Lia Farrell - Mae December 02 - Two Dogs Lie Sleeping by Lia Farrell

pre-law major, had fallen to his death from the Sigma Chi Fraternity House window on January 3, 1998.
    He buzzed Dory.
    “Hey, I just had an idea. Can you come back here?”
    “On my way.” She appeared in his doorway in seconds.
    “Nobody told me I couldn’t investigate the reason Tom Ferris disappeared.” Ben smiled with satisfaction. “I can work on that while Wayne focuses on the Ferris murder.”
    “Pretty proud of yourself, thinking of that idea,” Dory said, her lips twitching.
    “Wayne and I both think the Ferris killing is tied to something that happened right before he disappeared. I found an article in the student newspaper about a suicide; the kid’s name was Ryan Gentry. He jumped from the window of the Sigma Chi House to his death on January third, 1998. I want to talk with the detective who investigated that case. Can you use your contacts to find out who he was and get me a phone number?”
    “No problem, boss,” Dory said. Although Dory frustrated Ben periodically, she was a whiz at finding information he needed.
    A bout an hour later, Dory buzzed Ben. “I have the information you wanted about the original investigating Detective,” she said. “He’s retired now, but his name is Patrick Devlin Pascoe, known as PD. I’ve got the address and phone number.” She read off the information.
    Ben called but there was no answer. He left a message about his hunch that the recent murder of Tom Ferris was linked to Ryan Gentry’s death. The phone rang about twenty minutes later ; it was Detective Pascoe. Ben asked if he remembered the case.
    “How could I forget?” he said. “It was a bad one.”
    Every cop or detective had the types of cases that they couldn’t get over. Often it was the young victims that haunted them. “Would you be willing to talk to me about the case?” Ben asked. When Detective Pascoe agreed, Ben made arrangements to drive out to his house later in the day.
    “Do you have pictures? Crime scene stuff?”
    “I’ve got the whole case file. Took it with me when I left. Against the rules, but the Department knows where it is if they need it. I’ll be waiting for you.”
    “I get the feeling you had doubts about it being suicide,” Ben said.
    “I sure did,” the detective said. “I still do.”
     
    Detective Pascoe lived alone in a small cabin off a long graveled two-track, two hours east of Sheriff Bradley’s office. Much of the mile-long driveway had eroded from rain. The sheriff’s police cruiser hit each and every pothole. He could feel the springs bouncing. When he drove up to the little place, Ben was reminded of the cabin that had been his grandfather’s and where he spent many happy days as a kid.
    Detective Pascoe opened the door to let the sheriff in before he knocked. The old man was in his early seventies and pale, but he still looked strong.
    “Wondered if you would show up,” the detective said gruffly, standing in the open doorway.
    “Took me a while to get here from Rosedale. I’m Sheriff Bradley. Call me Ben.”
    He held out his hand and the old man took it in a bone-crushing grip.
    “I’m PD. Come in, I have some coffee on. How do you take it?”
    “Black,” Ben said. He walked inside the large open kitchen and saw a small table covered in papers and photos. “Is that the file?” he asked.
    “Yes. I was taking another look. I made you a copy .” He handed Ben a neatly stacked pile of papers clipped together.
    “Treat this confidentially,” PD said.
    “Of course. Thanks for doing all this.”
    “Sit down .” He handed Ben a mug.
    “So you didn’t think Ryan Gentry committed suicide? Any evidence?” Ben asked.
    “Pretty thin, but I knew. Something hinky with the case from the get-go. The family was wealthy. The kid had some trouble with drugs that the father covered up. It happened four years before he died. When he got picked up for the drug offense, he was only sixteen. Dad sent the kid to military school until he was eighteen