Bad Karma (5 page)

“You’ve made some recent purchases,” he said.

Eunice didn’t bother to respond.

“New stove, microwave.” Shannon waved his damaged hand in the direction of the combination living room/dining room. “Plasma TV, sofa, stereo system,” he continued to list.

“So?”

“Did you come into some money recently?”

“Taylor bought me all that. Before he got killed.”

Shannon’s gaze narrowed as he met Eunice’s small dark eyes.  “How’d a college student get the money to buy stuff like that?”

She shrugged. “Wasn’t my place to ask him.”

“Was he working?”

She stared at him blankly before shrugging again.

Shannon looked over at Randall and realized he wasn’t going to get a better answer from him. He simply thanked the two of them for their time and left the room. Neither mother nor son bothered to move as he let himself out of the house. Buttercup was waiting for him, though, head thrust forward, eyes intently following him. When he got into his car, he smelled his shirt, then both his arms. Cigarette smoke and the cheese-perspiration smell had saturated his shirt and skin. After opening both front windows of his late model Chevy Corsica for ventilation, he drove fast to get the hell out of there.

Chapter 5

When Shannon arrived back at his apartment, Susan tried intercepting him for a kiss, but wrinkled her nose when he got within a few feet of her.

“You don’t smell too good, hon,” she said.

“I know. I visited Carver’s mom and this is what her house smelled like. I’m going straight into the shower, scrub myself raw—and if that doesn’t work, buy some industrial-sized drums of tomato juice. And I’ll probably have to burn my clothing.”

He tried to sidestep her, but Susan moved quickly, got on her toes and kissed him hard on the mouth.

“Must be true love to get anywhere near me smelling the way I do,” Shannon said.

“You do worse for me,” Susan said. “Every morning you kiss me passionately no matter how bad my morning breath is.”

“What are you talking about? Your breath always smells like sweet petunias. Especially in the morning.”

Susan laughed at that. “One of these days I’m going to find out where you got that ‘sweet petunia’ expression from. And besides, I don’t think petunias even have a smell.”

“Of course they do. A wonderful smell. Exactly like your breath.”

Shannon gave her shoulder a little squeeze as he made his way by her and into the bathroom. Once in the shower, he put the water on as hot as he could stand it and scrubbed himself until all traces of the rancid cheese-sweat smell were gone.

When he finished, he dressed quickly, then sent an email to Professor Lester White, introducing himself and asking for information about Taylor Carver. After that he called Chris Jackson. Jackson confirmed what Paul Devens had told him earlier—that he knew nothing about his tenants or any problems they might’ve had, that a management company handled his rental properties for him and that he himself had no involvement with his apartments. He thanked Shannon for his thoroughness in calling him. He also told Shannon that he was counting on him to pull his ass out of the fire with this thing. “I feel awful, of course, with what happened to those two kids, but what could I’ve done? If I knew there was a rusty deadbolt I would’ve gone over there myself and squirted a couple of drops of oil on it. This has just been a hell of a thing to go through.” Shannon couldn’t disagree with him.

Before leaving the apartment, he found Susan in the living room. She had her reading glasses on as she sat cross-legged on a pillow, chewing on the end of a pen while going over pages of handwritten notes. Shannon felt his pulse quicken as he watched her. There were times like this when he was completely stunned at how beautiful she was and, no matter what else had happened in his life, couldn’t believe his good fortune that they were together. She sensed him standing there, looked up and smiled at him. “I’m going over some homeopathy notes for one of my patients,” she said. “So what’s next on your agenda?”

“I called Eli on my way back from Loveland. We’re meeting at the Center at five. After that I’m going to see if I can talk to Taylor Carver and Linda Gibson’s neighbors.” Shannon hesitated, showing a slight smile. “I’m also thinking of heading over to Coors Field later and catching the Sox. It will be my first chance to see them play since I left Massachusetts. Care to join me?”

Susan showed a disappointed look. “I’d like to but these notes are for a client who’s coming over at eight. Maybe Eli will go with you?”

“Nah, he’s afraid he’d have to pay money just to watch the Sox win, especially with how the Rockies are playing now.”

“Well, you should go to the game anyway. And root for Nomar for me!”

“The Sox traded him last year.”

“
Nomah’s
not on the team?” She exaggerated the Boston accent with
Nomah
, as Jimmy Fallon and Rachel Dratch used to do on
Saturday Night Live
. “Jeeze, what’s this world coming to? Then root for Pedro Martinez for me!”

“Pedro’s not on the team anymore either.”

