Bad Karma

by Dave Zeltserman

  “That would help.”

  “I’ll call you when I find something.” Eli shifted in his chair, rubbed a thick hand across his jaw, said, “If you feel like talking about it, you can tell me about those two students.”

  Eli was trying to be as blasé as he could about it, but Shannon could see the interest shining in his half-closed eyes. He had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing. For all of Eli’s protestations against his taking on investigations, he would still always want to hear all the details, which Shannon was more than happy to share with him. Not only did Eli provide a good sounding board, but at times offered insights and observations that had helped Shannon solve past cases.

  “So far I don’t have much,” Shannon said. “I did get a strange email from Taylor Carver’s faculty advisor at the university, saying that his murder didn’t surprise him. At this point I’m waiting to see if he can provide more details.”

  Eli raised an eyebrow at that. “It sounds like you need a face-to-face chat with him.”

  “Yeah, that would be nice, but the guy’s spending the summer hiking in the Andes.”

  Straight-faced, Eli said, “Sounds like an ideal opportunity for you to take your beautiful ex on a well-deserved vacation. I’ve heard that the Andes can be close to a spiritual experience.”

  “Yeah, well, I could lead an expedition through South America looking for the guy. Or I could just be satisfied with the mountains we have here in Colorado and in exchanging emails with him.”

  “A few weeks backpacking in the Andes might help you get back on track with your out-of-body work,” Eli stated defensively, his expression more serious.

  “Lesson six,” Shannon said, “always look for ulterior motives, even in the most innocent sounding suggestions.”

  “What’s this nonsense about lesson six?”

  “Nothing.” Shannon let the grin he was fighting show through. “I ran into a fellow Red Sox fan yesterday and gave him a few lessons in being a private detective.”

  “They win one stinking World Series in eighty-six years and you get deluded fans everywhere popping out of the woodwork. It’s like a bad zombie movie from the fifties. Night of the brain-dead Red Sox fans. The government desperately needs to develop a vaccine before it spreads any further.”

  “I thought you didn’t believe they won last year. That it’s all some sort of mass hysteria?”

  “All the same, mass hysteria or government hoax, it’s causing this epidemic to flourish.” Still with his deadpan expression intact, Eli added, “After one day on the job that’s all you’ve come up with?”

  “No, not all,” Shannon said. “Something’s up with Carver’s family. I met with the mother and kid brother yesterday. Some very weird vibes, along with that they’re more concerned with winning a civil suit against Taylor’s landlord than seeing his murderer get caught. Also there were several new and expensive items in their house that they claimed he bought for them before he was killed. We’re talking thousands of dollars. I’ll have to find out if they had any life insurance on him.”

  “Could the police tell you that?”

  “They could.” Shannon smiled thinly. “But they’re not being very cooperative. I met the lead investigator. He seemed like a decent enough guy, but he wasn’t going to share any information.”

  “Not surprising,” Eli said, nodding grimly. “They seem to have developed a persecution complex, at least that’s how it looks in the papers. But to be fair to them, they’ve been taking quite a beating. So the obvious question begging for an answer is how did a college student come up with the money to make those types of purchases? When I was in school all I could afford every night for dinner was hotdogs and beans or macaroni and cheese. I was lucky if I could scrape together enough money to buy a new pair of sneakers every year. And back then they didn’t cost the same as a stereo system.”

  “Yeah, it sure points to drugs, doesn’t it? The one thing the police were willing to share with me was that they’d found nothing to indicate drugs were involved.”

  “If not drugs…?” Eli let the question hang, then a spark flashed in his eyes as he looked at Shannon. “Something interesting that you said, and I quote: ‘seeing his murderer get caught’. Do you have any reason to think that only one person committed these murders or was this a subconscious conclusion that you made?”

  Shannon thought about it, shook his head. “I have no way of knowing yet how many people were involved.”

  “Then something from your subconscious made you say that.”

  “Maybe, but I don’t think so. More likely it was only careless word usage on my part.”

  Eli waggled a large sausage-sized finger at Shannon. “Bill, don’t ignore your intuition. And remember, there are no such things as accidents.” Flashing a sheepish grin, he pushed himself out of his chair and moved towards the restroom. “Which reminds me. I’d better return one of these chais before I prove myself wrong about accidents. The problem, my friend, with having a prostate that has swelled to the size of a watermelon. Same time tomorrow?”

  “I’ll call you later. I’m thinking I might have to fly to Wichita to meet with the dead girl’s family.”

  “Well, let me know.” Before closing the door behind him, Eli gave Shannon a stern look and added, “And keep working on those exercises.”

  Shannon gave his friend a quick military-type salute, which was acknowledged by a deadpan stare, followed by a shake of Eli’s head.

  ***

  It was ten past eight when Shannon left Juiced Up and started down Pearl Street. The street was quiet except for a couple of rollerbladers and some kids with backpacks. He thought briefly about going back to the condo complex and trying to talk with more neighbors, but at that time of morning people either would be rushing off to work or already gone. Realistically, he’d have to wait until evening. Out of ideas, he called Mark Daniels’ direct line at the Boulder precinct. Daniels answered after the third ring, his voice friendlier after he realized that Shannon was on the line.

