Day of the Dead Read online

  “The body of Logan LeCroix, the new French professor, was found outside Scobey Hall. The police are investigating and not much information has been released yet,” recited Marlee, feeling like a news reporter reading a teleprompter. She was careful not to include any of the conjecture from her previous conversations about the incident that morning.

  A male student along the east wall of the classroom blurted out, “They found a gun. I heard it was in a dumpster.”

  Marlee, still not willing to fall into the trap of overstating what she knew about the matter, said, “I also heard a gun was found but don’t know any of the details. At this point we’re just learning what happened as the police do their investigation. People like to talk even when they don’t have any direct information, so you will probably hear many things about Professor LeCroix’s death that may not be entirely accurate. I encourage you all to carefully weigh the information you hear, and not necessarily believe everything you’re told. I also ask all of you not to contribute to the problem by adding your own version of facts and then passing on that information as if it were really true.”

  A shy student in the front row raised her hand and asked, “Dr. McCabe, how do we know what’s true and what isn’t? It’s barely 10:00 a.m., and I’ve already heard stories that he was in the Witness Protection Program, that this was a mob hit, and that he was killed by a stray bullet aimed at someone else. How do we know what really happened?” Several other students nodded as if to say that they also had heard stories from numerous sources claiming to be factual.

  “That’s just it,” replied Marlee. “We don’t know yet. The investigation is ongoing and may not be completed for days, weeks or even months. The police may know the cause of Professor LeCroix’s death and are waiting to release the information, or they may still be trying to deduce what really happened. We just don’t know. This is real life. It’s not like CSI or Law and Order. The matter won’t be resolved in a short period of time. Evidence needs to be collected and tested. People need to be interviewed. The detectives will search Professor LeCroix’s home, office and car. The list of things the cops have to do is endless, so we can’t expect a quick result.”

  “So what should we do now?” asked a male student, apparently not afraid to appear vulnerable to his classmates. Marlee just then realized that although she was impacted by Logan’s death because he was her colleague and new friend, the students were affected because this death happened on the campus, which was their home for nine months out of the year.

  Marlee went through the safety information Kendra Rolland had provided to her and the other professors less than an hour ago. “Basically, until we know what’s going on, everyone is to take necessary precautions, such as not walking alone on campus and not going out after dark unless you have someone you trust to go with you. The Vice President of Academic Affairs is planning a campus-wide meeting this afternoon to address any new police findings and also to talk about campus safety. You will be receiving emails on this shortly, as soon as a time and location have been determined. Please come to the meeting and hear for yourself what is going on. And, before I let you go for today, I just want to remind you to be safe.” On that final note, the students filed out of the classroom in a state of bewilderment and uncertainty. Marlee felt the same way herself. She waited around the classroom for the next half hour until her second class, Intro to Policing, began. She then launched into a repeat from her first class and addressed very similar questions from students.

  By the time everyone left her second class, it was nearly 11:30am, and Marlee was completely drained of energy. She trudged back to the Student Union to find out if there was any news. She made her way to the area which now held most of the professors, secretaries and work-study students from Scobey Hall. The increasingly large group of people had spread from one long table to several tables and chairs pulled into a middle section of the dining area. Since all of Scobey Hall was on lockdown, those who inhabited The Maze had nowhere else to go. Ella Simpson-Sampson, or Sim-Sam as she was called by her students and pretty much everyone else on campus, entered the fray at the Student Union. She was a diminutive professor in her early 40s, although she was occasionally mistaken for a student. Sim-Sam had long brown hair with a fringe of bangs. A few blonde highlights camouflaged the gray hairs that were peeping through. She wore stylish red glasses and dressed professionally. Today she wore a black and red print skirt topped with a red blouse and a black blazer. Her high heeled, tall black boots kicked her height up to nearly five foot one inch tall. Although she was tiny, Sim-Sam could be a power house and would fight tooth and nail for something she believed in. It was not uncommon to hear her holding her own in a committee meeting dominated by men. She really was an inspiration to the female faculty, especially Marlee and her fellow newcomers.

