Bad Karma

Chapter 12

Shannon was five minutes late arriving at the Boulder Police Station and Daniels kept him waiting another twenty. When Daniels did appear, he carried a thick folder under his arm. His face remained expressionless and his manner frigid as he gave Shannon a dead-eyed stare.

“Anything else you care to extort from me?” he asked. Shannon ignored him and instead told him that Gibson was being investigated by the Wichita police for sexually abusing his daughters. That warmed Daniels up a bit. At least it chipped away some of the frost.

“I had those same vibes when I met them,” he said. “Both of them smelled wrong. Especially the mother. I was wondering if you’d pick up on that also. How’d you convince the Wichita police to take this on?”

“I got lucky,” Shannon said, then he gave Daniels a full rundown of his trip to Wichita, including the conversations he had with Eric Wilson and Detective Don Chase, and the later one he had with their chief.

“So they’re also looking into Gibson being involved with the murders,” Daniels said, his voice barely guttural.

“Not just him. The mother also.”

“I’ll call their captain later and put more pressure on him, make sure he doesn’t let this slide. I’ll have the DA call also.” He looked hesitantly at Shannon. “What do you think? Could they’ve done that to their daughter themselves, or paid someone to?”

“They had to’ve been worried about the sexual abuse being exposed,” Shannon said. “And the mother’s not playing with a full deck.”

“Yeah, but to kill their own daughter?”

“It’s possible. I’ve seen worse.”

“Yeah, I know, but still… what’s your gut saying?”

Shannon shook his head. “I don’t think they had anything to do with the murders. But at least if the police dig hard enough they’ll find something to send Gibson away for sexually abusing his daughters. It’s not enough, but it’s something.”

“Yeah, I agree about it not being enough,” Daniels said. “When I think about what that girl went through it makes me sick. Raped by her dad for years, then when she finally has a chance to make a life for herself, she’s butchered like a side of beef.” He sighed heavily, pushed a hand through his hair. “Alright, let me show you the crime scene photos. I just hope this doesn’t fuck up the case.”

Shannon knew there was no chance of that. As a licensed private investigator he could be shown all of their confidential police reports involving the murders without it effecting a future trial. But he also knew the reason for Daniels’ reluctance. The beating the Boulder police had been taking in public opinion was brutal and he knew the last thing they wanted was for it to be reported that they enlisted the aid of a private investigator to bail them out. As he followed Daniels through the station, the police lieutenant walked stiffly, making sure Shannon could tell how much of an imposition this was for him.

“I’m not looking to get my name in the papers,” Shannon told him.

Daniels turned back and raised an eyebrow at him.

“If I find out who’s responsible for these murders I’m deferring to you and the Boulder Police Department. I don’t care about getting my name out there, and I don’t want the publicity.”

“That’s up to you,” Daniels said gruffly, but a weight seemed to roll off his shoulders. He showed a bemused smile as he asked why Shannon didn’t want the free advertising the publicity would bring.

“I’m thinking this might be the last investigation I take on,” Shannon said.

That caught Daniels by surprise. “Because of the beating you took? It doesn’t look too bad right now.”

“Yeah, it could’ve been worse. No teeth knocked out or broken bones at least. But I have my better half to think about. Five years ago the two of us went through a lot back in Boston, and I don’t want to put her through anything more.”

Daniels considered Shannon through narrow red-rimmed eyes. After a while he shook his head. “You ain’t quitting,” he said. “This work’s in your blood.”

Shannon laughed at that. “You’re the second cop the past week who’s told me that. Fuck, I’ll get a transfusion if I have to.”

“Yeah, I doubt that would do any good.” Daniels opened the door to an interrogation room and waited for Shannon to lead the way in. After Shannon took a seat at the table, Daniels removed a stack of photos from the folder he was carrying and tossed them onto the table.

The photos showed the full savagery of the murders. Several taken from different angles showed Linda Gibson lying naked face down in the living room with the back of her head bashed in and red dots of blood spotting her body like freckles. A trail of blood smudges could be seen leading from her body to the bedroom. From the frontal pictures taken at the morgue, the left side of her face had been caved in and her eye knocked out of its socket. The photos of Taylor Carver were worse, his head nothing more than a bloody pulp. His body lay in a fetal position inside the bedroom about five feet from the door. He was also naked, his skin a pale bluish white in contrast to the red blood streaks across his body. Splatters of blood speckled the bedroom walls and small bone fragments littered the floor. A sheet lay crumpled on the floor next to Carver’s body. It looked as if it had been dipped in red paint.