  “I’m glad you called,” Daniels said. “I was going to give you a ring, but I don’t know what time you private dicks get up and about. As an ex-cop, I should’ve figured you’d be working by now.” There was a hesitation, then he added, “After you came by yesterday, I spoke with some people in Massachusetts about you and they all told me the same thing. That you were a damn good cop. Also, you were never a glory hound and that you were in this for all the right reasons. I also spoke with our district attorney here, and have a better understanding of what I can talk to you about without jeopardizing a future prosecution. I might’ve been a tad too rigid before.”

  “You think?”

  “Yeah, just a bit.”

  “Then how about letting me into that condo.”

  “Ah, shit. I was afraid you’d ask about that. I still can’t. Sorry.”

  “Crime scene photos then?”

  There was a pause, then, “Let me talk it over with my captain. I’ll get back to you about it.”

  “How about a couple of questions?”

  “Go ahead, shoot.”

  “Did Taylor have any life insurance?”

  “None that we could find.”

  The fact that Daniels answered him took Shannon by surprise. He thought he was simply getting a more polite runaround. Taking the call more seriously, he asked, “How about his mom? Did Eunice Carver have a life insurance policy on him?”

  “No. Why this interest?”

  “Her house is loaded with some big ticket items that she claims Taylor bought for her before his death. We’re talking thousands of dollars worth of purchases. Like a new large-screen plasma TV set. I’m trying to figure out where the money came from. Any idea if he had a job?”

  “All he had was a small stipend from the university as a teacher’s assistant. Ah shit. I’ll dig deeper and see if I can find any policies.” Daniels voice became muffled as if he were rubbing a hand across his face. “Fuck. Every time we’ve talked to
her it’s been at the station. I should’ve had someone check her house. It’s possible he got the money from Linda. Her family’s pretty well off. I’ll try to track that down.”

  “Another question. According to the newspapers they were killed between eleven and two. Is that right or were you feeding the papers misinformation?”

  “That’s what we got from the coroner.”

  “An upstairs neighbor, Mike Maguire, told me he was working until three that morning. Any chance you verified that?”

  “Why? Something not sound right about him?”

  “No, nothing like that. But he did tell me there were some noise issues with him and the dead students. More than that, though, I just don’t like coincidences.”

  “Give me a minute.” When Daniels picked up again there was a hint of vindication in his voice. “We checked out his story. The company Maguire works for has a security system where you have to use an encoded badge at the door to get in and out. The system records the times that the badges are used, and that day Maguire got there at nine eighteen in the morning and left at two fifty-six the next morning. We also talked to his supervisor. They had a big customer deal going on the next day so Maguire leaving that late made sense.”

  “Thanks. That crosses him off. Do you know anything about a cult called the True Light?”

  “Yeah, a little bit. They have a compound out in East Boulder by Baseline Reservoir. Been there a little over a year. Why? You think they’re involved in this?”

  “Sorry, a completely different matter. I got a call from a Pauline Cousins. Her daughter joined True Light six months ago. She’s worried about her. True Light won’t let her see her daughter. She claims the Boulder police won’t help her either.”

  Daniels’ sighed heavily, making no attempt to hide his annoyance. He told Shannon that he’d look into the matter and get back to him. Lowering his voice, he asked, “What’s your take on Carver’s family?”

  “Very odd. Doesn’t seem like they much care if Taylor’s murderer ever gets caught. But they do seem concerned about making money off of it.”

  “My thoughts also.” Daniels hesitated, asked, “Any plans on visiting Linda Gibson’s family?”

  “Yeah, probably in the next few days.”

  “After you do, lets touch base. I’m curious if you come up with the same gut feeling I did.”

  “Want to give me any hints?”

  “I’d better not,” Daniels said. “I don’t want to prejudice you. Let’s compare notes after you meet them, okay?”

  Shannon told him he would. After slipping the cell phone back into his pocket, he noticed a young girl walking towards him. She was maybe eighteen, a little heavy, with long frizzy blond hair and numerous earrings and piercings. She wore an outfit that could’ve come from a movie made from the sixties complete with a flowered vest and a skirt reaching down past her ankles. While a lot of wealth had moved into Boulder over the past two decades, it was still a Mecca for transients and a right of passage for hippie-wannabes to hitchhike to and bum around.

  She had a sly little smile on her face as she asked Shannon for money. “Mister, I haven’t eaten anything since yesterday,” she said with no attempt to hide her smirk.

  Shannon told her to follow him.

  “I’m not doing anything for the money,” she said.

  “I’m not asking you to.”

  There was a café half a block away that was open for breakfast. When they got to it, Shannon told her to order what she wanted.

  “I’d rather have the money.”

  “And I’d rather buy you food.”

  She opened her mouth as if she were going to argue, shrugged, and instead asked if she could get something for her friends too. Shannon agreed, and she ordered several roast beef and ham and cheese sandwiches to go, along with a couple of large cokes, chips and cookies. When she got her package, she begrudgingly muttered thanks to Shannon before leaving.

