Dave Zeltserman: Bad Thoughts

“And you think she’s still alive?”

“What time did Kyle Rowley leave his apartment this morning?”

“Around five. He said he had to do something, so he drove around looking for his wife’s car. He came to the station around seven.”

“Sometime after five this morning our perp would’ve retrieved that steak knife. Yeah, she’s still alive.”

DiGrazia made a face as if he had stomach problems. “I don’t know,” he said. “If it was an abduction I don’t see why he couldn’t have moved her to another car. He could’ve parked somewhere and waited until the industrial park emptied out.”

“He’d be too anxious to wait.”

“Yeah, well, I’m still not convinced. Anyway, take a look at what the computer spat out.”

DiGrazia handed Shannon a folder. Inside was a listing of sexual offenders who had been released over the last six months. Each of them had a prior history of either abducting their victims or using knives on them.

“Four of them are in the Boston area,” DiGrazia said.

“This is going to keep us busy.”

“I still have to check on their addresses-”

“Take your time. I want to talk to Brady. I want to see if I can plant a bug in his ear.”

DiGrazia took the folder back and scanned through the listing, his eyes closing to the point where it looked as if he were going to start napping. As Shannon walked away he heard his partner pick up the phone and start dialing.

After Shannon entered his office, Brady told him to pull up a chair and then asked him whether he knew that Rowley’s test results had been inconclusive. Brady showed a thin smile; his eyes, though, remained as dull as a mannequin’s.

“I don’t think he’s involved,” Shannon said. “I found where his wife stopped to pick up dinner last night. An Indian restaurant in Somerville. My gut feeling is she was abducted in the parking lot.”

“Any witnesses?”

“No.”

“No one heard or saw anything?”

“Not that I know.”

“But your instincts tell you she was abducted there.” Brady’s smile faded, his expression becoming as dull as his eyes. “You have no evidence of any kind she was abducted. For all we know she picked up dinner, went home, and met an untimely end at the hands of her husband. Statistically, that’s most likely what happened. The little evidence we have seems to suggest that; her husband’s inconclusive test results, his behavior, the missing knife.”

“About the knife-”

“Yes, I know. Joe told me your theory.”

“I have a real strong feeling about this. And I think I have a solid read on the husband.”

“You didn’t have any read when I asked you earlier.”

“I’ve got one now.”

“Is that right?” Brady’s eyes opened a bit wider but his soft, round face remained unperturbed. “That’s just wonderful, Bill. By the way, since the twelve o’clock news ran I’ve gotten calls from both our local universities, wanting to know what we are going to do to protect their student population from being randomly abducted.”

“You could tell them to keep their students out of Somerville.”

“Very constructive, can I quote you on that?”

“Feel free.”

“I wish you had cleared it with me before going to the media,” Brady said, his round face deflating a bit. “If this turns out to be a domestic situation which we could have wrapped up-”

Brady stopped himself and took a deep breath. “Prove it’s an abduction. Find me some evidence, any evidence. Talk to the individuals from Joe’s computer search.”

“Here’s what I’d like to do.” Shannon took a map from his inside jacket pocket and unfolded it on Brady’s desk. Both the Indian restaurant and the industrial park were marked off and a circle drawn between the two. “I’d like us to do a door-to-door search of all properties within the circle.”

“This is another attempt at humor, right?”

“She’s being held somewhere within that area. She’s still alive, Martin, she’s got to be. If we move quickly we can save her.”

Brady sat staring at his officer, his small eyes bland, his expression incredulous.

“Trust me on this, Martin-”

“Find me some evidence,” Brady stated softly, impatience edging into his voice.

Shannon stood up, took the map from Brady’s desk, and then shrugged and moved towards the door.

“By the way,” Brady called out, “she had a hundred thousand dollar life insurance policy.”

“Yeah, I know,” Shannon answered without turning back. “It’s a company benefit. Her husband wasn’t involved with it.”

“It’s still motivation. Find out if he’s having financial problems, or better yet, a girlfriend. Do your homework. Then talk door-to-door search to me.”

Back at DiGrazia’s desk, Shannon was asked if he was ready to visit some freaks.

John Roper was soft-looking, round, and mostly bald with a few wisps of blond hair scattered on his head. He had a pockmarked complexion, and a thin, affable smile. Nine years earlier he had drugged a young woman in a bar in Providence, got her to his car, and then held her captive for four days in the basement of a condemned building. During those four days he sexually assaulted her and terrorized her with a straight-edge razor. One night while sleeping he left the razor edge down against her throat. Somehow, even though both her hands and feet were bound, she was able to free herself with it. John Roper was arrested and later sentenced to a minimum of twenty years. In August, the State of Rhode Island paroled him and he relocated to Revere, Massachusetts.

He was the third sex offender Shannon and DiGrazia had tried to visit. The first one, a twenty-four-year-old who had raped a couple of teenage girls while a juvenile, was living with his mother in Arlington. The mother insisted her son was with her the previous night, got belligerent, and threw the officers out. They talked with a few of her neighbors, none of whom could confirm the mother’s story. The general feeling they got from their talks was the son wouldn’t have had the initiative to get to Somerville by himself.

The next person on their list turned out to be in police lockup in Boston, arrested two weeks earlier on a narcotics charge. Now they were with Roper at the auto garage where he worked, and Roper seemed nervous about it, rubbing his hands against his overalls and forcing an overly affable smile. He asked whether they could question him someplace else.

“What’s wrong with right here?” Shannon asked. “Your boss must know you’re an ex-convict?”

DiGrazia said, “He probably does, but I bet he doesn’t know what you were in for, does he, John? If he’s got a wife or daughter he might feel differently about having you around his garage.”

“Come on, guys, there’s a doughnut shop across the street. I’ll buy you a couple-”

“Are you trying to be funny?”

“No-”

“I think he was trying to be funny,” Shannon said.

“Come on,” Roper pleaded, “I’m trying to start a new life here. I’ve been paroled-”

“By Rhode Island,” Shannon observed. “I don’t think Massachusetts had any say in it.”

“I bet you’re right,” DiGrazia agreed. “So, John, why’d you pick our state to settle in?”

“My sister lives here. I’m staying with her-”

An older man with large, grease-stained hands and a cigar stub stuck in his mouth had walked over to them. He asked whether anything was wrong.

“We need to ask your employee some questions,” Shannon said.

“What about?”

“About a crime that was committed last night.”

“What type of crime?”

“A woman was abducted.”