Dave Zeltserman: Bad Karma

“Buttercup’s some name for a pit bull,” he said.

“She’s a sweetheart of a dog, and only part pit bull.” Eunice Carver peered up at Shannon with glazed eyes, then looked away. “You wanted to talk?” she said.

Shannon took a chair to her left. Like her son, Randall, she had long stringy hair that needed washing and eyes that were too small and set too close together. Her face was bonier than Randall’s and had a yellowish, unhealthy pall to it giving her the general appearance of someone who was worn out. Shannon couldn’t imagine her being attractive at any age and decided whatever good looks Taylor had, he’d gotten from his father.

“Yes ma’am, I’m investigating your son’s murder, and am hoping that you and Randall can answer a few questions for me.”

She inhaled deeply on her cigarette and let the smoke blow out her nostrils. When she turned to face Shannon, her eyes didn’t seem able to properly focus on him, almost as if she were looking past him to someone behind him. “Why do you care about Taylor?” she asked. “Who hired you?”

“ People magazine,” Shannon said straight-faced. He didn’t like the idea of lying to her, but he knew he would’ve wasted the trip if he told her the truth and, as he had learned long ago when he was on the force, if you’re going to lie, lie big. There were times he was able to convince perps he had satellite pictures of them committing their crimes and was able to get full confessions out of them. They always seemed disappointed when they found out later there were no photos coming from Washington.

Shannon’s answer had an effect on both mother and son. An uncertainty clouded Eunice’s face, and Randall, who had been standing off to the side slouching against a wall, straightened up and combed his fingers through his hair.

Eunice noticed that the cigarette had burnt close to her fingers. She stubbed it out on a plate she used as an ashtray, then tapped a fresh cigarette out of the pack and lit it.

“How’d you know about my lawsuit?” she asked

“Court documents are open to the public,” Shannon said.

She nodded to herself as she thought that over, then licking her lips, peered at Shannon with a glint in her eyes. “ People magazine willing to pay for my side of the story?”

“What’s your side?”

She sucked on her cigarette and held the smoke in before letting it out the corner of her mouth. “About how hard it is losing your eldest son,” she said, her small dark eyes challenging Shannon to argue with her. She looked away, sniffed, and rubbed the back of her hand across her eyes. “Especially what was done to my boy. The funeral home couldn’t do anything for Taylor. We had to have a closed casket.”

“I’m sorry,” Shannon said. He reached a hand toward her shoulder and she pulled back as if he were going to strike her, then sat rigid, accepting the gesture. Randall snickered from behind. “Hey Mr. Private Eye,” he said, “you’re missing some fingers. Buttercup do that?” Eunice Carver noticed the missing fingers and smiled. Shannon pulled his hand back showing only a subtle change in his expression.

Eunice, with the smile dropping from her face, asked, “What do you think? Will People magazine pay me for my story?”

“I’ll ask them,” Shannon said. “Do you mind if I record our conversation?”

She thought about it, shrugged. “Don’t matter to me.”

Shannon took a miniature tape recorder from his pocket, placed it on the table between them and hit record. “July 19th, 2005.” Shannon checked his watch. “Three thirty-five, afternoon. I’m talking to Eunice Carver and her son, Randall.” Then to the mother, “Did Taylor have any problems that you knew about?”

Eunice’s eyes went dull as she stared at the tape recorder. She looked away and blew more cigarette smoke out of the side of her mouth. “Taylor didn’t talk to me about things like that.”

“Things going well at school?”

“He never said otherwise.”

“Any recent disagreements or fights?”

She flicked cigarette ash onto the plate, then looked out a window into the backyard. Her gaze seemed transfixed on an old refrigerator and other junk that had been stacked out there. “If he had any, he didn’t tell me about them,” she said.

Shannon turned to Randall, who simply shrugged.

“How’d you get along with your brother?” Shannon asked.

“We got along good.”

“He talk to you about stuff?”

Randall’s mouth screwed up into a tight circle as he shook his head. “Not too much,” he said.

“Why was that?”

“I dunno, he just didn’t.”

“When did you see him last?”

“At his funeral, but as Ma said it was a closed casket, so I guess I really didn’t see him then.”

“I meant when he was alive.”

Randall’s face went blank as he thought about that. “Maybe last Christmas,” he said.

“How about the last time you talked on the phone?”

“I dunno. We didn’t do that much. Maybe before Christmas.”

“Any idea why your brother was killed?”

“Because his landlord was too cheap to keep that door lock working right,” Eunice volunteered, her face rigid with anger. Randall nodded in agreement, all the while staring down at the floor and kicking at it with his toe.

“Anything more you can tell me that could help?”

Randall shrugged, his expression distant and sullen. “I don’t think so.”

Shannon turned back to the mother. “Do you have any ideas?”

Eunice nodded. “Yeah, I know what happened. Some drugged-out maniac broke into my son’s apartment and beat him to death with a baseball bat. All because that landlord couldn’t be bothered to fix a lock.”

“How do you know a baseball bat was used?”

“Police asked me about it. They wanted to know if Taylor owned one. I told them Taylor was never much into sports.”

“They say anything else about it?”

She shook her head.

Shannon considered her for a long moment, trying to get a feel for whether she carelessly leaked the information about the bat or had some ulterior motive. He knew damned well she would’ve been warned repeatedly by Daniels and any other cop questioning her not to mention that bat to anyone. After a while he decided it was a coin flip either way.

“What can you tell me about Taylor’s dad?”

She took a long puff on her cigarette. “Last I heard he was screwing some whore in Alabama. That was fifteen years ago.”

“He never kept in touch with his sons?”

“Not as far as I know.”

Shannon turned to Randall, who just shook his head. He then looked back at Eunice and asked her what she could tell him about Linda Gibson.

“You mean that whore that was shacking up with my son?”

Shannon was taken aback by that. “I take it you didn’t think too much of her.”

“Her family’s trash.” Eunice’s mouth screwed up as if she were going to spit on the table. “They couldn’t even be bothered to go to Taylor’s funeral. So I didn’t bother going to that whore’s.”

“Why was she a whore?”

Eunice looked dumbfounded as she stared at Shannon. “She was living in sin, wasn’t she? What else do you call someone like that?”

“Outside of her living in sin, what can you tell me about her?”

As she stared at him, her look changed from dumbfounded to incredulous. “Why would you think I’d be able to tell you anything else about her?”

“Didn’t you ever meet or talk with her?”

“Why would I’ve done something like that?”

He sighed, shook his head. He felt a twinge where his missing finger should’ve been and resisted the urge to rub his damaged hand. “Anything else either of you can tell me to help me find out who did this to Taylor?” he asked.