  The cashier, a nice-looking brunette in her thirties, shook her head as she handed Shannon the change. “She showed a lot of gratitude, huh?” she said.

  “I was probably worse at her age.” Nodding to the cashier, he left the café and started walking idly down Pearl Street again, slowing down when he came across two men playing chess. One of them was sitting on a bench, the other on a folding chair, with a chess set on a folding table between them. The man on the bench was in his sixties, and looked like Paul Bunyan, except that his red hair had turned mostly gray. Even though it was midsummer, he wore dungarees, work boots and a heavy red flannel shirt. As he studied the game, he pushed an upper plate in and out of his mouth. The other player was young and probably a college kid. Along with needing a shave, his hair resembled the top of a string mop that had been dyed black and, like his clothes, looked like it hadn’t been washed in weeks. As he sat there, his eyes moved fervently as they scanned the board.

  Standing nearby kibitzing on the game was what looked like another college student. A tall blond Germanic-looking kid with red cheeks, a smart-assed smile and a cheap stogie dangling from his lips polluting the air around him. “Idiot,” he exclaimed as the other kid reached for his bishop. “Don’t you see you can win a pawn?”

  The younger player turned to him and pointed a finger. “Are you playing this game?” he asked. “No? Then shut the fuck up.” Under his breath, he added, “Moron.”

  The color dropped from the tall blond kid’s face. Still smiling his smart-assed smile but with no humor left in his eyes, he tossed his cigar at the player.

  “Sonofabitch,” the kid jumped up, knocking the cigar out of his lap. “You’re going to throw a lit cigar at me?” He was a good six inches shorter and sixty pounds lighter than the blond kid.

  “You could’ve been more polite about my suggestion…” the blond kid started, but before he could say anything else he was hit hard with an uppercut that sent him on his ass.

  “The sonofabitch threw a lit cigar at me,” the other kid repeated, his arms moving in wild gestures as he stormed away. The blond kid looked stunned as he sat on the ground. Then, rubbing his jaw, he flashed an embarrassed grin before getting back to his feet and walking gingerly in the opposite direction.

  “I never knew chess was a contact sport,” Shannon said.

  The Paul Bunyan look-alike had watched the event with an amused sparkle in his eyes. He slipped his upper plate back in place. “You live in Boulder long enough you’ll see everything.”

  “I wonder if your opponent knew you had mate in four no matter what he did?”

  The older man leaned back on the bench and appraised Shannon slowly. “Show me,” he said.

  Shannon played out the moves, demonstrating how mate in four could be forced.

  “You know your chess. The name’s Eddie, by the way. Why don’t you take a seat. Let’s see what you can do.”

  Shannon sat down in the folding chair and introduced himself.

  “Out to kill a few hours?” Eddie asked.

  “More to clear my head.”

  Eddie nodded. “You have the look of someone with a purpose. About my last opponent, he didn’t have a clue. I had him hook, line and sinker. Nothing but a fish waiting to be reeled in and gutted. A shame I didn’t get my chance to fillet him.”

  The first dozen moves went quickly, then Eddie started taking more time to study the board before making his moves. When it was his turn he’d be locked in deep concentration, his face rigid except for his upper plate sliding in and out of his mouth. When it was Shannon’s turn, Eddie would engage him in conversation.

  “How’d you lose those fingers?”

  “They were broken off.”

  “How was that done?”

  “With a nutcracker.”

  “That must’ve hurt.”

  Shannon looked up, saw no sarcasm in Eddie’s heavily lined face. Other than trying to get an edge by distracting his opponent, he was doing nothing more than talking straightforwardly.

  Shannon made his move, then d
ead silence for several more minutes until Eddie decided on his next course of action. Then:

  “You been in Boulder long?”

  “About five years.”

  “Me, off and on since ’74. I left in ’97 after the student rioting. Ashamed after that to admit I was from Boulder. I only came back a few months ago. And I keep wondering why I did.”

  “Students rioted here in ’97?”

  “Yep, did their share of damage up on the Hill. And guess what their reason was? To protest racism? Inequality? Poverty? An unjust war? Nope. Nothing more than they wanted underage drinking. When I think back to the sixties and seventies and then what these students did it makes me sick.”

  “A different world, different priorities,” Shannon offered philosophically.

  “I guess. But ’74, that was when Boulder was Boulder. A different town than it is now. That was before all the Californians and money rolled in. Of course, you’ve always had your share of rich students, but nothing like today.”

  “Must’ve been something.”

  “It certainly was,” Eddie said, a wistfulness misting his eyes. “As close to heaven on earth as I’ve ever found. Money and urban sprawl changed all that. Maybe thirty thousand people back then in Boulder, outside of the students. If you drove to Denver you’d see nothing but open prairie. Three months ago when I took the bus back here all I could see were new developments. One right after the next. Broke my heart.”

  Shannon made his move and sat in silence again while Eddie studied the position. After he made his next move he showed Shannon a toothless grin thanks to his upper plate slipping out of place. Using his thumb he pushed his plate back into position.

  “You’d never believe this,” he said. “but Boulder used to be a dry town. That was back in the sixties. What makes that kind of ironic was how this town became a conduit for drugs in the seventies.”