Shannon looked away from the photos, asked, “Was only Carver’s blood found in the bedroom?”

“Nope. We found both of theirs on the walls and carpet. Mostly only her blood in the hallway and living room, but we did find some drops of his.”

“Any blood from a third party?”

Daniels shook his head.

“What about her eye?”

“What about it?”

Holding his annoyance in check, he asked whether it had been found.

Daniels showed a grim smile. “The perps didn’t take it as a trophy, if that’s what you’re thinking. It was found under the bed.”

Shannon looked again at the photos taken from inside the bedroom. Other than Carver’s dead body and the gore splattered across the carpeting and walls, the room looked untouched. A large flat panel TV could be seen hanging opposite the bed, along with what looked like expensive stereo equipment next to it. “Anything stolen from the apartment?” he asked.

“Not that we can tell.”

“Do you mind showing me the medical examiner’s report?”

Daniels hesitated for a moment, but fished the report out of the folder and handed it to Shannon. He read through it quickly. Carver had been struck over thirty times with a blunt instrument, at least ten times in the head, the rest along his torso. Linda was hit once on the left side of her face with enough force to kill her, and four times on the back of her skull.

“So what’s your theory?” Daniels asked, his face once again a hard granite mask.

“A baseball bat was used?”

Reluctantly, Daniels nodded.

“Did you find it?”

“Nope. Probably in a landfill somewhere. Assuming only one bat was used.”

Shannon’s expression was impassive as he again studied the photos of Taylor Carver lying in a fetal position and Linda Gibson face down with her arms stretched out by her side.

“One person did this,” he said. “The killer attacked Carver first. Linda probably tried to stop him and he struck her near fatally on the side of the face. Must’ve thought he either knocked her out or killed her and went back to beating Carver. At some point she crawled away, and when he realized she was missing he found her halfway across the living room floor and finished her off with those four blows to the back of her head. He then went back to the bedroom and used the sheet to wipe the blood off his bat.”

“It could’ve been that way,” Daniels admitted. “Also could’ve been more than one killer.”

“Any indication that Linda was sexually assaulted? Or Carver, for that matter?”

Daniels made a face. “No indication with Carver. That’s a hard question to answer about Gibson. It appears they were interrupted in the middle of intercourse. There was a lot of bruising around her vaginal area, but it could’ve been caused by Carver. The only semen found on her came from him. There were no bruises on her wrists or ankles to suggest she was forcefully restrained.”

“While it’s possible more than one person was involved, I’d bet money against it. This looks like pure blind rage. Someone broke in there to get Carver, and Linda had the bad luck of being there with him. If there were two or more people involved, whoever followed Linda when she crawled out of the bedroom would have to be one sadistic cold-hearted sonofabitch to let her go on as long as she did, and I don’t see any evidence that there was an intention to torture either of them. This was brutal, but it was more to kill than to inflict pain.”

Daniels stifled a yawn, shook his head. “Yeah, well, I’m not convinced of that either,” he said. “It could’ve been as you said. It could’ve also been a couple of pervs trying to make it look like something it wasn’t. And who the fuck knows, this could still turn out to be nothing more than a thrill kill. Or maybe someone sending a message. As far as I’m concerned, until I get more information anything’s possible.”

“About someone sending a message, if you found a drug connection then I’d believe it, but without it, what’s the message?”

Daniels stared blankly at Shannon, then muttered under his breath asking how the fuck would he know. He abruptly collected the photos and shoved them back in his folder. He didn’t seem in any mood to talk as they made their way out of the interrogation room and through the station, and Shannon was too deep in his own thoughts to bother trying. They ended up driving separately to the dead students’ condo, Shannon in his late model Chevy Corsica, Daniels in his city issued Buick Century. Different scenarios buzzed through Shannon’s mind as he drove, and while he couldn’t disagree with Daniels’ assertion that it could’ve been some other way than what Shannon had described, none of the other scenarios made sense to him. His gut kept telling him that the murders were committed by a single person. That the person had a vendetta against Carver, and Gibson was killed only because she had been caught in the crossfire. He thought about Eli’s observation from a few days ago that at some level he knew the murders were committed by a single person. He would have to try to figure out what his subconscious had picked up on.

