Reese stared at her, then nodded. “Of course.”
She went on to name the officers covering the scene at the club and the hospital. “We have two of Andrews’s men under watch. They’re injured, but should survive.”
That was news to Logan. Rowdy hadn’t mentioned it, but it made sense. “They haven’t said anything yet?”
“They were being treated, then went to sleep with painkillers.”
“And no one pushed for info?” If their injuries weren’t life-threatening, someone should have picked their brains at the first opportunity.
“There’s enough bad press on us at this point. They aren’t going anywhere, and no one has been allowed in to see them.”
“I’ll head there now—”
She shook her head. “I want you to interview the witnesses.”
“We have witnesses?” Other than Pepper, whom he had under wraps. “Who?”
“Clubgoers, passersby, employees…typical lineup of possible observers. So far no one seems to know anything, but keep picking. You never know when a clue might present itself.”
So she wanted him grounded at the station? Reese sent him a curious look, but Logan could only shrug.
Peterson went on to detail the officers working behind the scenes in supporting roles. There’d be computer checks to do, video cam footage to watch, warrants to obtain.
All in all, Logan wasn’t displeased with his assigned duty. When the lieutenant finished, he followed her to her office and tapped on the door frame. “Got a second?”
As if expecting him, she seated herself and opened a file before saying, “What’s on your mind, Detective?”
“Are you having Andrews’s death confirmed?”
That brought her head up. For several seconds she scrutinized him. “It’s going to be difficult. He must have been holding the bomb when it detonated.” She held up her hands and wiggled her fingers. “No fingerprints.”
“Shit.” That was too damned convenient for comfort.
“The blast did considerable damage to his teeth as well, and his face…it’s gone.”
More than ever, Logan needed to see the body.
“I’m expecting an official report later this morning, but who knows? DNA sampling would be the last option.”
Too expensive. “Relatives?”
“None that we’re aware of.” She closed the file folder. “You have reason to believe it’s not him?”
“I wouldn’t leave it to chance.”
“Of course not.” She swung her chair from side to side. “So Morton Andrews is presumed dead, a human trafficker is murdered, and you let Rowdy Yates go.”
The accusation stiffened his spine. That’s why she wanted to keep him at the station? “I had no reason to keep him.”
“Hmm.”
The noncommittal sound grated. Logan held her gaze and waited.
“Was Rowdy able to give you any useful information at all?”
Disliking the line of questioning but determined to hide it, Logan took a seat across from her. “He confirmed that some from the police department were on Andrews’s payroll around the time Jack was murdered.”
“Old news.” She flagged her hand in indifference. “You know where he is?”
“Rowdy?” He’s off doing my job for me—but of course Logan wouldn’t inform her of that. “Not specifically, no.”
She frowned.
Logan offered, “I could probably find him.”
“Good. You do that.” Almost like a dismissal, she checked her watch.
Logan didn’t budge. Because they still didn’t have reason to arrest Rowdy, he said, “You want me to ask him to come back in?”
“He and his sister, yes.” She lifted her brows at him. “I have a meeting with the press in five minutes.”
Trying to show no reaction to her order, Logan stood. “Is there something I don’t know?”
“Given that you were running the task force, I shouldn’t think so.” She put her fingers together and studied him. Finally she said, “But then, you and Detective Bareden were out of touch last night.”
Irritation sparked. “For a little while. Did you try to reach me? I didn’t see any missed calls on my cell.”
“So you didn’t know about Morton’s death until this morning?”
Straight-faced, without a single sign of deception, he said, “No.”
“You didn’t watch any television, listen to a radio…?”
“My personal time is my own,” he said, and he told a half lie. “But I was with a woman, and, no, we weren’t watching television or listening to the radio.”
“Ah. Well, that would explain it, I guess.” She stood. “I take it Detective Bareden was similarly preoccupied?”
Logan shrugged. “You’d have to ask him.”
Taking a big verbal leap away from her inquisition, she said, “The club is of course shut down, the scene secured, but it won’t do us much good. The place was mobbed—all three floors. Everything had already been trampled and tossed by the time we got there.”
“Morton’s office?”
“The scene is safeguarded, but even without the damage of the bomb, do you really think he’s dumb enough to keep anything incriminating where others might get to it?”
