Chapter One

The cold Pittsburgh air sliced through the narrow alleyway between the two abandoned buildings on Penn Avenue, sending discarded shards of paper and trash cast off by passersby's, billowing into the air. The snow had begun to fall heavily an hour earlier, but Logan McGreror didn't seem to notice it or the biting cold as she pulled on a pair of latex gloves and knelt beside the garbage dumpster where the latest victim had been unceremoniously discarded. This was the fifth murder in as many weeks and her nerves were wearing thin.

Each time the murderer claimed another victim, Logan could feel the noose tightening around her neck. The Mayor had demanded a special task force be formed to solve the case, and quickly. Logan knew the task force wasn't formed because the community was concerned about the murders, but because the Mayor and several influential developers of the Strip District were concerned that the publicity of the case would frighten the tourists and locals away from the recently redeveloped area. Now Logan, as head of the task force, was in the hot seat, as she desperately attempted to piece together the puzzle that had stumped the entire Police force of Pittsburgh for the last five weeks.

Looking down on the tattered body of the latest Jane Doe, Logan immediately recognized the M.O. of the murderer. A business card from Langston Development Corporation had been placed carefully on top of the body. Each time before, the card had been imprinted with the name of a top-level executive in the Corporation; this one, however, was inscribed with the name of Christine Langston, the Senior Vice President of the Langston Corporation and daughter of Christopher Winthrop Langston III.

Langston Development, having purchased several blocks of abandoned or dilapidated buildings along the Strip, had torn down the unsalvageable structures and rebuilt them, recreating the façades in such a way that the new buildings complimented the surviving structures. The Strip District, had at one time been one of the most popular areas of the city, but over the years had fallen into an irreversible downward economic spiral and been taken over by drug dealers and vagrants. With the redevelopment, the Langston Corporation had been responsible for the recent growth of businesses along the Strip District, and in an indirect way, responsible for the drop in the crime rate and drug trade that had run rampant along Penn Avenue.

Logan knew that upon further investigation she would find that this victim had been seen arriving alone at one of the nearby bars, and then most likely leaving the establishment a short time later with a man. All of the previous investigations had followed the same route. The victims had all left willingly with their companion, to be found brutally murdered a few hours later in a nearby, fairly exposed, location.

Glancing around the area, Logan couldn't help but think that the murderer was taunting her; testing her ability to figure out his or her next move. Her frustration was growing stronger with each day. All she had been able to piece together so far was that each victim was a regular patron of the area clubs with a history of drug abuse and sporadic employment. As she peeled off her gloves, she made a mental note to canvas the clubs again, this time pressing the managers and staff harder for information, and to have several of the investigative officers dig deeper into the victims lives.

Logan walked away from the body back into the cold air whipping through the alleyway, and took a deep breath, rubbing her temples, as the headache she'd had for days grew stronger. Making a connection with Langston Development was a frustrating task and C. W. Langston, as well as the other executives, were currently hiding behind closed doors, refusing to be interviewed by the investigative team.

The Mayor had used his political clout to protect his old friend, refusing to bend to the requests by the Police Department to force Langston to cooperate, while asserting that Langston Development was as much a victim as those murdered. Unraveling this case would be like walking blindfolded through a maze and Logan knew many of the dead ends would be conveniently placed political barriers set to protect the wealthy Langston family. Logan leaned heavily on the hood of the cruiser dropping her head; stretching the taut muscles of her neck.

"You know, a little sleep might be just what the Doctor ordered."

Logan turned to see the Pittsburgh Post-Gazettes's top crime reporter, Jennifer Phillips, looking at her with concern. "No comment, Ms. Phillips and you know for a fact that I have no use for doctors."

Jennifer raised a brow as she eyed the tall, dark haired detective. "Sometimes Logan, you can be a real pain in the ass. I don't recall asking you any questions. My concern at this moment is for you - not the story."

Rolling her head from side to side, trying to loosen the tense muscles, Logan silently chastised herself for the verbal attack. They had been friends for many years and Logan knew that Jen would be the last person to take advantage of their friendship in order to get a headline. "Sorry Jen, I'm just really beat and we have nothing to go on here. I didn't mean to jump on you like that - really."

"Are you done here for the night, or are you going to squeeze in another ten or twelve hours before your next shift?" The sarcastic tone of Jens voice left little room for misinterpretation.

