out sick,” said the student.
“Is she really sick, or is she avoiding classes and work?” asked Marlee, altogether too familiar with the catch-all excuse of being under the weather. Students and faculty alike were known to employ the excuse frequently during November. Some truly were ill, while others were overwhelmed by the amount of work they had to accomplish and just needed a break. Others were taking a mental health day or accomplishing other tasks, such as working a double shift at their minimum-wage job. Nearly all of the students worked at least one part-time job. Some worked over forty hours per week plus took a full course load. Marlee understood why a student was “sick” from time to time with all the responsibilities they shouldered. Recalling her past days as a student, she also knew that actual illness was sometimes self-induced by excessive alcohol consumption, poor diet and lack of sleep.
The student eyed Marlee with a level of distrust. She knew Marlee was a professor and assumed she had no idea that students used fake illnesses to get out of things. Students were so naïve. They seemed to forget that professors themselves were once students and had pulled the same routine on their own profs. “Look,” said Marlee “she’s not in any trouble. I just have to ask her a question about something not even related to classes or work.”
Day of the Dead Page 8