Daniels still wasn’t speaking as they parked and made their way to the condo. He stood grinding his teeth, watching while Shannon unlocked the deadbolt and removed the padlock from the door. Stepping inside, Shannon saw that the trail of the red smudges along the living room carpet were in fact handprints. From the blood splattering, he guessed that the killer had stood to the side of Linda Gibson when he smashed her skull in. He looked away from the blood-stained carpeting and surveyed the rest of the room. There was a matching cream colored leather sofa and loveseat not too far away from where Linda had been killed, both showing a spray of red dots. The book case, end tables and dining room table in the room were all walnut and expensive looking.

“Higher end furniture than I’d expect from college students,” Shannon said.

“Yeah, nicer stuff than I have in my own home,” Daniels agreed. “I checked the money transfers and deposits that were made to Linda’s bank account. Nothing unusual, at least nothing to explain this.” He paused, rubbing a thick hand across his jaw. “Maybe her parents were paying her cash under the table to keep quiet about the sexual abuse,” he offered without much conviction.

Shannon scanned the book case. It was filled with volumes by Kafka, Shaw, Nietzche, Camus and Sartre. He picked up a copy of Being and Nothingness by Sartre and flipped through it and found Carver’s name scribbled on an inside page before putting it back on the shelf.

“Anything show up when you looked at Carver’s bank account?”

“Nothing. None of this stuff was bought with credit cards, at least not with any cards they had on them.”

“Linda use one of her parents’ cards?”

“She didn’t have any in her pocketbook.” He scowled as he glared at the blood stains on the carpet. “I’ll put a call in and try to find out. I might have to subpoena their credit card records.”

Shannon shrugged his shoulders. “If they did pay cash for all this stuff and for what was in Carver’s mom’s home…”

“Yeah, I know,” Daniels said. “Points to drugs. I’m telling you, we found nothing tying them to drug activity.”

“Then how’d they get all this money? Either of them have a job outside of Carver’s teacher’s assistants position?”

“Not that we’ve been able to find.” He half-laughed, half-scowled. “Maybe they robbed a bank or something.”

Daniels looked like he wanted to punch someone. Not necessarily Shannon, but someone. At that moment he could’ve easily been mistaken for his old partner, Joe DiGrazia. The thought of that brought a slight smile to Shannon.

“What the fuck’s so funny?” Daniels demanded.

“Nothing. I’m going to check the rest of the apartment.”

Shannon followed the blood trail to the bedroom with Daniels close at his heel. As with the living room, the gore had been cleaned up, but the blood stains on the carpeting, along with the splattering on the walls and furniture, were left alone. Carver must’ve bled out most of what he had in him. The stain where his body had been found ran almost four feet, and had saturated the carpet to the point where after three months it still gave the impression that it would feel damp to the touch. Shannon scanned the blood patterns on the walls and furniture and tried to visualize where Carver and the killer were standing when the attack happened. There was a light spray of blood halfway up the wall to his left, the rest closer to the baseboards and the bottom sections of the furniture. The first blow must’ve sent Carver to the ground.

He moved away from the blood stain. Opposite the bed was the flat panel TV he had seen in the crime scene photos. It looked expensive, as did the stereo components underneath it. Speakers were mounted close to the ceiling in each corner of the room and two additional ones on opposite sides of the TV set. The brand name was something German that he had never heard of. Like everything else in the room they looked expensive, and he would’ve given odds that they were worth more than his car. The CD collection was mostly heavy metal and grunge rock. He opened the CD player and saw that the last thing they were listening to was Nirvana.

Other than dried drops of blood, the walls were bare. There were no photos or artwork anywhere inside the apartment. There were also no textbooks or personal effects in sight.

“The room looks pretty uncluttered for a couple of college students,” Shannon said.

“It does, doesn’t it?” Daniels said matter-of-factly. “What can I tell you, all their papers and such have been taken to the station.” He paused to squeeze his eyes with his thumb and forefinger before looking back at Shannon. “We’ve gone through it all. There’s nothing there that’s going to help. And nothing that showed where they got their money.”

“You didn’t find any cash stashed here?”

Daniels stared at Shannon, his hard granite mask back in place. After a long ten-count he shook his head.

“This doesn’t add up,” Shannon said. “They should have money stashed here somewhere. Everything so far points to it.” He took in a lungful of air and blew it out slowly. “Fuck, maybe their murders were to cover up a robbery after all. I’m going to make a quick pass and see if I can find anything.”

Daniels stood impassively and watched as Shannon checked the dresser drawers for fake bottoms. In one of the night table drawers he found Linda’s jewelry: several gold necklaces, earrings, a high school ring. He’d have to think if the motive for the killings had been a standard robbery gone bad, the necklaces would’ve been taken. After he finished with the drawers, he knocked on walls and gave the closet a quick search. When he was done Daniels asked if he was satisfied.

