Fic: All the PI’s Men (Logan/Veronica, Ensemble) NC-17 (3/7)
Title: “All the PI’s Men”
Author: em2mb
Pairing/Character: Logan/Veronica, Mac, Keith, Weevil, Wallace, Piz, Sacks.
Word Count: 9,211
Rating: NC-17
Summary: “All... right,” Piz said slowly. He picked up the potato hunk, practically pointing it at her. “But if the next words out of your mouth are an alibi saying Logan was with you, like, with you, just know I’m making you go on my radio show.”
Spoilers: Through 3x20, “The Bitch is Back”
Warnings: Violence, language, sex, character death. Even Cliff McCormick probably wouldn’t defend this one in a court of law.
Disclaimer: Strangely enough, they still don’t belong to me.
Author's Notes: This old thing? *bats eyelashes*



Chapter One | Chapter Two

Tuesday, March 11, 2008

Mac sighed exasperatedly. “You’re still not telling me something,” she exclaimed, pressing her free hand flat against the desk in front of her. Her other palm was so slick with sweat she worried about dropping the phone. She stared expectantly at Logan through the glass.

“It’s complicated,” Logan muttered. “Look, Mac, can’t you just—”

“No, Logan,” Mac interrupted. “I can’t just anything. I want to believe you. I really do. But my best friend is dead, murdered in cold blood. If I’m going to help you, then I have to be certain—and I mean absolutely certain—that you had nothing to do with that.”

“Seriously, Mac, just drop it,” Logan pleaded. “I’ve told you everything I can. I’m not holding out anything that could help my case.”

“Let me be the judge of that.”

“No,” Logan said firmly. “I can’t risk—”

“Then I can’t risk helping you,” said Mac, moving to hang up the phone. Her heart pounding, she hoped Logan would change his mind about withholding information before the guard noticed she was signaling to leave.

“Mac, wait,” Logan mouthed through the glass. She grabbed the phone and sat back down. “Look, what is it that you feel you have to know?”

“The night Veronica was killed, you wouldn’t let me in your hotel room. Why not?”

Logan shook his head. “Look, Mac, like I said—it’s complicated.”

“What would be complicated is if I showed up to talk to you when you were in the middle of murdering my best friend,” Mac said sweetly, then sighed in frustration. “Look, Logan. If you weren’t killing Veronica, what were you doing?”

Logan hesitated. “You’re not going to like this.”

“Were you killing her?”

“No!”

“Then try me.”

Logan took a deep breath. “I was with Gory Sorokin.”

“From the Castle?” Mac asked incredulously. Her eyes narrowed. “Couldn’t you have picked a better time for your induction into the Billionaire Boys’ Club?”

“Mac, I called him,” Logan admitted. “Look, you remember what it was like when Veronica was missing. We called everyone she’d known since kindergarten and then some trying to track down a lead. I thought it was an angle someone should be exploring.”

Mac’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You honestly expect me to believe you were catching up with the guy whose face you’d knocked in that spring?”

Logan just rolled up the sleeve of his orange jumpsuit. There, on the tender underside of his forearm, someone had burned a crude rendition of a castle. “Needless to say, Sorokin didn’t appreciate my meddling in his affairs.”

* * *

Sunday, December 16, 2007

Logan hastily clicked his phone shut. He felt as though he were suffocating, holding a ticking time bomb that could go off at any minute. Contacting Gory Sorokin had been one of his most dangerous moves to date. He tried to appear casual as he walked back into the Balboa County sheriff’s station, where Mac was waiting for him.

Three days. No one had seen Veronica in three days. It didn’t matter how dangerous his move had been if it brought her back safely. Taking the seat next to Mac, he silently implored her for an update. She shook her head, eyes rimmed red from lack of sleep.

“They didn’t find anything,” she said quietly. “Sheriff Mars is headed back now. I already called Wallace.”

Logan felt his jaw tighten. Even as he’d shakily called in a favor to one of his father’s former business associates, even as he’d dialed Sorokin’s number and left a rasping voicemail, he’d hoped this latest lead would pan out. He’d still have been in deep with the son of a known mobster, but at least he would have had Veronica back to help him sort the whole situation out. Now, it seemed, he’d be playing this one on his own.

The memory of Sorokin’s death threat sent chills down Logan’s spine, but if the Fitzpatricks didn’t have Veronica, then it had to be the Castle. He could envision Veronica’s state of disapproval if she’d known what he had done, but at this point, he wanted her home even if it meant facing her wrath.

“It’s not over yet,” Logan found himself saying. He wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince. “Tomorrow’s another day. There will be more leads, and we’ll—”

“Logan,” Mac interrupted gently, “I know.” Her hand covered his on the shared armrest. “You don’t have to convince me. It’s just—” she broke off.

“It’s just what?”

“I wish there was something else I could be doing,” Mac said, frustrated. “Something other than sitting here. I wish I had pressed harder when she asked me to override that security system for her. I don’t know. Anything that would make me feel remotely purposeful.”

“Ditto,” Logan muttered. Their fingers still intertwined, she gave his hand a squeeze. He considered admitting right then he’d called Sorokin, but he snapped his mouth shut as soon as he’d opened it. He was the last one to have seen Veronica. He was the one who should have kept her from leaving that night. He alone would assume whatever risk it took to get her back.

Mac had propped her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes for the briefest second when his phone began to trill, and he bolted up in his seat, jarring her abruptly. “Sorry,” he said hastily, not bothering to check the number. “I have to take this. Hello?”

“Hey man.”

The sound of Dick’s voice caused Logan’s hope to vanish immediately. His heart stopped pounding uneasily in his chest.

“Hello?” Dick repeated.

“Hey,” Logan said, taking a deep breath. “Sorry. I’m kind of on edge.”

“Yeah, man, totally,” Dick said, a surprising touch of sympathy to his tone. “Any, uh, new news?”

“Half the department ran out to search some—” on the other end of the line, Logan could hear Dick shuffle uncomfortably, and he realized his voice was cracking. He cleared his throat. “No. No news.”

“I’m sorry.” Dick shuffled again. “I know, uh, Veronica’s important to you.”

Logan sighed heavily, still taking refuge in the dark hallway off the waiting area where Mac sat. “She is.”

