Bad Karma

by Dave Zeltserman

  “There are no coincidences.”

  “You’re going to try to tell me there’s a divine plan that had me meeting that cop?”

  “No.” Eli took a bite of his scone and chewed it slowly. After brushing some crumbs from his chin he continued. “Nothing like that. But picture an energy current that swirls about and picks you and other people up with it. That’s why sometimes we keep running into the same people throughout our lifetimes—we’re riding the same energy jet stream. So whatever energy wrought Winters and all of his destruction, also caught the two of you up in its wake. There is no doubt a connection between you and that officer. And whatever it is, it brought the two of you to the same point in Wichita yesterday.”

  “All too metaphysical for me.” Shannon started to rub the joints above his two missing fingers, caught himself. “He seemed like a good kid, though, and I guess we are connected in a way. Because of Winters and his cousin we both became cops. And there are the more obvious ways too.”

  The two men grew silent then. Shannon’s face darkened as he sunk deep into his own thoughts. Eli had a similarly distant look as he ate his scone and drank his chai. A glimmer showed in his eyes. He brushed more crumbs from his chin, then asked “You don’t think Gibson could be responsible for his daughter’s death? That maybe she threatened to expose him?”

  Shannon looked up at him as if he were coming out of a trance. A few seconds passed before the question registered, then he shook his head. “The Wichita police are looking into it. It’s a possibility, but I don’t think that’s what happened.” He caught himself again as he started to massage the area around his missing fingers. “I had a lucid dream last night.” He lowered his voice and edged his chair closer to the table. “It was all very vivid. In the dream I found Linda Gibson sitting by her grave wearing what looked like a burial shawl. I asked her about the abuse; also whether her father was involved with her death. She confirmed the abuse, but denied that he had anything to do with her murder. When I asked who killed her all she did was mutter some gibberish.”

  “How do you interpret this?”

  Shannon shrugged. “Her muttering gibberish? No idea. The rest of it was probably my subconscious clarifying my thoughts.”

  “Or maybe pointing out your gut instincts.”

  “Maybe.” He took another long drink of his coffee, finishing it. “There was something very odd about that dream. Before I found Linda, I was floating as if my body were weightless. I felt so light, so much at peace, and all I wanted to do was hold onto that feeling. When I saw Linda by her grave, I knew I’d lose that sense of peace if I went over and talked to her. It was the last thing I wanted to do, and it took every ounce of strength I had to make myself go over to her.”

  “Why did you?”

  “I knew I was supposed to.”

  Eli tapped his forefinger slowly against his upper lip. “I’m wondering,” he muttered.

  Shannon waited while he watched Eli methodically tap his lip. Then somewhat impatiently he asked him what he was wondering.

  “How vivid was this dream when you woke up?”

  “Very.”

  “How about now?”

  “Still very vivid.”

  “Then what I’m wondering is whether you had a lucid dream or instead had left your body.”

  “I didn’t leave my body,” Shannon said. “I didn’t feel any of the twisting and ripping sensation that I felt that time with Winters.”

  “It’s not always like that. You could’ve transitioned gently from the dream plane to another plane of existence.”

  “That’s not the case. Linda didn’t seem real to me. Her skin had this unnatural sheen to it. Almost like she were a ceramic doll.”

  “Like she was something very fragile?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That fits. She was projected as the image you needed to see her as. I’m telling you, Bill, I think you had an out-of-body experience.”

  “What I’m thinking is something got slipped into your chai,” Shannon said. He found himself drumming his fingers hard along the table surface. The same antsy feeling he had earlier was back again worming its way into his gut.

  “Jesus, Bill, why are you so upset about this? This is what you’ve been working towards.”

  “I’m not upset, it wasn’t an out-of-body experience, okay?” Shannon checked his watch and pushed himself out of his chair. “I’ve got to get going. I’m meeting someone at eight. Usual time tomorrow morning?”

