Something about Rowley being so cocksure of his wife bothered Shannon. Shit, half the cops he knew sooner or later found their wives in affairs. Stubbornly he kept at it. “If your wife is seeing someone I need to know about it—”
“She’s not seeing anyone. This is not anything like that.”
“What is this then?”
Pain pushed through the dullness in Kyle Rowley’s eyes. His entire face momentarily was flushed with it. “Janice was abducted,” he said. “Somebody took her. You realize that, don’t you?”
“Okay,” Shannon said, “let me be straight with you. What I realize is your wife is missing, either because she wants to be, because somebody did something to her, or because you did something to her. If we can rule you out then we can focus on the other two possibilities. Which means if your wife really was abducted, the quicker we can cross you off, the better the chance we’d have of finding her. Will you give us permission to search your apartment?”
“It’s not going to help at all—”
“I could get a warrant, but it would take time. I don’t think we want to waste time right now.”
Anger turned Rowley’s skin a soft purple. “This is ridiculous,” he started to argue, his jaw muscles hardening, “there’s nothing in my apartment that’s going to help you find my wife—”
“If you’re involved, you’re doing the right thing by stonewalling us,” Shannon said.
“I’m not trying to stonewall you,” Rowley said. “Goddamn it.” He shook his head. The color drained out of his face, leaving it the same unhealthy yellow it was before. “Do whatever you want as long as it gets you looking for Janice.”
“Are you willing to take a polygraph test?”
“I’ll take whatever you want me to take. Just find my wife.”
Shannon stood up. “I’m going to get you a pad of paper. I want you to write down any place your wife might have stopped off last night to pick up dinner. Any place you can think of. I want you to also write down anything unusual that might have happened over the last couple months, anything your wife might’ve said that seemed out of place—”
“Like what?”
“Like somebody coming on to her at work, or threatening her, anything like that. I also want you to write down everything you did from the time you left work yesterday to coming here this morning.” Shannon hesitated. “Do you have pictures of your wife?”
“I didn’t bring any. I can go home and get some.”
“That’s okay. Just give me your keys. While you’re writing down what I asked, Detective DiGrazia and I will search your apartment. I need to get a photo of your wife out on the wire. Do you give me permission to remove photos of her from your apartment?”
Kyle Rowley told Shannon to do whatever he needed to do and told him where they kept their photo albums. He took a pair of keys off a chain and handed them to Shannon. “Janice’s still alive,” he said. “I know it. I don’t know how I know it, but I do. Don’t let her die. She’s my life. I don’t think I can make it without her.”
“I’ll do everything I can. I promise. I’ll be right back with that pad.”
DiGrazia, before leaving, put a hand on Rowley’s shoulder and told him to hang in there.
Out in the hallway DiGrazia remarked how he let Shannon do all the talking.
“Yeah, I noticed.”
“I wanted to give you every opportunity to form an unbiased opinion.”
“Thanks.”
“You thought there was something funny about him pointing us towards her coworkers?”
“No. I just wanted to ask him about it.”
“So what do you think,” DiGrazia asked, “is he genuine?”
Shannon thought about it. “What I think is we’ve got a woman in pretty bad trouble.”
* * * * *
Before leaving the precinct they stopped to talk with Brady. Forensics took a couple of partial prints off the steering wheel, nothing else.
“Of course,” Brady went on, “they’re most likely the victim’s, but we’ll check them. Bill, tell me about the husband.”
“He’s given us permission to search his apartment and he’s also willing to take a polygraph. I’ve set it up for one this afternoon. Do you want to be there?”
“I don’t think that’s necessary. Is he responsible?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know?”
Shannon shook his head. “I don’t have a feel yet, Martin. I really don’t know.”
Brady gave DiGrazia a questioning look, but DiGrazia cut him off. “I don’t know what the fuck’s going on,” he said.
“You’re disappointing me,” Brady said to the two cops as they walked away from him.
Brady stood watching them, shaking his head, a dour look forming over his soft features. “And I’m not at all happy about it,” he said to no one in particular.