“The Pi Sigs are organizing another search tomorrow,” Dick chimed in helpfully. “Somebody will find her, Logan. And when they do, I’d be happy to, uh, leave the two of you alone for a few days—if you know what I mean.”

“Right,” said Logan, far too weary to even consider the possibility himself. “Thanks for everything.”

“Anytime.” The surfer paused. “Is there anything else I can do?”

“No—” Logan began, but he broke off. “Actually, do you mind staying at the house anyway for a few days? I might need the hotel.”

On the other end of the line, Dick chuckled. “That’s the spirit, man! You’ll totally get Veronica back!”

“Right,” Logan muttered. “Night, man.”

Dick ended the call with a click, and Logan stood with his phone in his hand for several seconds, fighting back tears. He hated to think the situation had grown so dire that even Veronica’s least favorite fraternity was pulling for her safe return. When his phone trilled in his hand for a second time, he nearly dropped it. This time, he checked the number—he didn’t recognize it.

“Hello?”

“Meet me at the Neptune Grand in twenty minutes.” The line clicked off.

Back in the lobby, Logan hastily excused himself. He was sure he sounded desperate as he gave Mac the brush off, but he couldn’t think about that right now. All he could think about was getting Veronica back—and hopefully not risking his own life in the process. Of course, that didn’t keep him from running three red lights on his way back to the hotel.

Logan reached the Grand with six minutes to spare. He gripped the elevator railing tightly behind him as he made the ascent to his floor, desperately trying to get his breathing under control. This will work. They’ll have Veronica, and she’ll still be safe. It doesn’t matter what I have to sacrifice to make it happen. He swiped his keycard and flipped on the lights.

“Most people don’t have the nerve to demand help from a man who wants them dead.”

Sorokin put out his cigarette on the upholstery of the hotel chair, studying Logan’s unkempt, out of breath, still-healing appearance. He chuckled.

Logan pulled the door shut behind him, keeping one hand firmly on the knob. “Just tell me where she is,” he said.

“Who?”

Logan gritted his teeth. “Veronica Mars.”

Sorokin laughed, standing up. “I don’t have much use for her, either. What makes you think I have her?”

“She has video of you implicating your own father in a mob killing?” Logan suggested helpfully.

“The world really would be a better place without her.”

Logan sprang forward. “Take it back,” he growled, his hand at Sorokin’s throat.

Sorokin just shrugged off Logan’s grasp. “Why help you?”

“Because this is the kind of thing that will lead back to you. Because if you hurt her, Keith Mars will make you pay.”

Sorokin laughed. “I wouldn’t count on it.”

Logan did not laugh. “I would.”

“Make it worth my time, Echolls—and don’t bother offering me your trust fund. I don’t need your pathetic father’s money.”

“What do you want, then?” Logan ran his hand through his hair. He was so used to being able to buy what he wanted that he failed to recognize that these people could outspend him any day.

“The hard drive,” Sorokin said. “All the information on it. An assurance that she retains no copies.”

“How am I supposed to get that?” Logan wanted to know.

Sorokin shrugged. “Not my problem.”

Logan turned in exasperation, pounding the door once with his fist. “Say I can come up with what you want. What do I get in return?”

“Whatever information I can turn up.”

“But you don’t know where she is right now?”

Sorokin just smiled. “I know where you are.”

“What—”

Logan’s world went dark.

* * *

Friday, March 21, 2008

Mac dragged a fry slowly through the same trench of ketchup on her tray for about the twelfth time. What, exactly, had convinced her lunch dates with Piz were a good idea? Sure, their schedules were similar on Fridays, but they always ran out of things to talk about before they even sat down.

“So Wallace is really getting involved with Invisible Children again,” Piz said, changing the subject for the seventh time. “He kind of—he kind of got sidetracked a few months ago, but he thinks he might go back to Africa again this summer.”

Right, your best friend has been distant since his best friend died, and his best friend happened to be my best friend, so here I am, eating with you.

Finally popping the fry in her mouth, Mac almost choked on the tomato taste and had to gulp down half her soda to recover. She smiled at Piz, nodding encouragingly, hoping he’d go on.

“But anyway, I’ve been going to meetings with him, hanging flyers, writing letters. It’s neat,” Piz said, crumpling the wrapper of his burger and tossing it on his tray. He opened his mouth, promptly shutting it again. “That’s it. I’m out. What have you been doing?”

Monitoring countless hours of audio playback from the bug I planted in the Sheriff’s station, trying to find anything that might help Logan’s case. Thanks for asking.

“Oh, you know. More classes than I should have taken, long hours helping Max with the business,” Mac said instead, taking another rescuing slurp of her soda. “You?”

“We’ve done me,” Piz said dryly. “Seriously, Mac, is everything all right?”

Not by a long shot, Beaverton. My best friend’s still dead, but now I’ve taken up the impossible task of trying to help her ex-boyfriend prove he’s been framed. I’d tell you about it, but you are, coincidentally, another one of her ex-boyfriends.

“Yeah, fine,” Mac said.

I’m not talking about it. It’s our unspoken rule, and I’m not breaking it. Wow, this feels a lot like a game of ‘I’m not touching you!’ with Ryan.

“Right,” Piz said, “because you’ve been dragging the same fry through your ketchup for ten minutes, and you don’t even like tomatoes. You know, Mac, I know we’re not the closest, but I’m a pretty good listener.”

Mac shot him what she hoped was a joking smirk. She wasn’t entirely sure if she could smirk, so she punched his arm playfully for good measure. “Says the deejay of the top rated show on Hearst radio.”

She’d filed away the nugget of information during their third awkward lunch date, sometime in early February. It had come in handy on a number of occasions.

“Who still would love for you to come on and talk about how you were switched a birth with one of Neptune’s bitchiest heiresses.” Piz leaned in, pretending to hold up a microphone. “Tell me, Cindy, was it difficult decision to go public with your past?”

Lunch five, mid-February. How much did I not want to talk about Logan? Enough to let slip the very private fact that I was switched at birth with Madison Sinclair. Stop staring at me like you’re afraid I didn’t take it as a joke. You know, that was probably a less awkward conversation than this one’s becoming.

