Dave Zeltserman - Bad Karma

“I think I can do that for you.”

Shannon gave him True Light’s address, and Devens screwed up his face as if he were trying to remember something about it. “That’s by Baseline Reservoir, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

Devens nodded. “I remember it. Some religious group built a kind of fortress out there, right? I’ll check the records and let you know what I find.” He went back to his desk, got out a set of keys and tossed them to Shannon. “I danced my ass off in court to get you access to that condo,” Devens said. “Did a few Gene Kelly moves, absolutely dazzled them with my soft shoe. My basic argument being that my client-through you as a proxy-has the basic right to access his property in order to defend it. The DA tried to argue that his rights were superseded by the police’s need to be able to conduct a thorough investigation. Fortunately I had found an appellate court decision from 1986 which supported my argument. You should’ve seen the look on the DA and the police representative’s face when the judge announced his decision.” He leaned against his desk and cracked his neck using both hands in a chiropractic-type adjustment. “You were going to tell me about Wichita,” he said.

“There’s a remote chance that Linda Gibson’s parents are involved with the murders,” Shannon said. “The Wichita police are investigating it.”

Devens raised his brows at Shannon. “No way you leave it at that. I want details, my friend.”

“Sorry,” Shannon said. “This falls under what we talked about before about me not providing any dirt on the two victims. If the Gibsons were involved, we’ll know soon.”

Devens looked like he wanted to argue, but he resisted and instead told Shannon that he could respect that. He offered his hand, met the firmness of Shannon’s own grip. “Keep me informed,” Devens said somewhat curtly. “If you hit any more roadblocks that I can help with, let me know.”

Shannon nodded and told him he would. When he got back onto Pearl Street, he took out Les Hasherford’s phone number and tried to decide whether it was too early to call him. Finally, he decided somewhat glibly that if Hasherford were truly a psychic then he’d be expecting the call. He dialed the number. After eight rings Hasherford picked up. The psychic’s breathing was labored and he spoke in a soft, almost melodic voice that at times sounded more like he was humming than talking. He agreed to meet at one and gave Shannon his address in Nederland, a small mountain town about fifteen miles west of Boulder. Before hanging up, Hasherford warned Shannon that he had never tried anything like this before, but that Shannon should bring articles of clothing from both of the deceased and he would see what he could do.

Shannon checked the time, saw he was going to be late meeting Daniels, and headed back to the Boulderado Hotel to pick up his car.

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.