  Eli nodded slowly, his lips pursed as he studied Shannon. “Normal time tomorrow’s fine.” Then showing a thin smile, added, “I still don’t understand this reaction from you. It’s not as if I rubbed your nose in the fact that your beloved Red Sox lost to the lowly Colorado Rockies two nights ago.”

  “They took two out of three, which is better than your Yankees have been doing with Tampa Bay.”

  Eli crossed his thick arms, his deadpan expression back in place. “A low blow,” he said. “Try to tell me tomorrow why the idea of that being an out-of-body experience upset you as much as it did.”

  “Christ, Eli, I’m telling you I’m not upset. Besides, that’s not what it was. See you tomorrow, okay?”

  Shannon nodded to his friend as he moved quickly out of the shop. He had a half hour before he was going to stop by Devens office, but the uneasiness that had worked its way into his gut made it hard for him to sit still. He walked fast down Pearl Street, taking deep breaths as he moved. Two blocks from Juiced Up he spotted the girl from the other day—the one in the flowered vest and long “hippie” skirt who had hit him up for breakfast. She noticed him too and showed a smirk as she made a beeline towards him. When she got within twenty feet, her smirk disappeared and she looked away from him, the color of her face blanching a pale white. Shannon walked past her. He was a block away when he caught a glimpse of his reflection in a storefront window. The look on his face stopped him.

  He took several deep breaths and tried to empty his mind as he stared at the Flatirons off in the horizon. He knew part of the reason for his uneasiness was worrying about those Russians, knowing that he and Susan couldn’t move back to their apartment until they were taken care of. And while he knew Susan could more than adequately take care of herself, he still couldn’t help worrying about her going back to that yoga studio. The thought of his dream being an out-of-body experience bothered him too, maybe more than the rest of it.

  He had the thought about that dream being something more real when he first woke up from it. The idea of it had nagged at him all morning. Before meeting with Eli, he tried convincing himself it was only a lucid dream, maybe an extraordinarily vivid one, but still just a dream. He knew why the idea of it being more than that bothered him so much. For five years he’d been trying to learn how to leave his body so he could find his mom and his old partner, Joe DiGrazia. More than anything he wanted to tell them both how sorry he was about what Charlie Winters had done to them. And now that he finally had a chance to do that, he was so wrapped up in a case that he blew it. The opportunity he’d been wanting for so long was gone.

  He started laughing as he thought about how much this bothered him. Goddamit, he told himself, you used to be a cop. What the hell’s happened to you? Believing in this bullshit?

  The thing was he knew it wasn’t bullshit. How could it be with all those years Charlie Winters had invaded his dreams? Even if he could come up with an explanation for that, how could he ignore the time he shot out of his body and floated above it, watching as Winters tortured him by his broken fingers, twisting harder with that nutcracker until those fingers ripped off, then his body, now free, turning on Winters with that knife…

  Shannon stood silently for several minutes. Slowly the muscles along his jaw relaxed. He closed his eyes and repeated silently to himself for several minutes that if he could leave his body once he’d be able to leave it again, and that he wouldn’t allow any harm to come to Susan or himself.

  His cell phone rang, in
terrupting him. He felt calmer though, his affirmations working better than cigarettes or shots of Black Bush ever did. He answered the phone and it was Mark Daniels letting him know he had gotten his message the other night. “I owe you one for letting me be there when you go through that condo,” Daniels said, his voice cheery. “What time do you want to do it?”

  “How’s nine this morning?”

  “Works for me.”

  “I’ll pick you up at the station at eight-thirty, we’ll go over the crime scene photos, then –”

  “Wait a minute! What’s this shit about crime scene photos?”

  “You were going to check that for me, right?”

  “Yeah, well, I’m still waiting on word from my captain.”

  “You should probably get his word soon,” Shannon said. “At least if you want to be there when I go through that condo.”

  “What the fuck you pulling on me?”