“Not really,” Mac quipped. “I hope my birth parents will finally give me the BMW I should have rightfully received when I turned nineteen. I’m tired of seeing their fake daughter cruising around town in it.”

“You know, Mac, I’m going to bite,” Piz replied. “I think—I think we’re both thinking about the thing we never talk about, and since we’re both thinking about it, I think, why don’t we just talk about it?”

Mac cocked her head to the side. “You sure you want to go there?”

“Wallace doesn’t say much,” Piz said. “Except—and this is my best Wallace—damn news media poor V can’t believe this. And, you know, I wouldn’t mind getting a load off. Not—like that.”

“Have you ever been told you don’t say things very directly?”

“Occasionally. Look—just forget I said anything. You’re right. We shouldn’t go there, and I’m sorry I did.”

“Logan’s innocent,” Mac blurted.

Piz dropped his fry. “All... right,” he said slowly. He picked up the potato hunk, practically pointing it at her. “But if the next words out of your mouth are an alibi saying he was with you, like, with you, just know I’m making you go on my radio show.”

Her eyes widened. “No!”

“Joke, Mac,” Piz said. “So hit me. I mean, yeah, the guy pummeled me that one time, but I guess I liked him well enough before.”

“So the cops have a lot on him, right?”

“Right,” Piz said. He began to tick off on his fingers. “His testimony, some eyewitness, the gun—”

Mac shut him up with a glare. “They’re making a big deal out of the fact that his story changed, but come on—would you have told Sheriff Mars you’d had sex with his daughter?”

Piz spit soda across the table. “I-I never had sex with his daughter.”

“Exactly!” Mac said earnestly. “It’s the only detail in his story that changed, and since Sacks got a match on the DNA—”

“The DNA?”

Mac leaned in, glancing around to make sure no one was listening. “They found semen in the backseat when they found Veronica’s car. It’s definitely Logan’s, and they’re trying to say he—”

“How do you know this?”

“I bugged the Sheriff’s office,” Mac said, waving her hand. “Besides, Logan told me. Anyway, the gun—you know how Logan and Veronica were at the River Styx that night?”

“Right, the Irish pub,” said Piz, who still seemed to be trying to wrap his mind around her last revelation.

“Veronica took the gun!” she said excitedly, realizing just how much she’d been aching to talk about her investigation to someone, anyone. “When they left the bar, she had the gun, and she never gave it back. So all we need to do is prove that at least one of the bullets fired doesn’t match, or the car was disabled some other way. Obviously, if she had his gun, whoever attacked her could have had access to it.”

“Wait, Logan told you this and you just believe it?”

Mac stared at Piz. “He never would have raped her, Piz. Not after everything with Cassidy.”

Piz swallowed hard, and his nod told Mac he was familiar with the story. “That’s uh, why we—you know what, never mind. How did—wait. Rape?”

“The DNA,” Mac said impatiently. “So an eyewitness saw Logan grab Veronica’s arm outside the bar, and since they never released the bruises to the public, that’s why they arrested him, right?”

“Mac, you’re listing evidence against Logan!”

“The eyewitness is a prostitute!” she exclaimed.

“She knew details unreleased to the public!” Piz countered. He leaned back in the chair, folding his arms across his chest. “Look, Mac, I don’t like the fact that one of our friends or acquaintances or whatever was responsible either, but—”

“Logan is innocent!” Several heads turned, and Mac realized she was hovered about the table, about to leap out of her seat. She sat down, mouthing ‘sorry,’ and focused on Piz. “Look, Piz, I know you liked Veronica, a lot, but Logan loved her.”

“Enough to kill her?” Piz wanted to know. “So you believe differently, I know that. So you do things different in Neptune, I know that too. And maybe I’m not warped and twisted enough, but I believe they usually catch the bad guy.”

Mac had already gathered her things. “Sorry, Piz,” she said. “I think our lunch dates are cancelled—effective immediately.”

* * *

Piz watched Mac storm off, head still spinning. It wasn’t like he’d never thought about it before. He stopped to ponder the question of Logan’s guilt nearly every day. What happened to Veronica was terrible. Logan’s responsibility in the matter? Even worse. And like he’d said to Mac, he hadn’t lived in Neptune long enough to be as seriously jaded as everyone else seemed to be.

He had just stopped shaking his head and had started to contemplate skipping his afternoon class when a man in a business suit slid in across from him. Piz’s brow furrowed, sure he recognized the man from somewhere. “Do I—?”

“Mark Jarvis,” he said, extending his hand. “I’m a reporter covering the Logan Echolls murder investigation, and I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation with your girlfriend.”

Piz laughed nervously. “She’s not my girlfriend, sir.”

Jarvis waved his hand. “Unimportant,” he said. Then, he clasped his hands together on the table in front of him. “Ye-ah, so I overheard the two of you talking, which really doesn’t matter because KRBZ already had our own lead on the DNA information.”

“Right,” said Piz, tugging at his collar.

“Yeah, I’m going to need you to leak that on your show tonight, kid,” Jarvis said, flashing an incredibly fake smile. “Think you can handle it?”

“You want me to what?”

Jarvis reached into his briefcase and handed Piz a slip of paper over the debris from lunch. Piz skimmed the news brief, which outlined what Mac had said—Logan’s semen had been found in the backseat of Veronica’s car. Given the amount of blood and the shattered glass, authorities were now charging him in the assault, kidnapping, murder and rape of Veronica Mars. Piz’s stomach lurched, and he shoved the paper back.

“No,” he said. “I don’t even know if that’s true.”

“I have sources,” Jarvis offered, returning to his briefcase.

Piz scooted away from the table. “I don’t care. I’m not releasing that. Besides, why would you want a college deejay to scoop your lead?”

Jarvis gritted his teeth for a second. “Ye-ah,” he said, stretching out the syllable again, “we’re kind of under a gag order after releasing information about the ballistics test. Law enforcement officials are calling it media frenzy, I’m calling it the public’s right to know. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“No,” Piz said. He shook his head vehemently, unable to believe this guy. “No way.”

“So where are we on your show?” Jarvis pressed.

“No!” Piz repeated, standing up and slinging his bag over his shoulder. “I think you need to get off campus before someone calls security.”

