Dave Zeltserman - Bad Karma

“Yeah, well, I knew this was a long shot, but thanks for giving it a try.”

Hasherford nodded. “I’ve never tried anything like this before,” he said, his breath sounding more asthmatic than it had earlier. “To be honest, I never wanted to know whether I could do this. It takes so much out of me locating the children that I do that I never wanted to add this additional burden. But this is discomforting. Until I took the remedy, when I would close my eyes I would usually drift towards the other world. That hasn’t been happening as much. Something has changed.”

“Maybe you might find it happening later. Can I leave the baseball cap and ring with you? If you find yourself drifting towards that other world again, could you give it another try?”

“Yes, certainly. If I succeed in locating either of them, what would you like me to ask?”

“The name of the person or persons who murdered them.”

His lips parted into a smile revealing grayish colored teeth. “But of course.”

The phone rang. His smile faded quickly as he picked it up. He sat still, listening, and before hanging up told the other party that he would be there as quickly as he could.

“I must leave,” he told Shannon. With what appeared to be a great deal of effort he pushed himself out of the recliner and grimaced as he straightened his back. “A six-year old boy is missing in Colorado Springs. I need to get there as quickly as I can.”

Shannon hesitated for a moment thinking about what he still needed to do that day, then felt ashamed and asked whether Hasherford needed help getting to the Springs.

“Once I get to my car I’ll be fine,” he said. “But maybe you could give me a hand to there?”

Shannon took hold of Hasherford’s left elbow and provided support as they made their way out of the house. “I hope I can still help that boy and his parents,” Hasherford said in a breathless whisper that was meant more for himself than for Shannon. “I just don’t know anymore.”

Once he got seated behind the wheel of a badly dented pickup truck, he nodded to Shannon and drove off. Shannon waited until the truck was out of sight before moving. From where he was standing he had a full view of Golden Gate Canyon, and stood silently looking out at the aspens lining its mountain ranges. Even though it was only the last week of July, the trees had already started to turn gold. After several minutes of meditating on that sight, the noises buzzing through his mind had quieted. He got into his car and headed back to Boulder.

Maguire called to tell him that he took pictures of fourteen different people entering Vishna Yoga.

“All women,” he said. “All very nice looking too. I actually know one of them if you can believe it. I don’t think she saw me, though.” He laughed nervously. “Christ, you would’ve been impressed with how I handled this. What I did was find a spot diagonally across the street and sat down with a cup of coffee and a newspaper. While reading the paper, I kept one eye on the entrance and took profile shots of them as they went down the steps. So far no one’s noticed a thing. No Russians with busted noses or anyone else coming after me.”

“Mike, nice job.”

“Thanks. I’m telling you, Bill, I was born to do this type of work. Fuck, this has been an absolute blast so far. No way I can go back to writing software after you’ve given me this taste.” He went silent for a moment, then came back on the line. “I thought I saw someone heading down there. False alarm. I’m going to go get a burger or something until a quarter to three so I don’t look too conspicuous sitting here. I’ll call you after the next round of pictures.”

Shannon felt a little guilty after he got off the phone. He couldn’t imagine how those pictures could be of any use unless by some miracle Melissa Cousins was being taken to the yoga studio. But it seemed like a harmless enough activity to give Maguire. At least as long as nobody noticed him. And he felt better knowing that someone was keeping an eye on the place in case Susan went back there. He decided that he would give Maguire a real assignment later, maybe let him tag along if he needed to stakeout a location.

When he got back to his apartment building, he knocked on Emily’s door and got no answer, which was what he expected knowing that she usually worked until two-thirty. After that he entered his apartment. A quick check of his spy cameras showed that they hadn’t been activated. The Russians were keeping away. He knew that would change once True Light realized he wasn’t giving up, but at least up to this point they were staying away from his home.

He had two emails waiting for him: one from Professor White, the other from Kathleen Tirroza. White, in his email, explained that he couldn’t recall any specific incidents demonstrating Carver’s callous behavior, but that it seemed evident in the cavalier manner in which Carver treated both him and other students, and in how he would dismiss others’ works and ideas. He had directed his office to send Shannon a copy of Carver’s Master’s thesis and hoped that that would give Shannon a better idea of what he was talking about.

Kathleen Tirroza’s email was of more interest. She’d been able to track down information about Vishna’s background, finding that his name was Anil Paveeth, and that he had come to the United States on a student visa in 1992 from New Delhi to enter a master’s program in chemical engineering at the University of Texas. He finished his degree in 1994, got a green card, and worked for Dow Chemical until 2000 when he was laid off. After that he was off the radar. Given his recent activities, she had already suggested to her bosses that they start a more extensive file on him. She still hadn’t identified the Russian, but was going to keep trying-and wished Shannon luck in keeping his face intact until she did, reminding him that she wanted him looking good for her wedding pictures. Shannon reread her email several times before turning off his computer and leaving the apartment.

The fourteen minute drive to True Light’s compound went by in the blink of an eye. Shannon was barely aware of the road, of the other drivers, of the bicyclists he passed. When he arrived at the compound, he held his thumb down on the intercom’s buzzer until the same woman from the other day answered. She recognized his voice and told him to go away or she would call the police.

“I don’t think so,” Shannon told her. “Why don’t you tell Anil that I want to speak to him.”

“Who?”

“Anil Paveeth. Your guru’s name before he started calling himself Vishna.”

“You’re mistaken -”

“No, sister, I’m not. I suggest you find the great almighty true source and let him know there’s someone here who wants to talk to Anil Paveeth.”

There was a long silence on the other end, then she told him to wait. Ten minutes later someone claiming to be Vishna spoke over the intercom. His voice had a lyrical sing-song quality similar to Charlie Winters’, and it sent a chill down Shannon’s spine. “You’ve been asking to speak to me?” Paveeth said. “Well, speak.”

“Not over the intercom,” Shannon said.

Paveeth chuckled softly on his end, the noise sounding like something that might come out of a small animal. “And how do I know it would be safe to talk to you any other way?”

“If what you’re wondering is whether you need to wait until your Russian muscle arrives, the answer is no. All I want to do is talk. It’s either going to be with you or with reporters at the Denver Examiner . They might find it as interesting as I do that a chemical engineer is now running a cult in a remote area of Boulder.”

“This is not a cult,” he stated angrily, then cut himself off and, with his lyrical sing-song voice back in place, said, “Mr. William Shannon, correct? What I operate here is a devout religious temple, I assure you. But I will grant you an interview. However, and believe me when I tell you if there is any further violence on your part, we will prosecute. I hope that is understood.”