  “Nothing, except I expect this to be more of a two-way street with us. It’s not going to be just me doing you favors.”

  “You just doing me favors?” Daniels sputtered out, nearly choking on his words. “How about me checking on that girl at the True Light cult for you?”

  “You did talk to a girl there,” Shannon said. “If you’d actually seen her instead of only talking over an intercom we’d know whether that girl was Melissa Cousins. As it is, neither of us has a clue who you talked to.” There was dead silence on the other end, then Shannon heard some ragged breathing as if Daniels were trying hard to compose himself. Shannon asked, “Do you want me to stop by at eight-thirty or not?”

  “Yes, stop by,” Daniels said before hanging up.

  Shannon checked his watch. He still had fifteen minutes before he needed to stop by Devens’ office. He found a bench facing the Flatirons, sat down and tried to sort out his thoughts. The downtown mall was beginning to show more life as tourists and locals geared up for the weekend. More rollerbladers decked out in spandex skated by, as did more bicyclists, and more couples whose rubbernecking clearly marked them as being from out of town. A guy wearing a suit and tie and a rubber Dick Cheney mask strolled by with a Capuchin monkey on his shoulder. The monkey was also dressed up in a little suit and tie. Shannon guessed that the monkey was supposed to be George W. Bush. He had to admit it was clever, but not too smart. Even at that hour he could tell it was going to be another hot day. It wasn’t going to be too comfortable for either of them dressed up like that. He felt sorry for the monkey.

  ***

  Devens peered curiously at Shannon. “What happened to you?” he asked.

  “An accident.”

  “An accident? Not due to our investigation?”

  “No, a different matter.” Shannon paused while he rubbed his jaw and looked over at one of the Navajo storytellers in Devens’ collection. He had a weird impression that the mother and three children in the clay piece of pottery were also giving him their rapt attention. “Maybe you can help me out with something? I’d like to find whatever I can about a property here in Boulder. I’m pretty sure it was purchased within the last two years.”

  “I think I can do that for you.”

  Shannon gave him True Light’s address, and Devens screwed up his face as if he were trying to remember something about it. “That’s by Baseline Reservoir, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah.”

  Devens nodded. “I remember it. Some religious group built a kind of fortress out there, right? I’ll check the records and let you know what I find.” He went back to his desk, got out a set of keys and tossed them to Shannon. “I danced my ass off in court to get you access to that condo,” Devens said. “Did a few Gene Kelly moves, absolutely dazzled them with my soft shoe. My basic argument being that my client—through you as a proxy—has the basic right to access his property in order to defend it. The DA tried to argue that his rights were superseded by the police’s need to be able to conduct a thorough investigation. Fortunately I had found an appellate court decision from 1986 which supported my argument. You should’ve seen the look on the DA and the police representative’s face when the judge announced his decision.” He leaned against his desk and cracked his neck using both hands in a chiropractic-type adjustment. “You were going to tell me about Wichita,” he said.

  “There’s a remote chance that Linda Gibson’s parents are involved with the murders,” Shannon said. “The Wichita police are investigating it.”

  Devens raised his brows at Shannon. “No way you leave it at that. I want details, my friend.”

  “Sorry,” Shannon said. “This falls under what we talked about before about me not providing any dirt on the two victims. If the Gibsons were involved, we’ll know soon.”

  Devens looked like he wanted to argue, but he resisted and instead told Shannon that he could respect that. He offered his hand, met the firmness of Shannon’s own grip. “Keep me informed,” Devens said somewhat curtly. “If you hit any more roadblocks that I can help with, let me know.”

  Shannon nodded and told him he would. When he got back onto Pearl Street, he took out Les Hasherford’s phone number and tried to decide whether it was too early to call him. Finally, he decided somewhat glibly that if Hasherford were truly a psychic then he’d be expecting the call. He dialed the number. After eight rings Hasherford picked up. The psychic’s breathing was labored and he spoke in a soft, almost melodic voice that at times sounded more like he was humming than talking. He agreed to meet at one and gave Shannon his address in Nederland, a small mountain town about fifteen miles west of Boulder. Before hanging up, Hasherford warned Shannon that he had never tried anything like this before, but that Shannon should bring articles of clothing from both of the deceased and he would see what he could do.