Jarvis smiled coolly. “I think you need to change his mind.” Drawing out a mini cassette recorder, he pushed play. Mac’s voice was faint under the noise of the cafeteria, but her admission to bugging the sheriff’s office was clear.

“That’s not legal,” Piz sputtered.

“More so than what she did,” Jarvis replied cheerfully. “So what do you say, Piznarski? Take care of that release for me, and I make sure no one ever knows what your girlfriend—”

“Friend.”

“—what your girlfriend did. Don’t take care of it, and I tell the sheriff she’s working to clear Echolls because she was also involved in the murder of Veronica Mars.”

* * *

Sunday, March 23, 2008

Logan licked his lips as the guard jerked him away from the dining area, spreading the coppery taste of blood. He started to spit, but the guard gave his head a three-fingered shove.

“Don’t,” he growled, gripping Logan’s arms ever tighter. “Someone has to clean these floors, rich boy.” Guiding Logan into a cell at the end of a long, cool hallway, his first move was to shove the younger man in the direction of the sink. “Spit.”

“Thanks,” Logan said, sitting heavily on the cot. The guard was already locking up.

“Congratulations, Echolls,” he said, “less than two weeks and you already had to be removed from the general prison population. Hate to break it to you, but murder carries a sentence of twenty-five to life.”

Logan didn’t say anything. He was tired of proclaiming his innocence, tired of trying to make people see. He imagined all of Neptune was convinced of his guilt now, thanks to one Stosh Piznarski, and the San Diego prison population seemed to agree.

Three times in as many days now, he’d been jumped from behind. Easing back on the cot, Logan winced at his swollen ribs. Apparently, victimization of tiny blondes doesn’t go over well, even here. And if other convicts were throwing punches over dinner, he didn’t hold out much hope for felony-free populace.

“Don’t have anything to say for yourself, do you?” the guard sneered. “Even your old man was more popular with the guards.”

He tromped back down the concrete hall, and Logan tried to make himself comfortable. Even when he managed to relieve the pressure from his bumps and bruises, he could still hear the guards razing him with their usual “like father, like son” commentary. At least his eye, which had been popping out when Mac visited him last, was starting to heal.

Even when the overhead light went off, Logan couldn’t fall asleep. He tried staring at the ceiling, counting sheep, finally closing his eyes. They sprang open when he heard shuffling in his tiny cell.

“Following in my footsteps, son?” Aaron asked, his voice cold as he ran a hand across the lip of the sink. He inspected the grime that came up. “Hmm.”

“Go away,” Logan said, closing his eyes. At least he knew he’d finally fallen asleep.

“What? You haven’t seen me in months, Logan, and you’re already trying to get rid of me?” Aaron wanted to know. He crouched down, leaning over Logan’s cot. “What does it feel like to be accused of a crime you didn’t commit?”

Logan swung his legs over the side of the cot and sat up, forcing his dead father out of his face. “You killed Lilly, Dad. You admitted as much to Veronica.”

“What did I tell you about a convincing performance, son?” Aaron continued, somehow managing to pace within the confines of Logan’s cell. “A jury will believe anything if you just make them believe it.”

“Yeah, well, I’ll just make them believe all the evidence against me is purely coincidental,” Logan muttered bitterly.

“My, my, my—you’re innocent and you’re not even fighting as hard as I did.”

Logan scrambled to his feet, matching his father’s height. “Wait, you—”

An unpleasant smirk turned the corners of Aaron’s mouth upward. “Even in death, the bitch didn’t shut up.”

“What?”

But Aaron was gone.

* * *

Monday, March 24, 2008

Mac wasn’t surprised to see Piz lurking outside the sociology building as she left her last class on Thursday. He stepped out of the shadows when he saw her, squinting in the bright California sunshine. Adjusting her shoulder strap, she walked briskly in the direction of her dorm.

“Mac, wait!”

She whirled around, almost taking out a tour guide leading a group of potential students around campus. “What do you want, Piz?”

He caught up with her, dropping his hands to his knees as he tried to catch his breath. “To talk to you.”

“So talk,” Mac said, sweeping her arm theatrically before grabbing the strap of her book bag. “What do you want, Piz?”

“To apologize,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Look, this guy? Mark Jarvis?”

Mac’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah, Mark Jarvis. I know him. He’s the reporter who had Logan convicted before Sacks even made an arrest.”

“I had to do it, Mac. You don’t understand. This Jarvis guy?” Piz begged. “He knew things. He made me do it.”

“Did he now? He made you?” Mac challenged.

“Yeah, Mac, he did.”

Her eyes flashed. “No, Piz. No one made you do anything. You always have a choice. Do you not get that? Just admit it. Outside influence or not, you would have leaked the story.”

“What are you talking about? I’m not like that.”

“Yeah?” Mac said, folding her arms across her chest. “Why’d you get involved in the first place, Piz? Last year? You knew Veronica had a boyfriend, and you made a move anyway.”

“Only after they’d broken up. Some good it did me. I seem to remember getting the short end of that day, or maybe you’ve forgotten the violent heart-crushing way she let me down.”

“Don’t,” Mac said, closing her eyes. “Don’t you even drag Veronica into this.”

“She wasn’t a saint, Mac.”

“Yeah? She was my best friend, Piz. That mean anything to you?”

“That maybe you should accept that she was murdered and let the authorities put her killer behind bars?”

Before she knew what she was doing, Mac had slapped Piz soundly across the face. “Like I tried to tell Parker,” she said. “You just don’t get between those two.”

She left Piz standing dumbfounded on the sidewalk, blinking rapidly, the passing tour group pointing and whispering. Breathe, Mac, she reminded, trying not to sprint towards her room. There were six hours of tape she needed to sort through from the Sheriff’s office, but all she wanted to do was curl up in bed. She’d just have to call Max and cancel their plans for the evening.

Her hands were still shaking when she reached the door, and she trembled as she pulled her keys from her pocket. It took her two tries to unlock the door, and she threw her books down immediately. Closing her eyes, she leaned against her dresser and tried to calm her nerves.

“Cindy.”

Mac jumped, unable to think of a single positive reason why a man would be in her dorm room. She whirled around. Keith Mars was sitting on the foot of her bed.

