“What do you know about Kerry Henris?” he asked.
“Who?”
Logan lowered his gun but darted forward, gripping Dick by his sweater. Dick’s eyes widened, his foul breath steaming out as he was pinned against the wall. Logan put the gun to his throat and tried again.
“The only reason those men didn’t kill you is because I needed answers. Now, don’t make me ask again. Everything you know about Kerry Henris. Right now.”
“I d-don’t know who that is.”
“What, you don’t read the papers?”
“I use them as roaches.”
Figures, Logan thought. The man under his interrogation liked drugs far more than the average man should. Outside events didn’t mean anything to someone like that. Drug dealers and abusers all stayed within their own little bubble, where they could rule.
But that didn’t mean he was lying. Logan studied his eyes, seeing nothing but raw fear. People like Dick were masters of manipulation. They would say or do anything to get off the hook. But Logan also had a good judgment, and he truly started to believe he didn’t know anything.
He released his grip.
“Christ,” Dick said, resting his hands on his knees and recovering his breath.
“You’ll live. What have you been up to these past few months?”
“Just… surviving.”
“Guys like that don’t bother you just for surviving.”
“I owe them some gear. Why are you here? Who’s Jerry Kenris?”
“Kerry Henris,” Logan corrected, stowing the gun back into his shoulder holster. “Reported missing a while ago. Today, she turns up with her eyes cut out. Figured you’d know something about that, considering your previous arrests.”
Dick sighed and fiddled with his clothes, realigning his sweater and straightening out everything that had been grabbed. “I wish I could help – I really do – but I don’t know anything about it. You obviously think I’m lying, but I’m not. I swear to God.”
“You’re an atheist.”
“Then I swear on my mother’s life.”
“You never knew your mother.”
Once more, Dick sighed. Logan watched him with all the skepticism he could muster, but in the end, he had to believe him. It was nice to think he’d get some kind of tip for who had killed that poor kid, but tips didn’t materialize out of thin air.
“I believe you,” Logan said, seeing no change in his worried expression. “But just so we’re clear, if I find out you had any involvement in this, I’ll be back here with more than just a gun to your head. Hell, I might even summon your new friends to help me out.”
“Jesus.”
“Yeah, just think about that.”
Logan headed back to the car empty-handed. As usual, nothing was going the way he wanted it to. He just needed some sleep – some real sleep to clear his head – and then he might have a chance at thinking of something worthwhile.
Or was that too much to ask?