Dave Zeltserman - Bad Thoughts

“Probably,” Shannon agreed.

Susie called later. Shannon told her he wasn’t sure if she’d be there this time.

“I wasn’t,” she corrected him. “I’ve been at work.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I know what you mean.” There was a hesitation where Shannon could only hear a soft hum over the line. Then Susie asked if it was over.

“Our marriage?”

“No. Not our marriage. Your-the sickness.”

“I certainly hope so.” He started to laugh. “At least for this year.”

“At least for this year,” she agreed, and then she started to cry. When she was able to, she told him she’d be home as soon as she could.

Susan Shannon reached Pig Dornich at his office. “My husband just came home,” she told him.

“No kidding.” He sounded disappointed, almost hurt. “Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

“Do you know where he’s been?”

“He didn’t say.”

“Would you mind if I speak to him?”

“Why would you want to do that?”

He hesitated. “About that other matter-” he started.

“I don’t want you speaking to him. I don’t want him knowing I hired you. And about that other matter, maybe we better-”

“I’ll tell you what,” Dornich interrupted, cutting her off before she could finish firing him. “I feel bad about not finding him. Pretty lousy, actually. Let me spend a few days, free of charge, looking into things. Maybe I’ll get lucky.”

“I can’t afford-”

“Free of charge,” Dornich repeated himself. “One thing,” he asked, “do you know if your husband’s been in the area?”

“I don’t know. All I know is I don’t want you talking to him.”

Dornich started to promise he wouldn’t but the line went dead on him before he could finish. All in all he really did feel lousy. He had been knocking himself out looking for Shannon; the last three days he’d been at it almost nonstop while charging his client for only a small fraction of his time. The case had become a sore spot for him and it had been picked at enough to leave it bleeding and festering. He knew it was a race, that his man was going to be coming home any moment, and he wanted to find him while he was still out there. He wanted to know what the sonofabitch had been up to.

After his talk with Joe DiGrazia, he hit the mean streets around Boston, showing Shannon’s picture, trying to find out if his man had a weak spot for hookers. None of the girls knew the guy. Dornich spent a few more fruitless hours driving around the strip clubs neighboring the city. Again no luck. Later that night he joined Joe DiGrazia as they barhopped ’til closing time, showing Shannon’s picture around. After last call they spent the rest of the night cruising alleys and side streets. They came across a few minor crimes; drug deals, prostitution, and the like, but nothing else. No Shannon. Not even as much as a clue.

The next day was purely routine; checking out Logan airport and the bus terminals. After that he drove down to Providence and then back up to Nashua. The problem was, if Shannon had left the city he could’ve done it any number of ways; hitchhiking, stealing a car, even with a bicycle. So Shannon could’ve been anywhere.

By the end of the week Dornich was spending half his time driving around the Boston area and the other half checking the wire services and contacting out of state law enforcement offices. At no time did he even get a whiff of Shannon. It hadn’t been a complete waste of time, though. He found out his client had been wrong about Shannon’s parents. The mother was dead, but the father wasn’t. He had an address and a phone number. The older Shannon was living in Mountain View, California. He wouldn’t talk much over the phone, just that he hadn’t seen his son in over fifteen years and he’d just as soon go another fifteen.

Pig Dornich picked up the photostatic copies that the Sacramento Journal had sent him from their archives. He read the articles slowly, carefully, letting his eyes linger on each paragraph. When he was done he read them again. Then he leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes and wondered what went on in that house between a thirteen-year-old Bill Shannon and Herbert Winters.

Shannon’s eyes opened before the alarm went off. Susie’s small body was against his. He could feel her chest rising and lowering as she breathed. He could feel a moist heat coming from her body.

They didn’t talk much yesterday when she got home. There wasn’t much to say. He couldn’t tell her where he’d been and she was too worn out to blame him. The silence, though, was different than usual. There was nothing heavy or oppressive about it. It was almost comforting. Almost as if the last few years had been stripped clean. As if they still had a shot.

The alarm went off. Shannon watched as Susie started to stir. Watched as consciousness seeped into her. She pushed herself out of bed and turned off the alarm, and then turned and stood looking at him, her eyes struggling against the morning light.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

Shannon stretched lazily. “Better than I would’ve thought.”

“I didn’t know how you were going to look when you showed up yesterday. Whether you’d be all beat up or worse. At least you came home in one piece this time.”

“Seems like I did.”

“Yes, it does.” She sat on the edge of the bed and put a hand behind Shannon’s neck. “Maybe a few pounds lighter, but at least you weren’t coughing up blood or anything.”

“And no rat bites this year.”

Susie withdrew her hand from his neck. “That’s not funny,” she complained.

“No, I guess it’s not. I’m sorry. I just wish I knew what I’d been doing out there.”

Susie tried to smile at him but didn’t have much luck with it. After a while she got up and told him she was going to take a shower.

As Shannon lay on his back he found himself feeling strangely at peace. He thought about the two women, Rose Hartwell and the one in Boston, both lying dead with knives sticking out of their mouths. He tried to imagine what the woman in Boston looked like and came up with some vague impression. None of this affected his sense of well-being. The water for the shower turned on and Shannon listened to its soft drone. He let it numb his mind as the images crystallized and then faded away.

Later, as Shannon was shaving, he heard a muffled cry. He felt his heart drop to his feet as he ran from the bathroom. Susie was standing by the front door holding a newspaper. She turned to face him, her eyes pained, confused. “Rose-” she started, “oh my God…”

Shit, Shannon thought as he moved to her and held her.

There were a few curious stares as Shannon entered the squad room. Most of his fellow officers asked how he was doing. A couple, like Ed Poulett, just smirked. Joe DiGrazia looked relieved to see his partner. He got up from his desk and greeted him.

“I talked with your neighbor, Brad Hartwell, last night.” DiGrazia kept his voice low as he leaned his thick knuckles against Shannon’s desk and edged forward. “The guy didn’t seem too shook up about his wife’s murder.”

“As I was telling you before, they were having problems.”

“Yeah, well, let me tell you about your neighbor. He’s got a big mouth. He likes to talk. If he is involved, buddy boy, he’ll be bragging about it and we’ll nail him.” DiGrazia hesitated. “How’d things go with Susie?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Pretty good-”

The phone rang. Captain Martin Brady wanted Shannon in his office.

Brady looked uncomfortable as he sat behind his desk, his face frozen in a queer kind of smile. Sitting to the right of him was a man with a long, dour face. From the way he was grimacing it was a good bet he was suffering from some sort of intestinal problem. Shannon recognized him from Hartwell’s apartment. Brady nodded at Shannon and asked him to close the door.