“Mr. Mars,” she said, her heart still racing.

He gave her a little wave. “Sorry if I scared you.”

“No, no, not at all,” Mac said slowly, turning her desk chair around and sitting down. “Can I help you with something?”

Keith folded his hands in his lap, glancing across the room to the window. “Tell me something I didn’t know about my daughter.”

Mac blinked, unsure what her friend’s father was asking. “What do you mean, sir?”

“Anything. Just something I didn’t know about her.”

“She was trying to learn how to sew when she died,” Mac blurted. “She’d taken a couple of lessons at the craft studio, and she dragged me to the fabric store to look at sewing machines once.”

A small smile crossed Keith’s face. “Tell me something else I didn’t know.”

Mac stood and moved to sit next to him on the bed. “She was going to take a pre-law class this semester, just so she could apply to law school to prove she could get in. And she wanted to speak at graduation, just so she didn’t have to listen to anyone else’s commencement address.”

“That’s my girl,” Keith said wistfully.

“She worried about her relationship with you a lot,” Mac said, unable to stop herself. “She worried the two of you were fighting too much, but she didn’t know how to make things right with you, either. She said once she wasn’t used to having people in her life that stuck around, but you always did. And sometimes she was scared to admit she needed you and her friends.” She laughed nervously. “I figured that one out on my own, actually.”

“I know you think Logan’s innocent,” Keith said softly.

Mac nodded. “I do.”

“I know you’ve been visiting him, even after they transferred him to San Diego.”

“Yeah, I have.”

“Why?”

“Because he loved Veronica,” Mac said simply. “And she loved him.”

Keith stood. “Thanks for your time, Mac.”

“No, Mr. Mars,” Mac said. “I’m not crazy.” She followed him to the door, her arms folded across her chest. “You wanted to know something you didn’t know about Veronica?”

He stopped, his hand on the door. “What?”

“Veronica went to a party once,” Mac said softly. “And she took a drink from someone she didn’t know. Shelly Pomroy’s house, sophomore year. She woke up the next morning without her underwear.”

Keith’s lip quivered, and for a second, Mac thought he would cry. Instead, he raised a fist and slammed it into her door. Mac bit her lip, took a deep breath, and continued.

“It took her awhile, but she thought she figured it out. She’d had consensual sex with Duncan, just couldn’t remember it. Only that didn’t explain how she ended up with Chlamydia. Woody Goodman molesting Cassidy Casablancas?” Mac wrung her hands as she said her ex’s name. “That did.”

Tears were now streaming down Keith’s cheeks. He was shaking his head. “Why are you telling me this?” he demanded. “That’s my little girl you’re talking about.”

She touched his shoulder lightly. “I just don’t think the guy who spent an entire summer holding her while she cried, assuring her he’d be there, ferrying around her dumb friend who’d gotten involved with a sociopath, would turn around and do the exact same thing.”

Keith nodded, tears still caught in his eyes.

“Why did you arrest Logan, Mr. Mars?” Mac wanted to know.

“I don’t know, Mac,” he said, his voice shaking. “I don’t know.”

* * *

Wednesday, January 30, 2008

“Loretta Cancun’s in holding cell two, Sheriff,” Deputy Sacks said, poking his head into the office. Keith didn’t look up from his paperwork. “Sheriff? Did you hear me? Loretta Cancun’s been arrested again.”

“Cliff’s on speed dial two, Sacks,” Keith said finally.

The deputy nodded, turning to leave, but stopped short. He hesitantly stepped back into the office and crossed to his boss’s desk. He frowned when he saw Veronica’s autopsy results spread out again. “Keith,” Sacks asked, “are you sure you need those out again?”

His elbows propped on the table, hands resting on his baldhead, Keith cast a sidelong look at Sacks. “It’s an open murder investigation, Jerry.”

Sacks flinched as he lifted a photo detailing the damage to Veronica’s abdomen, dried blood the color of rust against her torn porcelain flesh. “It’s your daughter, Keith.”

“Have they run the DNA on the Dog Beach blade?” the sheriff asked. They’d recovered a bloody knife three days before and were waiting on lab results.

“Not yet,” Sacks said, sighing. “But there’s not a print to be found, Sheriff, even if it is the murder weapon.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Keith countered. “Keep me updated.”

“Right,” Sacks said, quietly replacing the photo. “Keith—”

“What about the gun?” the Sheriff interrupted. “No new hits in the state ballistics database, right?”

Sacks shook his head. “No new hits,” he echoed.

“Thanks, Jerry,” Keith said, finally looking up from the coroner’s report. His eyes were red-rimmed. “Let me know about the Cancun booking?”

“Of course, sir,” Sacks responded. He was halfway out when Keith’s phone rang.

“Hello?” the sheriff asked, his deputy still hovering. “This is Keith Mars.” His brow furrowed, and he suddenly pushed back from his desk and stood. “Of course, I’ll check it out right away.”

“Sir?” Sacks said questioningly, watching Keith tuck his gun in his holster.

“Someone tripped the silent alarm at Mars Investigations,” Keith said, brushing past him on the way to the door. “Let Halls know what’s happening and follow me in a squad car.”

“Of course, Keith,” said Sacks, following his boss out of his office. Keith locked the door behind him before jogging lightly to his car.

He turned on the siren as he made his way across town but flipped it off as he turned the corner towards the office. The building was dark, and nothing seemed out of place from the street. Grabbing his gun, Keith slipped past the dentist’s office downstairs and made his way silently to his office. He could hear shuffling on the other side of the door.

“Sheriff’s Department, hands where I can seem them!” Keith shouted, throwing the door back. He hit the light switch. “Logan?”

Half the filing cabinets behind the receptionist’s desk had been torn apart, and Veronica’s ex-boyfriend was sitting in the midst of the mess. “Hey, Sheriff Mars,” Logan said nervously, starting to lower his hands.

“Uh-uh,” said Keith, still pointing his gun at the young man. “I didn’t say you could put your hands down. Mind telling me what you’re doing?”

“Nothing wrong, sir, I swear,” Logan said. “I just—I just knew Veronica was working on a case against the Fitzpatricks. I wanted to see if she had any notes about the case lying around.”