  Sim-Sam approached Marlee, Della and a few others who were seated at a small table. She was not one to spread gossip, but by the look on her face, everyone knew Sim-Sam had information on Logan’s death. After talking for a few minutes and sharing the information they all had, Sim-Sam lowered her voice and looked around to make sure no one outside the small group could overhear her. “Thom Dole was the one who found Logan. He thinks it was suicide.”

  Some people say you don’t have feelings after you die. That’s not true. I did. I could physically feel the cold early-morning air and the wind on my body. I heard the rattling of the last of the leaves that had yet to fall from the campus trees. I could emotionally feel my soul hovering over my physical self, bidding it farewell.

  Chapter 4

  “When did Thom find Logan? Does Thom know what happened?” Marlee’s mind was formulating questions more quickly than she could spit them out. Sim-Sam was barraged by a similar array of questions from Della, Alexander and other professors in the vicinity.

  Sim-Sam relayed the following narrative: “As I was pulling into the parking lot this morning around 8:30 a.m., I saw Thom walking through the parking lot toward the edge of campus. I could tell by looking at him that something was wrong. You could just tell by looking at his face–he looked as if he had aged twenty years since I saw him at the party this weekend, and I know for a fact it was not because he drank too much. Thom likes alcohol, but not in excess, that’s for sure. I asked him how he was, and he told me that he had found Logan LeCroix outside Scobey Hall this morning and that Logan was dead. Thom said he got to work around four-thirty that morning, as he usually does since he is an early bird. Around five-thirty, Cecil, the janitor, knocked on Thom’s door. Cecil had found Logan’s body lying on the cement outside the front door a few minutes earlier and didn’t know what to do. He knew Thom always came in very early to prep for classes and grade papers, so he went to find Thom. Cecil and Thom then went downstairs and outside. Thom wanted to make sure that what Cecil had told him was true since Cecil is easily confused and not always the best judge of situations. Thom actually thought that maybe somebody had left a dummy on the sidewalk as a Halloween prank and Cecil thought it was a dead body. When they arrived at the entrance to Scobey Hall, Thom could see that it was obviously someone who was severely injured or dead because of all the blood around the head area. Thom and Cecil walked up to the body, and Thom saw that it was Logan LeCroix.”

  “So Logan wasn’t there when Thom came in to work at 4:30 this morning, but he was there dead by five-thirty? That must mean whoever or whatever killed him took place while Thom was in his office. Did he hear anything?” questioned Della.

  “No, wait a minute,” said Sim-Sam, holding up her hand in frustration. She was used to Della’s lack of tact and jumping to conclusions and wanted to halt any misinformation that Sim-Sam knew Della would attribute back to her. “Thom came in the back door like he always does because he walks from his home to work, and that door is the closest. Logan was found near the front door of Scobey Hall, so I guess we still don’t know when it happened. Or what happened.”

  Marlee asked, “Could Thom tell where Logan had been sho
t? Were there any obvious injuries that lead to the blood loss?”

  “Thom said he didn’t see any gunshot wounds, just a lot of blood under Logan’s head and upper body,” replied Sim-Sam.

  “How about the gun? Was it right near Logan?” asked Della.

  “No,” Sim-Sam replied hesitantly. “Thom didn’t say anything about a gun.”

  Marlee and Della looked at each other with puzzled expressions. “Then why does Thom think it was a suicide?” asked Marlee.

  Sim-Sam slowly let out a breath and said, “I don’t know. He didn’t say. He said he thought it was a suicide, and then he started tearing up and said he needed to go home. He had been in an interview with police officers and detectives for nearly two hours and wanted to go back to his house immediately. I didn’t want to keep pushing him for information.”

  “Sooooo, we don’t know why Thom thought this was a suicide,” Della drawled, stating the obvious.