Susan shook her head. “I’m out of names then. But even though they got rid of the only two players I knew, you should go to the game and have fun.”

“Maybe, I haven’t decided yet. But I’ll give you a call before your eight o’clock appointment and let you know what I’m doing.”

Shannon glanced at his watch and saw he only had ten minutes before he was supposed to meet Eli. He reached down, gave her a quick kiss, and realized if he was going to meet his friend on time he’d better leave while he still could.

***

Shannon found Eli Rosen in his office thumbing through a book on chakra meditation. Raising his heavy eyelids, Eli looked up when Shannon knocked on the open door.

“Fascinating stuff,” Eli said, referring to the book. “This author has documented Tibetan monks who’ve sat naked in minus twenty degree weather and kept themselves warm simply by meditating on their Manipura, or solar plexus, chakra.”

“You might’ve mentioned that to me once or twice before.”

“I still find it fascinating no matter how many times I read about it.” Eli tossed the book on his desk and smiled broadly as he looked at his watch. “Miracle of miracles,” he said. “You’re on time for a change. Let me guess, you didn’t stop off at home or, more likely, Susan was out.”

“Wrong on both counts. I was just able to exercise amazing self-control.”

“You’d have to walk away from that stunningly beautiful ex-wife of yours.” Eli’s smile slowly faded. “Why don’t you tell me about the job you took.”

“How do you know I took it?”

“I can see the guilt written all over your face.”

“Damn! I washed before coming here.” Shannon pulled a chair up to the desk, sat down and clasped his hands behind his head as he leaned back and rested his feet on the desk.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Eli said.

“Thanks.”

“So tell me about this job.”

Shannon shrugged. His gaze wandered to a framed photo on the wall to his left that showed a herd of elk in a snowy mountain vista, then to one of Babe Ruth in Yankee pinstripes swinging a bat and looking skyward as if he were following the arc of a homerun ball. Turning back to Eli, he said, “You remember those two students who were killed a few months ago? I’m looking into it.”

Eli sat quietly staring at Shannon. The disappointment filling up his eyes gave him a hangdog look. “Jesus, Bill,” he said, breaking his silence. “One of these days you’re going to have to make a choice.”

“What do you mean?”

“About the level of spiritual awareness you wish to achieve. At least during this lifetime.”

“Chrissakes, Eli, all I’m going to be doing is investigating a crime.”

“You’re doing more than that.”

“Like what?”

“Like spending your time mired in the worst that people can do.”

Shannon rubbed a hand across his eye. The same old argument, although Eli’s manner now seemed more personal and less academic than all those earlier times. Now there was nothing but disappointment showing in his friend’s eyes. Of course, this was the first double-murder investigation Shannon had taken on since moving to Boulder. When he was a police detective in Cambridge, he had investigated some horrendous crimes that truly did deal with the worst that people can do—including rape, incest and child abuse, as well as murders. Since moving to Boulder and working part-time as a private investigator, the most serious case he handled involved a real estate scam in which several people, at least temporarily, had lost their life savings. Shannon had been able to recover most of their money for them.

“Look,” he said. “This is the world we live in. What am I supposed to do, keep blinders on and only pay attention to uplifting sights, like elk tramping through the mountains?”

“Bill, you’re right, we live in a world where bad things happen, but we can choose what type of energy we expose ourselves to. If you seek out positive energy, it will have an effect on you, just as dark and negative energy will also have its own special effect. There’s a lightness needed to leave your body peacefully and at your own choosing. Dark energy can be like a black hole, pulling you into its own gravitational field. It can be hard to fly when you’ve tied a cement anchor to your waist.”

“Quite a speech.”

“Thanks, I thought so. But obviously not good enough to change your mind.”

“No, not quite.” Absentmindedly Shannon massaged his damaged hand. He clenched his teeth against phantom pains that had started to radiate from his missing fingers up to his wrists. For a long moment it was as if nails were being driven into his joints. “I’m thirty-seven years old. I need to do something. I can’t spend twenty-four hours a day working on my spiritual development.” He paused to look down at his damaged hand. “Anyway, I’m good at what I do,” he added in a tired voice. “And maybe doing this I can help bring justice to the victims and some relief to the families.”

“You don’t sound very convincing with that last part.”

Shannon shrugged. “I met one of the families. Bringing any relief to them is only wishful thinking on my part.”

“Then why do this, Bill? I know it’s not for the money. You’ve got your disability pension and Susan’s making a good income with her practice. I agree, you should be doing something, but don’t try selling me that you’re doing this so you can help people because there are plenty of other things you could do—like working at a homeless shelter or a soup kitchen or any number of things that could enrich you. So why detective work?”