Keith finally lowered his pistol. “And you don’t think I’ve scored this office a thousand times? You don’t think we’ve taken apart her hard drive?” he asked, shaking his head. “You can put your hands down.”

Logan lowered them slowly. “Thanks sir,” he said, averting his eyes.

The sheriff crossed the room quickly, immediately snatching the case file Logan had been absorbing. He started gathering papers and files and returning them to the proper drawers. “What the hell did you think you were doing, Logan, breaking into the office of the sheriff?”

“I don’t know, sir,” the young man mumbled, realizing it would be a good time to clear out. He hovered against the wall, several feet from Veronica’s desk. “I just—I just need answers.”

Keith stopped his sorting. “And you think I don’t? She was my daughter, Logan. I know she made it look easy, busting cheating spouses and solving petty crimes, but real detective work takes time.”

“Right, I just—”

The door Keith had carefully shut burst open again as Sacks flew into the room. “Backup, sir!” he called. “Everything all right?”

“Everything’s fine, Deputy,” Keith said, watching Sacks’ eyes fall on Logan, who for once didn’t have much to say.

“Sir, should I...?” Sacks started.

Keith started to shake his head, but stopped, focusing instead on the papers still littering the office. “Cuff him, Sacks,” he said wearily. He glanced up from the framed photo he was holding—one of Logan and Veronica, actually, that she’d always shoved in a drawer when she thought he was inspecting her desk too closely. “I’m sorry, son, but we have to take you in for questioning. It’s procedure.”

Sacks crossed the room, reading Logan his rights. Keith watched out of the corner of his eyes, trying to pretend the sight of Veronica’s ex in cuffs didn’t rattle him. He’d had his doubts about the boy when she’d dated him, but he looked positively stricken as the metal slipped against his wrists. Sacks began to lead him out.

“Logan?” Keith said, unable to help himself. The young man stopped, causing Sacks to run into him. “It wasn’t the Fitzpatricks. We—we followed every lead we could since the two of you were there that night, but... nothing. Their alibis are airtight between one and five that morning, and unfortunately we provided them.”

Sacks’ eyes went wide. “Keith, we—”

“I’ll see you at the station, Jerry,” Keith said gently. “I’d like to interrogate him if you don’t mind.”

“Of course, sir,” the deputy replied, leading Logan out.

Keith could hear them on the stairs, Sacks prodding the young man along. He shook his head and continued to straight the office. On his way out, Veronica’s desk still didn’t look quite right. Shuffling back around, he pulled the framed photo of her and Logan out of the top drawer. Replacing it on the corner of the desk, he reset the alarm and slipped out of the office.

* * *

Wednesday, April 2, 2008

“Your eye is finally healing up, Mr. Echolls,” Harvey Kuner said, his voice dripping with false sincerity as the guard shoved Logan in the direction of the bench in the visitor’s area. On the other side of the glass, he swung his briefcase onto the little ledge and popped the clasp. “Let’s talk about your case.”

“You’re all business, aren’t you, Harvey?” Logan asked, propping his elbows on his side of the ledge.

Kuner arched a perfectly manicured eyebrow behind his wire-rimmed glasses. “You pay me by the hour, Mr. Echolls. I hurry along for your sake, and because my second wife is a swimsuit model who hates to spend too much time alone.”

“I’m doing well, thanks for asking.”

“Need I remind you you’re being charged with murder?”

Logan lifted his arm so his handcuffs rattled. “Haven’t forgotten,” he said cheerfully. “So where are we on getting me out of here?”

“I think you’ll be pleased, Mr. Echolls,” Kuner said, sliding papers under the glass for Logan’s inspection. “I talked to the DA yesterday, and I think we’re approaching a deal. I’m still pushing for the possibility of parole, but I can assure you won’t receive the death penalty.”

Logan’s brow furrowed as he studied the papers. “Plea bargain?” he asked, shaking his head. He slid the papers back to Kuner. “No way.”

Kuner pushed the papers back. Logan returned them a second time. “Mr. Echolls, twenty-five to life doesn’t sound like my idea of a good time either, but like I said, I think I can get you out on good behavior.”

“When?” Logan demanded, pounding a fist on the ledge and receiving a warning look from the beefy guard posted at the door. “In fifteen years? Twenty?”

“Quite possibly less, Mr. Echolls, if you can refrain from pissing off the rest of the prison population in the future,” Kuner said, his lips curling in a snarl. “Though I daresay, judging by the gash above your eye, it’s unlikely.”

Logan pretended to bat his eyelashes as his hand flew to his face. “I daresay, this?” He narrowed his eyes. “I thought you said it was looking better. No one likes a liar, Harvey.”

“No one likes a smartass, Logan,” Kuner echoed. “I’m going back to renegotiate tomorrow, but I’d advise you take whatever the DA has to offer, Mr. Echolls.”

“But I’m innocent.”

“Of course you are.”

Logan slammed another fist against the ledge, this time hard enough to rattle the glass separating him from Kuner and earn the scorn of the guard, who started towards him. Kuner raised a hand on the other side, shaking his head. He smiled smugly while Logan drew in deep breaths, trying to calm himself.

“I did not kill Veronica,” Logan said through gritted teeth. “I loved her, and I lie awake in my cell every night trying to figure out where I went so wrong in that relationship to end up accused of brutally stabbing her to death.”

Kuner didn’t look the least sorry as he started shoving papers back in his briefcase. “Mr. Echolls, do I need to remind you we go to trial in little over a month? Admissions of love are not going to convince the jury Miss Mars’ blood isn’t on your hands. A key witness or three could, yet you haven’t provided me with a single name who might want to save your sorry ass.”

“I told you to talk to Cindy Mackenzie,” Logan said stubbornly.

“And I told you juries aren’t very receptive to computer programming majors. They just don’t speak the same language as the rest of the population. Besides, there’s no way a jury would buy her loyalty to you or even her friendship with Veronica, and eleven of them would probably mistake her testimony for a love letter to you.” Kuner made a face. “To which you responded that I might go fuck myself.”

“No, you told me there was no way a good girl like that would even talk to me, called Veronica a whore, and suggested I got off on brutally stabbing my ex to death,” Logan retorted. “To which I responded for you to go fuck yourself.”