  Just then a voice boomed over the loud speaker in the Student Union, “Today at one o’clock in the Caldwell Room there will be a mandatory meeting for everyone on campus. President Ross and Police Chief Langdon will speak about campus safety and the events of earlier today. Please be in attendance.” The message was repeated twice more as faculty, staff and students all looked at each other with open mouths. What new findings would be revealed at the campus meeting?

  I was truly touched by the outpouring of grief and love shown by the MSU campus and the Elmwood community. Most of the faculty did not know me, and the vast majority of the students had not been in any of my classes. People who never even saw me before my picture was plastered across the local newspaper and the local news stations were crying and hugging each other. If only we could have this kind of love and support while we are alive. If only I could have had this from everyone in my life.

  If only…

  Chapter 5

  The Caldwell Room in the basement of the Student Union was standing room only. It had long brown tables and chairs, similar to those in the cafeteria dining room. Extra folding chairs were brought in and set up in rows ahead of the tables. There were also brightly colored red booths along the north side of the wall which could each hold four full-sized adults. The chairs and booths filled up well before one o’clock, leaving most of the people to either stand or sit on the floor. Most of the students without seats chose to sit on the floor, while faculty and staff chose to stand. The Caldwell Room had an ominous feel that Monday afternoon. The chill of the day seemed to have settled into everyone’s bones. They wrapped their arms around themselves and briskly rubbed up and down in an attempt to warm up. Ordinarily there was a small lunch cart near the entrance of the Caldwell Room where staff sold pre-made salads and sandwiches, deserts and hot and cold drinks. The cart had been shut down due to the serious nature of the meeting. A television camera operator and reporter came in and set up near the stage. A newspaper reporter and photographer were also in the audience in the front row of folding chairs.

  Marlee sat in a booth facing the stage so she would have a good view of whoever got sent out to talk to the group. She figured it would be one of President Ross’s flunkies, who would have to deliver a canned speech and field any questions. Marlee’s friends were crowded into the booth with her as well. Gwen Gerken sat next to her with Diane Frasier and Shelly McFarland sitting across the table. Katherine Zens arrived later than the other four but found a chair and pulled it up to the booth. All five women were anxiously awaiting this meeting, and they looked forward to discussing the details of Logan’s death afterward. Nothing helps one get through a difficult time like the support of good friends.

  Surprisingly, President Ross himself entered the room at exactly 1:00 p.m., flanked by Vice President of Student Affairs Kendra Rolland and the Elmwood Chief of Police, Bill Langdon. Other minor players in the president’s cabinet followed. Earl Dingus was the last in a line of ten people who would be speaking, or were merely there as a showing of moral support. Earl looked about ready to lose his lunch. The party of ten filed up on stage with Earl doing his best to hide behind the others. It was obvious he wanted no part in speaking to the group.

  President Ross opened with, “It is with the sincerest of sympathies that I must acknowledge that Logan LeCroix, a professor of French, was found on campus early this morning. Police were notified immediately, and he was pronounced dead at the scene. Detectives from the Elmwood Police Department are investigating the tragedy and have not yet made a determination as to the cause of death.” President Ross tugged at his belt in an attempt to hike up his pants a bit farther. His ill-fitting charcoal gray suit had seen better days; since he lost some weight over the summer, President Ross’s clothes all tended to look a bit sloppy on him now. Apparently he was giving it some grace time before he went out and bought new clothes that fit him, just in case he gained back the weight. This was not his first trip on the diet roller coaster.

