Little Girl Gone

12



“So why were you running away from the scene of the fire?”

Logan found out the suited guy’s name was Baker, and he was an LAPD detective. He’d kept Logan waiting in a windowless room at the station for nearly an hour before he finally showed up, and started asking his questions.

“I wasn’t running away from anything.”

The man raised an eyebrow. “Really? Several people saw you. Including me.”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t running. I said I wasn’t running away from anything.”

“Okay. Then why were you running to?”

“My friend was mugged yesterday,” Logan said. “I thought I saw the man who did it, and chased after him.”

“Convenient, don’t you think? Him showing up at the aftermath of a fire you set.”

“Whoa. Hold on. I did not set any fire.”

“My witness says you were the last person other than herself in the burned down house.”

“The last person she knows of. There was obviously someone else, because I didn’t do it.”

“So you are saying you were there.”

“Absolutely.”

“And why was that?”

Logan could hear his father’s voice in his head. Involving the police would be exactly the wrong thing to do…trust me. And Tooney’s after he’d been attacked. I beg you. Say nothing.

As much as he thought he should tell Detective Baker what was going on, he felt he should let Tooney know first. So he said, “The guy who lived there, Aaron Hughes, he’s dating the granddaughter of a friend of mine.”

“Another friend, huh?”

Logan hesitated. “The same friend, actually.”

“Well, that makes things easy.”

“I can’t help the truth.”

“You still haven’t told me why you were there?”

“My friend’s been concerned about his granddaughter,” Logan said, trying to keep things as close to reality as possible. “He’s her nearest relative, so he feels responsible. He wanted me to check on her, check out her friends, and make sure she’s not having any problems.”

“You some kind of private detective?”

“Not at all. I’m just someone helping a friend.”

“So, you went to the house…”

“To see if I could talk to her boyfriend.”

“My witness says you were there around midnight. That’s kind of late for a chat, isn’t it?”

“Not for a kid his age.”

“Did he know you were coming?”

“I tried calling, but was sent straight to his voice mail.”

“So that meant it was okay to go inside his house and check?” he asked.

“No,” Logan said, calmly. “I knocked, a couple times. Then I glanced through the window and noticed that it looked empty inside. Not exactly what I expected. I tried the knob. It was unlocked, so then I went in to check.”

“Do you try people’s doorknobs often?”

“It just seemed to me there was a good chance no one lived there anymore, so if I could look inside, I could confirm that. Which is exactly what I did.”

“You weren’t planting some kind of device to burn the place down?”

“No. I had never heard of Aaron Hughes until yesterday. Last night was the first time I’d even been to his place. I was only doing a favor for a friend. One that did not include burning down a house.”

“Who, exactly, is this friend?”

Logan didn’t know how many times they went through everything—three? four?—before Detective Baker finally let him call his father. As they were going through things for yet again, an officer came in and whispered something in Detective Baker’s ear. The detective then excused himself and left the room. Logan assumed that the WAMO splinter group had arrived.

His concern now was that Tooney would say something that didn’t back up his story, but it turned out the reason the detective had left the room had nothing to do with Tooney or his dad at all.

Baker walked back in with several pieces of paper that looked fresh from the printer. He took his chair again, placing the papers face down on the table between them.

“Mr. Harper, you have a bit of a history.”

Outwardly, Logan remained calm, but inside his guard went up tenfold.

“Mind telling me about it?” the detective asked.

“My history is none of your business. It has nothing to do with what happened at the house, because I have nothing to do with what happened at the house.”

The detective turned the papers over, but held them up so that Logan couldn’t see what was on them. “Seems you had some problems with the Pentagon.”

“I never had any problems with the Pentagon.”

“That’s not what it says here.”

“Then whatever you’re looking at isn’t correct.”

Detective Baker’s gaze moved back and forth across the page. “Hmmm, I guess you’re right. Your problem wasn’t officially with the Pentagon. It was with a company called Forbus Systems International. Looks like you were charged with embezzlement. Oh, and there was talk of a manslaughter charge.”

“‘A,’ there was no manslaughter charge,” Logan said, fighting hard to keep his cool. “And, ‘B,’ the embezzlement accusation was false. That’s why the case got dropped before it ever went anywhere. Again, none of this has anything to do with your fire.”

“Did you know your file’s flagged?” he asked.

Logan didn’t know he had a file, at least not one that could be accessed by the LAPD. He remained silent.

“Says if your name comes up in connection with any unlawful activities, a Special Agent James Hall is supposed to be contacted. Are you familiar with him?”

Logan was pretty sure his blank expression cracked just a little bit. He was familiar with Special Agent Hall all right, but it had been a while since he’d heard the name. Again, he said nothing.

“Naturally, I had to give him a call. He says you’re a sneaky bastard. Says the only reason you weren’t brought up on manslaughter charges was because they were unable to locate some key evidence. I asked him if he thought you’d be capable of burning down a house. Know what he said?”

Logan continued to stare at the detective.

“He said, yes, you’d be capable, but that you’d need a really good reason to do it. And that you wouldn’t be so sloppy as to return to check things out the next morning.”

That was a surprise. Special Agent Hall was far from Logan’s favorite person on the planet, and Logan was far from his. Hall had been the man in charge of the investigation after accusations that Logan might have been responsible for Carl’s death began circulating. Hall had made it very clear he thought that Logan was guilty, to hell with the fact there was no evidence and, therefore, never even a trial. For the first six months after Logan had begun his self-imposed exile in Cambria, Hall would call each week to let him know he was still out there, and to remind Logan that if he made a mistake, Hall would be all over him.

Logan had been sure the agent had forgotten him by now. Apparently not.

But Hall saying something that might make the police believe Logan? Definitely a surprise.

Detective Baker leafed through the papers, then looked at Logan again. “One of my colleagues also had a conversation with your friend Mr. Myat. He showed up with a man who says he’s your father about twenty minutes ago. Lucky for you, he confirmed what you told me. But that still doesn’t give you a solid alibi for around the time the fire started. And if you think for one moment I’m going to blindly believe what some FBI agent says about you, you’re mistaken.”

The detective’s frustration was showing. At first he must have thought he’d hit the jackpot, and had reeled in the arsonist without having to do any legwork. But then it turned out that Logan wasn’t as golden a suspect as he had at the start. A few seconds later the detective said, “I need you to stay in town until I tell you it’s all right to leave.”

Fifteen minutes later, Logan walked into the lobby, and found his father pacing back and forth near the front desk. The moment Harp saw his son he rushed over.

“You all right?” he asked as if Logan had been locked up in a KGB torture cell for the past month.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Logan looked around. “Where’s everyone else?”

“Outside. Tooney wanted some air.”

“Let’s go, then. I need to talk to both of you.”

Instead of moving, his dad stared at Logan’s face. “Did they hurt you?”

“No, of course not.”

“But…” He reached up and pointed at Logan’s cheek. “What’s that?”

Having no idea what he was talking about, Logan raised his hand and touched the spot. It was rough, and stung slightly when his finger brushed against it. “Just a scrape, Dad.”

“They did this to you?”

“Technically,” Logan said, remembering being knocked to the ground on the boardwalk. “But it wasn’t on purpose.”

“Wasn’t on purpose? When we get home, the first call we make is to Lloyd Falon.” Lloyd was his father’s lawyer.

“We’re not calling anyone. Now come on.”