Kuner arched an eyebrow. “Is that not what I just said?”

Logan folded his arms across his chest. “I have half a mind to fire you.”

“You’ve already run through two of Southern California’s best criminal defense attorneys. Between rumors of your attitude and the smoldering stack of evidence the bumbling sheriff of Balboa County somehow managed to gather, there’s not a lawyer in the state willing to touch your case.”

The man had a point. Logan chose to ignore it. “And you can’t get Keith Mars on the stand?”

“Mr. Echolls, I thought I’d explained this, but I’ll try again.” Kuner gestured with his hands, as if he were trying to drive the point home to a five-year-old. “Think of ‘subpoenaed to testify for the prosecution’ and ‘willingness to testify for the defense’ as double-dipping. You can only do one or the other. Do I need to explain subpoenaed, also?”

“Fuck you,” Logan said.

“Community soap,” Kuner leered. He looked thoughtful. “Not that you’re allowed to play with the other prisoners anymore.”

Logan slouched in his seat. “With friends like these, who needs enemies?” he muttered.

Kuner gathered his briefcase. “I’ll renegotiate with the DA tomorrow.”

“Don’t bother. We’re going to court.”

“Not with you as the defense’s only witness, we aren’t. I need another name, Mr. Echolls. Someone who wants less than I do to see your sorry ass rot in jail for twenty-five to life.”

* * *

Saturday, April 12, 2008

“An AMBER alert has been issued for a six-year-old Encinitas girl. It is believed that Amanda Kohl was abducted from her front yard by a man driving a white—”

Wallace took a deep breath as he pulled the key from his ignition, halting the radio announcer mid-word. He’d already let the engine idle for five minutes outside the Mars’ apartment (of Keith’s apartment, but he still couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that Veronica didn’t live there anymore, or anywhere), and he couldn’t put this off forever.

At the front door, he shifted his weight from foot to foot, triple-checking the saran wrap on the cookies his mom had asked him to deliver before he knocked. He didn’t want it to be obvious he’d snatched one in the car.

He’d have taken two, but as much as he hated to admit it, his mom’s snickerdoodles didn’t hold a candle to Veronica’s.

The door opened, catching Wallace off guard. He forced a smile on his face as he extended the platter to Keith. “Hey Mr. Mars. My mom sent me over.”

“Did she?” Keith asked, smiling warmly. He held the door open, clearly expecting Wallace to follow. Seeing no other option, the young man tried to brush off how awkward he felt returning to Veronica’s apartment. “Come on, sit down. I think I have some milk in the fridge—oh, Mac’s here.”

Wallace’s brow furrowed. “Hey,” he said, glancing at the living room, where files were spread from one all to the next. Mac gave him a guilty smile and a small wave as he tiptoed through the mess and took a seat on the couch. “So, uh, what are you working on?”

“Class project,” Mac said quickly—almost too quickly. Jumping up to help Keith in the kitchen, she wiped her hands on her jeans and smiled widely. “Mr. Mars has been helping me with a project.”

“Criminology,” Keith said, jumping in, wiping his hands on a dishtowel. “Mac wanted my opinion on a report she’d written, and I was so interested in the topic I asked to see her research.”

“Yeah?” Wallace said, reaching down and grabbing the nearest paper. “So what’s your project about?”

“Imprisonment!” Mac blurted. She squeaked, slapping a hand to her mouth. “False imprisonment.”

This is bad. Wallace couldn’t help but critique her style, having watched Veronica cover her ass so many times. Had this been the Mars family improvising, their story would have blended seamlessly together. “Logan Echolls’ false imprisonment?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow.

Keith just continued his ministrations with the towel, but Mac rushed towards him. “Please, Wallace, don’t be mad. We have good reasons to be helping him, okay?” she said breathlessly, plopping down beside him.

“It’s cool, Mac, really,” Wallace said. “Piz said you thought Logan was innocent.”

“Damn roommates who still talk to each other,” Mac muttered, watching as Keith started silently towards them, somehow balancing the cookies in one hand and three glasses of milk in the other.

“So what do you think, Wallace?” he asked, striking a tone balanced perfectly between father and sheriff. He handed one glass to Wallace and, after glancing at the remaining two, one to Mac. “I remembered to buy soy this time.”

“Thanks, Mr. Mars,” Mac said, grabbing a cookie, her eyes never leaving Wallace, who shrugged helplessly.

“Yeah, I don’t know, Mr. Mars,” he said. “I mean, you know I was really messed up for awhile there, and whoever killed Veronica, I want him behind bars. But... she’s not coming back, no matter who they arrest or convict.”

“That’s a very healthy attitude, Wallace,” Keith said, dunking his own cookie. “So how’s your mother?”

No you don’t, Wallace thought, but he imagined Veronica had learned how to change subjects from a master. “She’s good. Already freaking out about sending Darryl to middle school in the fall.”

Keith chuckled. “What about you? How’s school? Mac tells me you’re headed back to Africa this summer.”

“Mmhmm,” Wallace said, taking a swig of milk so large he nearly chocked. “Seriously, Mr. Mars. Are we gonna do this? Tell me about Logan.”

Mac and Keith exchanged a look, and she started talking. And talking. And talking. And finally, she snapped her jaw shut, waiting for his reaction. Wallace could practically feel his head spinning—and Mac’s eyes burning hopefully at him.

“So Logan’s more throw-a-few-punches than revenge-on-the-ex,” Wallace said. “I can dig it. But if he didn’t kill Veronica, who did? The Fitzpatricks? The Castle?”

Keith winced. “Most twenty-year-old girls don’t have quite as many enemies,” he said wistfully. “Honestly, Wallace? We don’t know.”

“That’s why we’re going through all these files again,” Mac injected. “We’re trying to see if we missed anything before.”

“What about the Fitzpatricks?” Wallace wanted to know. “If they were threatening to kill her that night, aren’t they the logical suspects?”

“That’s the thing,” Mac said. She slipped off the sofa and reached for a file, rubbing her temples as she studied it again, probably for the hundredth time. “Logan admits he’s not sure about that part. He knows for sure he heard them plotting something, even discussing a woman’s murder. But he’s not sure at this point if he just imagined hearing her name over the wire in his grief.”