"I'm done." It had been a while since the two women had spent any time together outside of their jobs and Logan suddenly felt the need for some good company and a strong drink. "Want to go grab a bite to eat?"

Jen couldn't hide the surprised look that crossed her face. "Yeah, sure. Just give me a minute to call in and I'll be ready."

Logan dropped down into the Cruiser and radioed into dispatch, signing out for the evening. Technically, she should have been off duty eight hours before, but she hadn't felt like going to the dark, lonely, structure in which she lived. Home was simply a house; a place where she slept, showered, and occasionally ate, but not the warm, comforting home she once knew. Each time she walked through the door she was hit with the deafening silence echoing within the walls and the unforgettable, faint scent of Obsession...the scent of Diane.

Logan was still sitting with the radio microphone in her hand when Jen walked up a short while later. "Hey, are you alright?"

Through glazed eyes, Logan looked up into her concerned friend's face. "Yes, I'm fine - umm, just tired."

Eyeing Logan intently, Jen's concern grew over her friend's despondency. She had witnessed Logan at her worst and best during the past few years, but during the last few months, the complacency Logan had shrouded herself with had turned into apathy. Apathy for everything in her life except her work. It was almost as if Logan expected her job to rescue her from the demons that haunted her life; a life that since Diane left, had been filled with only darkness. "Logan? If you'd rather take a rain check on dinner, we can. You look like you need some sleep anyway."

Tucking her long leg into the cruiser, Logan shook her head and looked over towards the body bag that held the latest Jane Doe, "No. After this I won't be able to sleep. I can't remember the last time I ate anyway. Follow me to headquarters and let me get my truck. What do you say to going over to Buskers for a while?"

Shrugging, Jen turned towards her car, "Fine, lead the way Detective."

Buskers, a jazz café located in the Strip District of Pittsburgh, specialized in an upscale menu of unique entrees, attracting affluent patrons who could not only afford the good food and drinks, but could also procure the works of several of the local artists displayed on the walls of the establishment. After the dinner crowd vacated the bar appearances by local jazz artists continued to entertain the locals. Looking for a quiet table that would allow them the opportunity to talk, Jen took a seat at a table in the far corner, while Logan strolled to the bar to order their drinks.

Looking around the bar, Jen wondered how many of the patrons were aware of the current events taking place on the Strip. The murders had received fairly good press coverage, especially in the last two weeks, but the story never led the evening news and was often buried inside the local crime section of the Post. Jen suspected the reason was linked to the victims not being high, or even medium profile citizens of the city. All had been long-term drug users, with little or no family in the area. So far, the only threads the police had been able to weave together in the investigative canvas, had been the victim's regular appearances at the local bars, and some, as yet unknown, connection to the Langston Corporation.

She knew Logan was working day and night on the investigation and probably possessed one of her renowned gut feelings about the case, but given her current state of mind, Jen decided to hold off on probing for information. Tonight was a night for friendship; the story, she reasoned, could wait until tomorrow.

Logan set two beers down on the table and handed Jen a menu she'd taken from the bar, before dropping down into the seat across the table. The two women sat in silence for a few moments while they perused the menus. From time to time, Jen glanced over towards Logan, noticing the other woman had been staring blankly at the menu for several minutes. "Hey kid, talk to me. What's going on in that head of yours?"

Logan eyes bore into Jens as her internal defenses took over. Seeing only a look of concern and not the professional interest she expected, Logan took a deep breath and closed her eyes, before shaking her head. "Too much is going on in my head, Jen. So much, I can't even begin to sort it out."

Jen spoke softly gently nudging Logan to elaborate, "Anything I can help with? You know, sometimes it helps just to talk." Seeing the walls quickly rising across Logan's face, Jen forced herself to continue, "If it's about the case, I understand if you can't talk about it, but if it's something else, you know I'm always here for you."

Logan's eyes held Jen's. Her reply postponed by the timely appearance of the waiter, pad in hand, ready to take their order, allowing Logan a small reprieve from delving into the darkness she so desperately tried to hold at bay. The women placed their orders and as the waiter departed, Logan, once again, looked across the table at her friend. "Look Jen, I know you care, but right now I don't have the time or the energy to think about anything other than this case." Logan could feel the tears welling up in her eyes and looked away pretending to find interest in something across the room. "I promise, once this is over, we'll talk about Diane. I promise."