Not really, no. “How was he identified?”
She went on to name the officers covering the scene at the club and the hospital. “We have two of Andrews’s men under watch. They’re injured, but should survive.”
That was news to Logan. Rowdy hadn’t mentioned it, but it made sense. “They haven’t said anything yet?”
“They were being treated, then went to sleep with painkillers.”
“And no one pushed for info?” If their injuries weren’t life-threatening, someone should have picked their brains at the first opportunity.
“There’s enough bad press on us at this point. They aren’t going anywhere, and no one has been allowed in to see them.”
“I’ll head there now—”
She shook her head. “I want you to interview the witnesses.”
“We have witnesses?” Other than Pepper, whom he had under wraps. “Who?”
“Clubgoers, passersby, employees…typical lineup of possible observers. So far no one seems to know anything, but keep picking. You never know when a clue might present itself.”
So she wanted him grounded at the station? Reese sent him a curious look, but Logan could only shrug.
Peterson went on to detail the officers working behind the scenes in supporting roles. There’d be computer checks to do, video cam footage to watch, warrants to obtain.
All in all, Logan wasn’t displeased with his assigned duty. When the lieutenant finished, he followed her to her office and tapped on the door frame. “Got a second?”
As if expecting him, she seated herself and opened a file before saying, “What’s on your mind, Detective?”
“Are you having Andrews’s death confirmed?”
That brought her head up. For several seconds she scrutinized him. “It’s going to be difficult. He must have been holding the bomb when it detonated.” She held up her hands and wiggled her fingers. “No fingerprints.”
“Shit.” That was too damned convenient for comfort.
“The blast did considerable damage to his teeth as well, and his face…it’s gone.”
More than ever, Logan needed to see the body.
“I’m expecting an official report later this morning, but who knows? DNA sampling would be the last option.”
Too expensive. “Relatives?”
“None that we’re aware of.” She closed the file folder. “You have reason to believe it’s not him?”
“I wouldn’t leave it to chance.”
“Of course not.” She swung her chair from side to side. “So Morton Andrews is presumed dead, a human trafficker is murdered, and you let Rowdy Yates go.”
The accusation stiffened his spine. That’s why she wanted to keep him at the station? “I had no reason to keep him.”
“Hmm.”
The noncommittal sound grated. Logan held her gaze and waited.
“Was Rowdy able to give you any useful information at all?”
Disliking the line of questioning but determined to hide it, Logan took a seat across from her. “He confirmed that some from the police department were on Andrews’s payroll around the time Jack was murdered.”
“Old news.” She flagged her hand in indifference. “You know where he is?”
“Rowdy?” He’s off doing my job for me—but of course Logan wouldn’t inform her of that. “Not specifically, no.”
She frowned.
Logan offered, “I could probably find him.”
“Good. You do that.” Almost like a dismissal, she checked her watch.
Logan didn’t budge. Because they still didn’t have reason to arrest Rowdy, he said, “You want me to ask him to come back in?”
“He and his sister, yes.” She lifted her brows at him. “I have a meeting with the press in five minutes.”
Trying to show no reaction to her order, Logan stood. “Is there something I don’t know?”
“Given that you were running the task force, I shouldn’t think so.” She put her fingers together and studied him. Finally she said, “But then, you and Detective Bareden were out of touch last night.”
Irritation sparked. “For a little while. Did you try to reach me? I didn’t see any missed calls on my cell.”
“So you didn’t know about Morton’s death until this morning?”
Straight-faced, without a single sign of deception, he said, “No.”
“You didn’t watch any television, listen to a radio…?”
“My personal time is my own,” he said, and he told a half lie. “But I was with a woman, and, no, we weren’t watching television or listening to the radio.”
“Ah. Well, that would explain it, I guess.” She stood. “I take it Detective Bareden was similarly preoccupied?”
Logan shrugged. “You’d have to ask him.”
Taking a big verbal leap away from her inquisition, she said, “The club is of course shut down, the scene secured, but it won’t do us much good. The place was mobbed—all three floors. Everything had already been trampled and tossed by the time we got there.”
“Morton’s office?”
“The scene is safeguarded, but even without the damage of the bomb, do you really think he’s dumb enough to keep anything incriminating where others might get to it?”
Not really, no. “How was he identified?”
