Dave Zeltserman: Bad Thoughts

“God damn it,” he swore, “we never should have let him move in here.” He turned away from the officers and bellowed, “Wendy, your pervert brother’s been at it again!”

A large woman with a strong physical resemblance to John Roper came to the door and the barrel-chested man left. She stood silently, her eyes darting suspiciously at the two officers.

“Are you Wendy Soretti?” Shannon asked.

“What of it?” the woman answered, her lips barely moving. Shannon couldn’t help noticing her skin color was way too pale. The stark whiteness of her skin made the black moles along her face grotesque.

“We’d like to ask you a few questions about your brother.”

She said something that Shannon couldn’t quite pick up and he asked her if she could repeat it. She said she wanted to see his badge, her lips again not visibly moving. Shannon showed her his badge. DiGrazia asked her if she ever worked as a ventriloquist. In response, she glared at him.

“We’re hoping you could tell us where your brother was last night,” Shannon said, pulling her glare away from DiGrazia. “According to John, he worked late last night and came home around eight. Then you, him, and your husband went out together for Chinese food and didn’t get home until eleven. Is that true?”

She stared bug-eyed at Shannon for a long moment and then told him that’s exactly what happened.

“Your brother was having a tough time remembering the name of the place you went to. Could you help us with that?”

“May Ting’s on Route One in Saugus.”

“You’re lying,” DiGrazia said.

“No, I’m not.”

“Your brother didn’t tell us he went with you for Chinese food,” Shannon said.

Wendy Soretti blinked at them stupidly.

“Anyway, you answered whether there’s any point trying to talk to you,” Shannon continued. “There’s no point, is there? And you don’t know where your brother was last night.”

“I do, too.”

Shannon gave DiGrazia a questioning look. DiGrazia said, “She don’t know shit.”

“He was wherever he said he was,” she said in a low whisper.

“And where was that?” Shannon asked.

She blinked a few more times before repeating, “Wherever he said he was.”

“You’re not helping your brother any,” DiGrazia said.

“It would help him if you’d let us look in his apartment,” Shannon suggested.

She stared blankly at both officers. “Not without a warrant,” she said after a long moment.

“That’s not going to help John.”

She shook her head stubbornly. “You’re not coming in without a warrant.”

“I’ll get one then,” Shannon said. “My partner will be outside the apartment entrance with a flashlight. If he sees you or anyone else tampering with anything inside he’ll break down the door and arrest you for tampering with evidence. By the way, do you have any children?”

“I don’t have to answer that,” she said, her voice tinny, barely audible.

“I thought I heard a girl’s voice from inside.”

“That’s my daughter-”

“How can you have him live here when you’ve got children?”

Her eyes shrunk as she stared at Shannon. “He’s family,” she said stubbornly. “And it’s none of your business.” Then she closed the door on him.

DiGrazia let out a low whistle. “What a piece of work. Were you serious about having me hang around here while you get a warrant? It’s cold as hell, partner.”

“You’re going to have to,” Shannon said. “She’ll clean out the place if you don’t. I’ll bring you back some coffee and a couple of doughnuts.”

“Son of a bitch,” DiGrazia swore. “I’m going to freeze my ass out here.” He walked over to the in-law apartment entrance and peered in. “Get me some chocolate glazed.”

Judge Harold Coen was explained the urgency of the matter, and although he grumbled about the thinness of the evidence, he issued a search warrant for John Roper’s apartment. When Shannon returned to the triple-decker, Joe DiGrazia was breathing into his cupped hands. He gave Shannon a long, pained look, and Shannon handed him a cup of coffee and a bag of chocolate glazed doughnuts.

“Anything happen?”

DiGrazia took a sip of the coffee. “She snuck down at one point, but when I flashed the light at her, she scurried back upstairs.”

“They’re still home then?”

“Yeah, no movement.”

Shannon walked up to the main entrance and rung the bell. There was no answer. After waiting, he knocked on the door and yelled out that he had a warrant.

“Hell with it, we’ve got a warrant, right?” DiGrazia asked without waiting for an answer. He broke the glass pane on the basement door and unlocked it from the inside.

Roper’s apartment was nothing more than a room with a bed, a worn-out sofa, a TV, a cheap stereo, and a table. In the corner was a small galley kitchen and next to that, a bathroom. A staircase led to the upstairs level. Dirty clothes and tissues littered the floor. Dishes were stacked up in the sink, a layer of grease covered the kitchen countertop. The apartment smelled faintly of urine. Shannon found a vodka bottle lying next to the bed. It was two thirds empty and rotgut quality.

The door to the upstairs level opened. Wendy Soretti bounced down the stairs wearing a large, ratty bathrobe. Her husband peered down the staircase after her, but stayed where he was.

“You broke into my house,” she accused, her voice harsh but barely above a whisper.

“We have a search warrant,” Shannon said. He handed her a document. “You failed to open the door for us.”

She glared at the paper and then at Shannon. “I didn’t hear you. Look at my door-you’re destroying my property. I’m calling the police.”

“Feel free to do what you want,” DiGrazia said. “Just don’t interfere with our police work.”

The husband’s face disappeared from the top of the staircase. Wendy Soretti walked over to the phone, picked it up, and then put it back down. She glared at both officers. “I’m going to watch you,” she said. She took a small notebook and pen from her bathrobe pocket.

“Do whatever you want,” DiGrazia grunted as he pushed the mattress off the bed.

Shannon had found a collection of porn magazines and metro bus schedules buried within a pile of newspapers. He called DiGrazia over and showed him what he found. Wendy Soretti peered angrily at them and jotted something down in her notebook.

Shannon noted that it was an interesting collection for a guy who had been chemically castrated. DiGrazia suggested that Roper probably had them for the articles.

“Yeah, I’m sure that’s it.” Shannon pointed out the bus schedule Roper had for Somerville. “You notice, partner, there’s a five-twenty bus from Revere that gets to Somerville by five forty.”

DiGrazia stared at the bus schedule, his eyes narrowing as he studied it. He turned towards Roper’s sister. “Do you know how long he’s had these?” he asked her.

“I’m not talking to you,” she said.

Shannon placed the bus schedules in an evidence bag. He helped DiGrazia move the sofa. Underneath it they found more hardcore magazines, this collection even more sordid than the ones Shannon had already found.

In the back of the closet they found a shirt splattered with blood droplets. A sick, weary feeling hit Shannon as he looked at it. He could see DiGrazia’s jaw muscles tightening. They put the shirt in a separate evidence bag.

Wendy Soretti protested. “You got no right taking my brother’s possessions,” she croaked as if her voice was squeezed out of her.

“Read the warrant.” DiGrazia said.

When they were done, they left the apartment and stood by the curb. Shannon could see Roper’s sister peering at them from the window. He lit a cigarette and offered his partner one. The cold air felt good against his face, the cigarette smoke helped erase the stale smell of urine that lingered from Roper’s apartment.