  Shannon checked the time, saw he was going to be late meeting Daniels, and headed back to the Boulderado Hotel to pick up his car.

  Chapter 12

  Shannon was five minutes late arriving at the Boulder Police Station and Daniels kept him waiting another twenty. When Daniels did appear, he carried a thick folder under his arm. His face remained expressionless and his manner frigid as he gave Shannon a dead-eyed stare.

  “Anything else you care to extort from me?” he asked. Shannon ignored him and instead told him that Gibson was being investigated by the Wichita police for sexually abusing his daughters. That warmed Daniels up a bit. At least it chipped away some of the frost.

  “I had those same vibes when I met them,” he said. “Both of them smelled wrong. Especially the mother. I was wondering if you’d pick up on that also. How’d you convince the Wichita police to take this on?”

  “I got lucky,” Shannon said, then he gave Daniels a full rundown of his trip to Wichita, including the conversations he had with Eric Wilson and Detective Don Chase, and the later one he had with their chief.

  “So they’re also looking into Gibson being involved with the murders,” Daniels said, his voice barely guttural.

  “Not just him. The mother also.”

  “I’ll call their captain later and put more pressure on him, make sure he doesn’t let this slide. I’ll have the DA call also.” He looked hesitantly at Shannon. “What do you think? Could they’ve done that to their daughter themselves, or paid someone to?”

  “They had to’ve been worried about the sexual abuse being exposed,” Shannon said. “And the mother’s not playing with a full deck.”

  “Yeah, but to kill their own daughter?”

  “It’s possible. I’ve seen worse.”

  “Yeah, I know, but still… what’s your gut saying?”

  Shannon shook his head. “I don’t think they had anything to do with the murders. But at least if the police dig hard enough they’ll find something to send Gibson away for sexually abusing his daughters. It’s not enough, but it’s something.”

  “Yeah, I agree about it not being enough,” Daniels said. “When I think about what that girl went through it makes me sick. Raped by her dad for years, then when she final
ly has a chance to make a life for herself, she’s butchered like a side of beef.” He sighed heavily, pushed a hand through his hair. “Alright, let me show you the crime scene photos. I just hope this doesn’t fuck up the case.”

  Shannon knew there was no chance of that. As a licensed private investigator he could be shown all of their confidential police reports involving the murders without it effecting a future trial. But he also knew the reason for Daniels’ reluctance. The beating the Boulder police had been taking in public opinion was brutal and he knew the last thing they wanted was for it to be reported that they enlisted the aid of a private investigator to bail them out. As he followed Daniels through the station, the police lieutenant walked stiffly, making sure Shannon could tell how much of an imposition this was for him.

  “I’m not looking to get my name in the papers,” Shannon told him.

  Daniels turned back and raised an eyebrow at him.

  “If I find out who’s responsible for these murders I’m deferring to you and the Boulder Police Department. I don’t care about getting my name out there, and I don’t want the publicity.”

  “That’s up to you,” Daniels said gruffly, but a weight seemed to roll off his shoulders. He showed a bemused smile as he asked why Shannon didn’t want the free advertising the publicity would bring.

  “I’m thinking this might be the last investigation I take on,” Shannon said.

  That caught Daniels by surprise. “Because of the beating you took? It doesn’t look too bad right now.”

  “Yeah, it could’ve been worse. No teeth knocked out or broken bones at least. But I have my better half to think about. Five years ago the two of us went through a lot back in Boston, and I don’t want to put her through anything more.”

  Daniels considered Shannon through narrow red-rimmed eyes. After a while he shook his head. “You ain’t quitting,” he said. “This work’s in your blood.”