Shannon removed his feet from the desk and leaned forward so he could pick up an amethyst geode that Eli used as a paperweight. He ran his thumb along the purple and silver diamond-shaped crystals inside it, studying the intricate pattern that they made. “It’s just something I need to do,” he said as he placed the geode back on the desk.

“I think you need to figure out what you really want.” Eli took a cassette tape from the top drawer of his desk and tossed it to Shannon. “For whatever good it will do you, here are some new exercises. Like the old ones, play these a half hour before going to bed.”

Shannon nodded. “Thanks. Are we still meeting tomorrow morning?”

“Why wouldn’t we?”

“I thought you might be too pissed at me for taking this case.”

“You want to put obstacles up for yourself, that’s your business. I still plan on working with you. And besides, I’m not ending a friendship over something like this.”

“Fair enough. I’ve got a few things to do over the next hour or so, but any interest in catching the Sox game later?”

Eli made a face as if he had swallowed spoiled milk. “I already told you my thoughts on interleague play. Besides, I don’t see any reason to pay money to watch a second-rate team beat a third-rate team.”

“What are you talking about? The World Champion Red Sox a second rate team? Last I checked they’re two and a half games up on your beloved Yankees.”

“I was referring to the Rockies as the second-rate team. I’ve also decided that the Red Sox never won the World Series last year. We’re either the victims of a massive media hoax or are suffering from some sort of mass delusion. And about the Yankees being two and a half games out—don’t take too much solace from that. In seventy-eight they were fourteen games out this same time of year, and we all know how that turned out.”

Shannon got to his feet and, at the door, told Eli that he would see him tomorrow.

Eli nodded, his long face reflective. “Do me a favor,” he said. “Think harder about why you’re still doing this detective work.”

“You got it, Chief.” Shannon gave him a quick salute and left.

***

The condo complex where the murdered students had lived was off Arapahoe Avenue and was made up of clusters of newer-looking two-story townhouses, with what looked like four townhouses grouped together into each cluster. Driving through the complex, Shannon guessed that the townhouses had been built within the last five years.

Taylor Carver and Linda Gibson had rented a condo in an end unit townhouse that was in the back of the complex and not visible from the street. Shannon found the door to the building unlocked. Inside was a small vestibule leading to two condos. The door to Carver and Gibson’s unit had red smudges on it and some splintering where it had been kicked open. A police notice on the door warned that it was a crime scene and that the area was sealed off to the public until further notice. The other condo had a small metal sign screwed into its door indicating that it was the residence of Mike and Nancy Maguire. Shannon knocked on the Maguire’s door and waited. After several minutes a man in his early forties came out, his face flushed as he gave Shannon a wary look. “Yeah?” he asked.

Shannon introduced himself. “I was hoping you could tell me about the two students who were murdered next door,” he added.

“How about you show me some identification,” Maguire said, a thin smile showing that he thought Shannon was full of shit. Shannon handed him his PI license. Maguire studied it and then, coordinated with a sudden jerk of his head, snapped his fingers, a wide grin breaking over his face.

“I knew you looked familiar. I used to live in
Medfa
,” he said, grossly exaggerating his Boston pronunciation of ‘Medford’. “You were in the news for weeks. A police detective, right? What was the name of that serial killer? Carl… Carl Winters, right?”

“Charlie Winters.”

Maguire snapped his fingers again. “That’s right. Charlie Winters. You killed him, didn’t you?”

Shannon nodded.

“Damn,” Maguire said, still grinning widely. His flushed face showed a deep pink along his cheeks, almost as if he had rouge on and almost matching the color of his red hair. He was about Shannon’s height but wider, carrying an extra forty pounds beyond Shannon’s hundred and eighty. “When I heard you outside I thought you were a reporter. The tabloid ones are the worst. Nothing but a bunch of fucking piranhas.”

“No, I’m not a reporter,” Shannon said. “If you’ve got some time, I’d like to talk to both you and your wife. Is your wife home?”

“She’s home.” He hesitated. “She’s not feeling well, though. She’s come down with some sort of bug and would give me holy hell if I brought you or anyone else upstairs. You also caught me as I was about to head out.” Maguire snapped his fingers again, his eyes brightening. “Look, I’ve got two tickets for the Sox game. Since my wife can’t come, and shit, you’re another Boston guy—as long as you’re a Sox fan, you want the ticket?”