Dave Zeltserman - Bad Karma

“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.