Chapter 2
Shannon only half heard his partner puffing as they made it up the three flights to Kyle Rowley’s apartment. He couldn’t help thinking about Rowley, about how certain Rowley was of his wife’s feelings. If it was Susie, could he say for sure she wouldn’t spend the night with another man? When they first got married he probably could’ve, but now he’d only give even money on what she’d do. At best, they were the same odds for whether he’d care . . .
As Shannon opened the door to Rowley’s apartment a smell stopped him; a rotting, sour smell that had assaulted him in his dream. It was fleeting, though, disappearing almost as soon as he breathed it in. Still, it unnerved him.
“Did you smell anything?” Shannon asked.
“What am I supposed to have smelled?”
“I don’t know. Something like bad body odor. Except worse.”
“Sorry, pal, I didn’t smell it. I’ll take the kitchen.”
The apartment was neat, orderly, no evidence of a recent struggle. Shannon found a picture of Janice Rowley in the living room. He picked it up and studied it. She was attractive, blond and petite with a nice, easygoing smile. There was something appealing about her smile, something warm and genuine about it. A cold numbness pressed against Shannon’s forehead as he stared at that smile. The woman in the picture was the same one from his dream.
He put down the picture and found a chair. He sat down until the coldness went away. Then he thought, what the hell. He couldn’t help what he dreamed about. He got up, found the clothes hamper in the hallway, dumped its contents onto the floor and started sifting through it, searching for any torn or bloody clothing. He was at the bottom of the pile when DiGrazia yelled out to him to meet him in the kitchen.
DiGrazia had a hard grin etched on his face as Shannon met him. “Notice anything?” he asked.
A drawer was opened showing a set of steak knifes. One of the knives was missing.
“Did you check the rest of the kitchen for it?”
“Yeah,” DiGrazia said, “it’s not here. So what do you think?”
“What am I supposed to think?”
“That maybe our guy stabbed her in the heat of the moment, that he then dumped her and the car, and fed us that abduction story.”
“They got wall-to-wall carpeting. I haven’t seen any blood stains.”
“He could’ve been lucky with the way she bled.”
Shannon was shaking his head. “If she arrived home at six and he showed up at the precinct at seven it wouldn’t have left him enough time to dump the body and the car and also clean up.”
“The car wasn’t discovered until this morning. He could’ve gotten rid of both her and the car after reporting her missing. He probably knew he’d be told to go home and wait.”
Shannon was shaking his head.
“What about the knife, then?”
“Knives get lost. It happens.”
“Come on.”
“If she was abducted,” Shannon said, “maybe the perp came back for it.”
“What do you mean?”
�
�He’d have her keys and her address. Maybe it struck him as an amusing thing to do—use one of her own knives on her.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
Shannon stared straight at his partner. “I don’t see any blood stains on the carpeting, I don’t see anything to indicate she was stabbed here. I don’t think we’re being conned. And one of the steak knives is missing.”
“Jesus Christ,” DiGrazia swore softly. “You got a twisted way of thinking.” He paused for a moment. “You see any point in getting the apartment dusted?”
“It’s cold outside. I’m sure our guy was wearing gloves. Assuming the knife wasn’t just lost.”
DiGrazia was scowling, a deep, hard scowl that creased the bottom half of his face. “If it’s working out that way, partner—”
“The knife could just be lost,” Shannon suggested without any real conviction.
“Shit,” DiGrazia swore. Then he stopped and gave Shannon a long, hard stare. “Is something wrong, partner? You don’t look too good.”
Shannon shook his head and muttered, “nothing” before heading towards the door. He wasn’t about to tell DiGrazia that he had seen the missing steak knife in his dream.
* * * * *
The story they got at Janice Rowley’s office was consistent; their missing coworker was happily married and was not looking for anything extracurricular. One of the accountants remembered her leaving shortly after five. Like the others interviewed, she seemed visibly shaken on hearing that Rowley was missing.
Shannon tried getting back to the extracurricular angle, asking whether there were any guys in the office who had a tough time taking no for an answer.
The woman just shook her head. “They’re accountants,” she said as if that explained the matter.
* * * * *
When they got back to the station Kyle Rowley complained about how long he had been sitting there waiting for them.
“I’m sorry about that, but we’ve been busy,” Shannon explained. “We’ve put a description of your wife out on the wire and we’re faxing her photo to every department in New England. We’ve also released the story and photos to the local stations and newspapers. If anyone’s seen Janice we’ll know soon.”