“How about helping me flip this mattress?”

The two of them turned the mattress over and found the bottom side undisturbed.

“You done yet?” Daniels asked.

“Almost. Let me give the kitchen and living room a quick search.”

Shannon was more thorough in the kitchen, testing each cabinet for hidden compartments and checking if any of the canned goods and boxes were being used to store money. He left to go back to his car for a screwdriver, then pulled the refrigerator and stove away from the wall and took their back panels off. After that he checked the light fixtures and electrical outlet boxes, then walked around the living room testing the walls for any hollow spaces. Daniels helped him turn the sofa and loveseat on their sides, but the bottoms of both were intact.

Shannon peered around the room looking for other places money could be hidden, then gave Daniels a halfhearted shrug. “I guess I’m done,” he said.

Their moods were both subdued leaving the apartment. Shannon put the padlock back in place while Daniels stood still, almost like a marble statue, as he peered off into the distance. “That was a good call looking for a stash of money,” he admitted. “Too bad it didn’t pan out.” He paused as his hard granite exterior softened for a moment, then said. “This damn thing is going to send me to an early grave. Any idea what you’re going to try next?”

Shannon smiled sardonically. “I’m seeing a psychic.”

Daniels laughed at that. “Yeah, why not? That makes as much sense as anything else with this case. Seriously, you have any other ideas?”

“I’m being completely serious.”

Daniels gave Shannon an odd look as he considered him. “Yeah, sure you are…” He let the sentence hang, stopping when the door to the neighboring condo opened. Maguire, looking half-asleep, stuck his head out. His skin color had a dead-fish quality to it, his reddish hair matted and pulled in different directions-almost like a clown’s wig. He blinked several times while his eyes focused on Shannon. “Bill, my good buddy from Cambridge. I thought I heard you out here-”. He noticed Daniels then and smiled apologetically. “Ah, jeeze, sorry if I interrupted anything.”

“No problem,” Daniels muttered. “I was just leaving.” He nodded curtly to Shannon, told him to call him if he found anything, and left through the vestibule door.

Maguire waited until Daniels was out of sight before apologizing again for interrupting them. “That guy’s a cop, right?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“He looked familiar. I think he was one of the cops who came around asking me and my wife questions after the murders.” Curiosity shined in his bloodshot eyes as he nodded towards the other apartment. “You two were in there, weren’t you? Come on, what was it like in there?” he asked.

“If I told you I’d have to kill you,” Shannon said. Maguire stood barefooted in his condo entranceway wearing a stained tee shirt and a baggy pair of basketball shorts that went down past his knees. From three feet away he smelled like an open keg of beer. “You doing okay?” Shannon asked.

“Yeah, I’m doing just peachy. Lost my job, wife’s gone, and I’m stuck in this godforsaken town with a condo I can’t sell.” He forced a weak smile. “But on a positive note, I don’t have to go to a shitty job anymore that was sucking the life-force out of me, my wife’s gone, and the Sox won yesterday.”

“Your wife being gone’s a positive?”

“In her case…” He let the sentence die. “I was hoping to catch you today. I found a phone number for my wife if you still want to talk to her. Also I’ve been thinking more about doing PI work. I’m serious about it and am hoping you give me a shot. Why don’t we go upstairs and I’ll make some coffee and we can talk about it. And I’ll give you Nancy’s phone number.”

Shannon gave Maguire a hard look before nodding. As they walked up the staircase to his living room, Maguire mentioned how he had gotten blitzed during the Sox game the other night. “I’m sure I look worse than I feel,” he added. His apartment had the stale, unhealthy smell of a sick room. The blinds were shut, but even so there was enough light filtering through to show the newspapers, beer bottles and pizza boxes strewn across the living room carpet. Maguire kicked them aside as he made his way to the kitchen.

Dirty dishes and food containers covered the kitchen countertop and filled the sink. More empty pizza boxes were stacked up on the floor. From the corner of his eye Shannon thought he saw a mouse scurry behind the stove. Maguire seemed oblivious to it as he moved some of the clutter aside to make room for a coffeemaker.

“Your wife left only a couple of days ago?” Shannon asked.

Maguire’s lips compressed as he stared at the mess in the kitchen. “Hard to believe, huh?”

“Yeah, it is.”

“What can I tell you? Nancy was never the most conscientious housekeeper. Last couple of months she stopped caring altogether. With the hours I was putting in at work, I didn’t have the energy to pick up the slack. I guess now that I’ve got the time I should clean up this mess.”