“They have airtight alibis to boot,” Keith said, running his hand over his bald head. “We were doing random sweeps of the bars all night. Everywhere else we dropped in for an hour or two, then left, because the entire sweep was a sting for Thursday night drug traffic at the River Styx. Unsurprisingly, they must have had a tip—no cocaine, and even Danny Boyd was on his best behavior.”

“So we’re investigating the Castle,” Mac said. “Only—we don’t now that much about the Castle.”

“Uh-uh,” Wallace said automatically. “I ain’t putting on another shock collar any time soon.”

Keith chuckled. “Don’t worry, Wallace. We still have the hard drive, and we’ve been able to glean a lot off of it, but nothing useful so far.”

“We actually lost a lot of ground because Nish published that list of names last summer,” Mac said, glancing up from he floor. “Unsurprisingly, every one of those people has disavowed all knowledge of the Castle and pointed out all the squeaky-clean highlights of their careers.” She scoffed. “I’m ninety-nine percent certain they’ve regrouped under a new name, like the Chalet, or the Mansion, or the Skyscraper, or maybe even the Snooty Billionaire’s Club.”

“So we’re exploring other angles,” Keith said, mouthing ‘does she always ramble like this?’ over Mac’s head.

“Like?”

“Anything that gives Logan a fighting chance. For awhile we thought it might have something to do with Vinnie Van Lowe’s disappearance, but it’s been four months and the sheriff’s department has even fewer leads.”

“So Veronica didn’t happen to mention anything to you, like ‘I’m involved in something really dangerous, here it is,’ or ‘In case I mysteriously disappear, here’s who to look to,’ did she?” Mac pressed.

“No,” said Wallace, scratching his chin. “Wait, did you say you thought it had something to do with Sheriff Van Lowe’s disappearance?”

“Do you know something?” Mac said anxiously, her eyes wide and her hand resting on Wallace’s knee when she whipped around.

He shrugged. “Just what I told Sacks. A day or two before Van Lowe disappeared, she was supposed to meet me for dinner but was running late. She rushed into the food court, all out of breath, asking if I’d mind swiping for her in one breath and mentioning the Sheriff had stopped by in the other. She scoffed, muttered something about how offensive it was to refer to him as a man of the law, and ran off with my ID card to grab two helpings of lasagna.”

Keith and Mac exchanged glances before lunging at the same time for a pen and a pad of paper. Wallace just stared at them. “What? You didn’t know that?”

“No,” Mac said, scribbling furiously. With her taking notes, Keith had abandoned his own pen. He stared inquisitively at Wallace.

“Do you remember anything else?”

“A week or so later, she baked me a batch of cookies and told me we were long due for some concentrated BFF time, but I could tell she was trying to butter me up for a favor,” Wallace said. “I told her I was done—no more bugging, no more file stealing, and definitely no more nudity. She dropped by on Thanksgiving because she’d already eaten everything in sight here, and we had coffee a few times, but that was it.”

He wiped at his eyes with his sleeve, noticing how Mac and Keith both pretended not to notice. Brushing it off, he reached for a file off the floor. He cleared his throat.

“So what can I do to help?”

* * *

Sunday, April 13, 2008

Piz might have still had a thing or two to say to Wallace, but Mac had long since run out of things to talk about with Parker. She imagined it didn’t help that Parker still planned to provide character testimony for the prosecution at Logan’s murder trial. Nothing she had said or done could convince Parker of his innocence; according to the blonde, the beating he’d dealt Piz and the cavalier way with which he’d tossed her aside were precursors to murder.

So, when Keith finally walked her to her car in the apartment parking lot at one thirty in the morning, Mac had driven not to Hearst, but to Max’s apartment. It wasn’t like she talked to her parents more than once a month these days anyway—they didn’t seem to suspect she’d moved in with her boyfriend in the slightest. Fumbling at the door with her keys, she let herself in, yawning sleepily. There was no way she’d make her eight o’clock class the next morning.

Hoping not to wake Max, Mac shuffled through the kitchen without flipping on a light. She slipped into the bedroom and stripped out of her jeans, swamping them for a pair of loose-fitting boxers from the pile of laundry on the floor. She cringed when she stepped backward into another soft heap of clothes. There was a chance she’d sort of let go of housekeeping in recent weeks.

After brushing her teeth, she unhooked her bra and pulled it through her sleeve, sliding under the covers of Max’s bed. She assumed he was asleep, but when she went to fluff her pillow, he wrapped an arm around her waist.

“Hey, sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“That’s three night in a row you’ve been out,” Max grumbled. “I never thought I’d say this, but can’t you run out to bars and make me worry you’re cheating like other girls?”

Mac giggled. “You know I only have eyes for you.”

Max let go of her, rolling from his side to his back, leaving Mac alone on her side of the bed. “Right, me and Logan Echolls. No competition there.”

“You know I haven’t seen Logan in two weeks. Five fights—he didn’t even start any of them, but he still lost visitor privileges.”

“Two girls from your sociology class stopped by,” Max said. “You were supposed to study with them?”

“Oh, God, I completely forgot,” Mac breathed. “Damn. My phone must have been off.”

“Are you completely forgetting something else?”

Mac’s eyes widened. She slapped her forehead. “I can’t believe this. I have a test in there tomorrow, and I haven’t cracked a book in weeks.”

Max stiffened on his side of the bed. “I mean our date yesterday. I was going to take you out, celebrate our ten month anniversary? You completely blew me off, Mac.”

“I am so sorry,” she gasped. “I don’t know how it slipped—”

“And Mac?” he interrupted. “You know how you made me go to classes this year?”

“Uh-huh.”

“That goes two ways.” Max rolled away from her, tugging the sheets with him. Mac wrapped her arms around her pillow, wondering how fast she’d be able to find a new place to crash.

* * *

Author’s Notes: Yes, I’m back. Yes, chapter four is already in the works. No, I don’t plan to keep you waiting for over a year. I’m aiming for between one and two weeks, given that you’ll get at least 8,000 words when I do post again.

I’m also committing myself to a number of other writing projects in the Veronica Mars fandom, including my table at 100_situations. But I need your help. Here, I’ve left my impassioned plea for you to take a look at my table and tell me what word to tackle next.