  “Chief Langdon from the Elmwood Police Department is here, and I will turn things over to him now,” said President Ross as he stepped to the side and handed the microphone to a nervous-looking officer of the law. Bill Langdon was in his second year as police chief, and it had been a rocky couple of years for him. His first course of action when he arrived was to do some house cleaning, resulting in four long-time police officers and detectives either quitting or being fired. Then, Langdon decided that patrol officers should work rotating shifts, meaning that one month they would work days, the following month they would work nights, and the third month they would work overnights. Drastic changing of shifts in this manner can lead to all kinds of sleep and health-related problems, not to mention problems with child care and working around a spouse’s employment schedule. The result of this proposal was that several of the officers approached the city council in an attempt to have the Chief of Police fired. This attempted coup was not successful, and more officers found themselves out of work. Given the contention over the rotating shifts proposal, Langdon decided to table the idea and let patrol officers continue working their regular schedules. Even though he conceded on this point, Langdon was still not well liked by many in his department. The former officers in Elmwood had enough influence in town that they had turned support against the chief. The only public figure who vocally acknowledged support for Chief Langdon was Mayor Linski.

  Langdon was in his early 50s and had worked as a patrol officer, then a detective and then a captain at various other police departments in Montana, Wyoming and other states. He stood five feet ten inches tall and had a medium build that had not yet succumbed to the realities of desk work and donuts. He had medium brown hair and an untrimmed brown mustache. Langdon’s glasses were large-framed which called more attention to his bad habit of staring at people. He made people uneasy, as if he were trying to read their minds or figure out what color underwear they were wearing. He sported the typical non-uniformed cop attire of khaki pants belted at the waist with a cell phone holder attached to the belt, a white button down shirt sans tie, and a grayish sport coat.

  “Ahem… I just want to begin by saying that the Elmwood Police Department is dedicating as many patrol officers and detectives as possible to this case. It is still early in the investigation, and we have not yet made a determination as to the cause of Logan LeCroix’s death. We are following leads and interviewing others pertaining to this case. We are not releasing any other information on this matter until the next of kin have been notified. If you have any information on this matter, please talk to one of the many officers here at this meeting.” With that brief robotic statement, which basically revealed nothing, Bill Langdon handed the microphone to Kendra Rolland and stepped back as if glad to be out of the public view.

  Kendra stepped forward, calm and confident as always. She took a deep breath and pulled the microphone toward her mouth. “We are all so very sorry for the death of Logan LeCroix, and I know we all hold his memory in our hearts, even those of you that did not know him. We don’t know the cause of deat
h, but in the meantime, we wish to keep campus life as normal as possible. Classes will be held, and activities will go on as scheduled. We are instituting an escort service on campus to walk you to your classes, your car or to the Student Union,” said Kendra.

  “Escort service?” smirked Marlee to the friend sitting with her. “I think they may need to rethink the name, since I assume no sex will be traded for money in this operation.” Diane, sitting directly across from Marlee in a booth, looked at her and managed a small grin. Even in the toughest of times, Diane and Marlee could find some humor.

  Kendra Rolland continued on with her dos-and-don’ts of campus safety and precaution. “We also want everyone to know that the police will be providing regular car patrol and foot patrol on campus during the day and in the evenings. If anyone sees something suspicious, please call 911 to summon officers right away. We are also providing cell phones for anyone who does not have one. These cell phones can be checked out at the library and used for emergency calls only. We want to make it clear that, until such time as the police make a determination as to Logan LeCroix’s cause of death, we will do everything possible to ensure the safety and well-being of the students, faculty, staff and others who live on, work at or visit our campus. Thank you,” said Kendra, stepping back and handing the microphone back to President Ross.

  “As details develop, we will convey them to you as soon as possible,” said President Ross. “And with that, we will conclude…”

  “Wait a minute,” a voice from the back interrupted. “We have some questions. A lot of information is going around campus, and we want some answers.” The voice belonged to Charles Wilmhurst, a professor of business and a well-known loud-mouth both on and off campus. Even though most people did not like him much, his lack of tact and mouthiness came in handy at times like these when the university administration basically revealed nothing. Professor Wilmhurst added, “I heard a gun was found near Logan’s body. Some people were saying it was suicide, but I also heard it may have been a mob hit. Can you give us any idea? I mean it makes a big difference whether Logan killed himself, or if a gun-man is out there ready to strike again.”