“I think I saw a mouse run behind your stove.”

“Nah, I’m sure you imagined it.” Maguire squinted hard as he measured the water for the coffeemaker. Shannon opened a milk container that was on the countertop, sniffed it and poured the contents down the sink.

“I guess you’ll be drinking your coffee black then,” Maguire said.

“I think I’ll skip it.”

“This is good stuff.” He held up a bag of coffee that he had taken from the refrigerator. “Sumatra. And I’ve got a package of cups somewhere so I don’t have to clean anything from the sink if that’s what you’re afraid of. Damn, though, I didn’t think you PIs were so picky.”

Maguire started brewing the coffee. “Let me get Nancy’s number for you.” He started rummaging through a stack of papers. It took him a while before he pulled one out, then after squinting hard at it, he handed the paper to Shannon. “She’s staying with one of her friends back home in Medford,” he said. Shannon programmed the number into his cell phone and handed him back the paper.

The coffee finished brewing. Maguire opened a couple of cabinets before finding a package of cardboard cups, then poured coffee for the two of them. He let out a sigh as he drank his. “Man, I need this badly,” he said, a little color coming back to his face. “So what about it? You’re going to let me do some free PI work for you?”

“I’m not sure that’s such a great idea.”

“I’m sober if that’s what you’re wondering. A couple of cups of this stuff and I’ll be as good as new.”

Shannon thought about it and shook his head.

“Come on,” Maguire pleaded. “I’ll go nuts if I don’t get out of here and do something. Shit, there’s got to be some errand I can help you with. Just give me a chance, okay? If I do a good job, then give me something else. Come on, man, what do you have to lose?”

“I’m not sure I’m taking any cases after this one,” Shannon said.

“Really?” Maguire said. Then smiling broadly, he added, “At least this would be a start. And with you out of the business I’ll have less competition.”

Shannon relented. “Do you have a camera?”

“Sure do, boss. Top of the line digital.”

“Okay. Good. Wait here, I’ll be right back.”

Shannon left the condo, went back to his car, found the Vishna Yoga brochure and brought it back to Maguire. “They have a class today from one-thirty to three,” Shannon said, reading the schedule on the back of the brochure. “What I’d like you to do is to get there twenty minutes before, find an inconspicuous spot and take pictures of everyone going into the yoga studio. When the class is over, take pictures of everyone leaving. Give it at least thirty minutes for the class to clear out.”

“Sure, I can do that.” More color had come back to Maguire’s face. “But what’s the point of taking pictures of them coming and going?”

“In case you miss someone the first time around.” Shannon felt a sharp twinge where his missing fingers should’ve been. He reached down towards the pain, stopped himself. His reason for wanting Maguire there was to make sure that if Susan went back to the yoga studio someone would be keeping an eye out. He went on, “It will also let me know whether everyone who goes in there leaves, at least by the front door. This is serious business. If you see anything suspicious call me and the police. If anyone approaches you, go into the nearest store, call the police and wait until they show up.” He described the two Russians to Maguire. “If you see anyone resembling those two call me immediately.”

“Will do. What’s the connection with this yoga studio and my, uh, neighbors?”

“None. This is a different matter.”

Maguire’s round face deflated like a flat tire as he absorbed the news. “Ah, jeeze,” he moaned. “I was kind of hoping to work on the murder case.” He showed a guilty smile. “It would look good on my resume if I do become a PI. Also, they were my neighbors. I feel like I should be doing something for them, you know?”

“Why don’t you do this first, and we’ll talk about more assignments later, okay?”

Maguire nodded, accepting his disappointment in stride. “No problem. And rest assured, I’ll have all the pictures printed out and ready for you later today.” He drained his coffee, then poured himself another cup. He was smiling, but still looked a bit deflated. “How’s the murder case looking?”

“At the moment, bleak.”

“Well, maybe when you get me working on it things will turn around,” he offered cheerfully.

“Maybe.” Shannon poured the rest of his coffee down the sink, and clapped Maguire on the shoulder on his way past him. “I’ll give you a call later this afternoon, but let’s plan on meeting back here at four.”

After making sure Maguire had both his cell phone number and the police’s added to his speed dial, Shannon went back to the adjoining condo, unlocked the padlock and entered the dead students’ bedroom. There he found a baseball cap that he remembered Taylor Carver wearing in one of the newspaper photos. He also pocketed Linda Gibson’s high school ring.