“Did you get anything from her car?” Rowley asked.
Shannon shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said. “We didn’t find anything that’s going to help us.”
Rowley seemed lost for a moment, his eyes dazed before focusing on DiGrazia and then Shannon. He reached over and handed a pad of paper to Shannon. “Here’s what you asked for,” he said. His body seemed to crumple as he sat back in his chair.
There were about a dozen restaurants listed on the front sheet. Shannon quickly read through the rest of what Rowley had written and then handed the pad to DiGrazia.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” Rowley said to no one in particular. “Oh, Jesus, poor Janice.”
“We’ll do everything we can to find her.”
“I should be home,” Rowley said.
“I’d like you to stay a little while longer. We have a polygraph set up for one.”
“I have to get home. Somebody could be trying to call.”
“There were no messages on your answering machine. I don’t think this is a kidnapping.”
Rowley’s long face screwed up as if he were trying to keep from crying.
“Do you know if any of your steak knives are missing?” DiGrazia asked.
“What?”
“One of them is missing. Do you know about it?”
“No. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Shannon said. “Another half hour and you’ll take the polygraph test. Then you can go home.”
* * * * *
“I don’t like this,” DiGrazia stated in a low, guttural voice to his partner when they were alone. His complexion had turned a dull gray, his eyes closed to thin slits.
Shannon didn’t say anything.
“Why would some freak have to go back to her apartment to pick up a knife? I just don’t like it.”
“It may not be that way.” Shannon felt tired. Maybe more beat than tired, as if he were dragging cement blocks from around his legs and arms. He poured himself a cup of coffee. “I want to see if I can pick up her trail. Would you mind hanging around for the polygraph? Maybe you could do a computer search, see if anyone’s been released who could fit this.”
DiGrazia nodded slowly. “Yeah, sure. Give me a call if you find anything.”
* * * * *
The manager of the Bombay House recognized Janice Rowley’s picture. “Yes, she was here.”
“Do you remember what time?”
“She used a credit card. Wait, let me get the receipts.” He bent down under the register and pulled out a tin box and brought it up to the counter. After sifting through it he pulled out a slip of paper.
“Here it is,” he said as he handed the receipt to Shannon. “She was here at five forty-five. I had written the time in the left corner. It helps me keep track of when we’re busiest.”
Shannon noticed Janice Rowley’s signature on the receipt. He asked whether the manager remembered anything else that could help.
“No,” he shook his head after thinking about it. “She paid for her food and left. She’s a nice woman, though. She comes here often. I hope nothing has happened.”
The restaurant was in Somerville, five minutes from Janice Rowley’s apartment. Shannon thanked the manager for his help, then checked out the small parking lot in back. It would’ve been dark and the cars there would have been obscured from the street. As Shannon stood in the parking lot a chill ran through him. He lit a cigarette and breathed in deeply, trying to pull some warmth from it. Janice Rowley had parked there last night and someone had gotten in her car and had waited for her. Sometime later that person had dumped her car at the industrial park. Shannon closed his eyes and imagined what it had been like. Janice Rowley walking briskly, almost running towards her car to get out from the cold. Sitting in the front seat, putting the key in the ignition, and then a hand from the back covering her mouth, another grabbing her by the throat. Her slipping out of consciousness . . .
Shannon opened his eyes, cold sweat running down his back. For a brief heartbeat he had smelled that sickly pungent odor again. For that same brief heartbeat he had a vague image of the person who had been hiding in Janice Rowley’s car. An image of someone large, of diseased flesh, and of evil. He couldn’t hold on to it, though. It slipped away into the ether.
Shannon took another drag on his cigarette and then tossed it to the ground. The question was, What happened next? Did he drop Janice Rowley off someplace and then dump the car, or did he exchange cars at the industrial park, moving Janice Rowley to the trunk of his car? It would’ve been about six o’clock by the time he drove to the industrial park and there would be too many people around. It would’ve been too dangerous to move a body between cars. No, he left Janice Rowley someplace first, then got rid of her car and walked back to her. He got to the Bombay House parking lot the same way, by walking.
Bad Thoughts Page 2