by B. V. Lawson
She looked around the area, realizing how vulnerable she was at that moment. She reached the car and grabbed her phone to call for help. As she did, she noticed a car without its lights driving away slowly. Hadn’t the driver heard Jessica’s screams?
PART TWO
For by that knowledge of his destiny
He would not live at all but always die.
Enquire not then who shall from bonds be freed,
Who ’tis shall wear a crown and who shall bleed.
—From the song “Seek Not to Know,” poem by John Dryden
music by Henry Purcell
23
Thursday, 23 October
Late-morning fogs were rare in the capital this time of year. Drayco watched the misty layer of clouds thin, allowing the ghostly shapes to morph into trees and buildings. It was eerily beautiful. He and Sarg stood in front of the apartment complex as they waited for the two MPD officers to exit ahead of them.
Drayco and Sarg trudged up the one flight of dimly lit stairs and onto a landing where the door to one room was propped open. As in Cailan’s apartment seven days ago, Sarg handed Drayco a pair of nitrile gloves. “They’ve been through most of it. Promised to let us in if we used these.”
This time, it was Shannon’s apartment, where an officer in uniform was bent over a stack of papers he flipped through. He looked up with an annoyed expression on his face, which quickly relaxed. “Drayco. You slumming with the suits?”
Sarg said in a voice so low only Drayco could hear. “Why is it everyone says you are the one doing the slumming?”
Drayco said, “Gonzo, good to see you. Still racking up the bowling trophies?”
“Our league placed first in our division this year. I bowled a 215.”
“Detective Bill Gonzalez, meet Agent Mark Sargosian. His daughter is one of the young people who found Shannon Krugh’s body.”
Gonzalez nodded sympathetically at Sarg. “We’ve been here all morning. Found these,” he handed Drayco some pictures. “Maybe a motive, maybe not.”
Drayco and Sarg looked at the photos. They were of professional quality, some in color, some in black-and-white. And all were of Shannon stark naked.
Drayco handed them back, and Gonzalez placed them inside a plastic sleeve, saying, “It’s not a big place. Hallway, one bathroom, a small kitchen and this living area. If you can find something we didn’t, I owe you a steak dinner.”
Sarg studied at the brightly painted walls. “It’s very … pink.”
Drayco headed to the bedroom as Sarg followed. “You said on the phone Tara was taking this well.”
“She’s a tough kid. Foolish at times. If she were a few years younger, she’d be grounded for a month. No, make that a year.”
“And her schoolwork?”
“Wanted her to take a few days off. She put her foot down so hard, I thought it’d go through the floor all the way to China.”
Drayco stepped around a basket of dirty clothes waiting to be washed. “How does Elaine feel?”
“She agrees with Tara. So, after spending most of last night at the police station, Tara still made her eight o’clock psych class. I’m going to meet her in an hour , see how she’s doing. She protested, I insisted. You’re welcome to come along.”
They stepped inside Shannon’s former bedroom. More pink walls. The bedspread was red with pink and gray pillows, all recently moved, and the sheets pulled up, exposing the mattresses. Sarg grabbed one of the pillows and checked for zippers as in Cailan’s room, then shook his head.
Underneath the pillow lay a small teddy bear, its fur missing in some places. Sarg picked it up and held it in his hand for a moment. Taking a deep breath, he replaced the bear.
Drayco understood. Here they were, pawing through a victim’s belongings, caught between clinical detachment and empathetic bonds with inanimate objects. It was hard not to shed pieces of your soul.
He noticed a tool chest that was a smaller version of the one they’d seen Shannon use at the bowling alley and opened it. After spying something at the bottom, he pulled it out and showed it to Sarg. “A lock-picking kit.”
“Guess that answers the question of how she got into Cailan’s apartment to leave the voodoo messages.”
Drayco nodded, then tossed the kit back into the chest with a sigh. “At least we got to see the body in situ this time.” Sarg had called Drayco on the way to Kenilworth after first contacting the MPD, and he’d met them there last night. Shannon was found in the same location as Cailan, give or take a few inches. As with Cailan, Shannon was topless.
This time, they could be certain about the weapon, because the knife was still in the body. It was an Athame knife, like the one in Troy Jaffray’s book. A box of long-handled matches lay near the victim, with one spent match on the ground. Her shirt, bra and jacket were found in a park trash can.
Drayco picked up a bottle of prescription pills from the nightstand. The label read LITHIUM CARBONATE, 300 mg capsules. It was filled four months ago but was half full. Impossible to tell whether she’d taken any recently. Hopefully, the tox report would provide that detail.
He sat on the edge of the bed, trying to match Shannon’s belongings with the girl he’d conversed with for a grand total of thirty minutes. Perhaps the pink was from the manic side, the black from the depressive. The clarinet lying in one corner, manic?
The two cross-stitched pillows, one of a black rose, the other of a dog with red eyes and white horns—depressive? What of the framed pictures of Jefferson Airplane and Janis Joplin in all their psychedelic-colored glory? They hung at skewed angles, indicating the detectives took them off and put them back.
A coffin-shaped incense holder next to the bed held ashes that still smelled of sage. If Cailan’s room symbolized the modern template of a co-ed’s habitat, Shannon’s was that habitat on acid.
Sarg pointed to the posters. “Must be what it looks like inside your head when you listen to an orchestra.” Sarg had been pestering him nonstop about the synesthesia.
Drayco ignored him and got up to retrieve a matchbook from a table. He flipped it over, then showed it to Sarg. It was from the Potomac Pleasure Palace. “Guess Happy gave it to her,” Sarg said.
“Hmm.” Drayco walked to a bookshelf, a misnomer since it didn’t hold a single book. He fingered a familiar-looking tiny doll lying there, sans pins. If they’d needed evidence Shannon was behind Cailan’s voodoo dolls, they didn’t have to look any further. It was identical to the one they’d found hidden in Cailan’s pillow.
He picked up the sewing basket next to the doll. It had one spool of thread and a measuring tape inside, with a few pins pushed into the cushioned top. She must have used most of them on Cailan’s doll effigies.
Despite being almost empty, the basket was heavy. With his gloved fingers, he pried open the bottom of the basket and pulled out several pieces of paper, all the same size.
Sarg came over to take a look. “Paycheck stubs. From the Potomac Pleasure Palace. And they’re made out to Shannon Krugh.”
“So, Happy Ilsley did some recruiting on the side. Maybe those icons from the hippie era over there are no coincidence—gifts from Happy or Elvis.”
After going through the room some more and not finding anything else of interest, they rejoined Gonzalez in the living room and handed over the check stubs.
“I like my steaks medium rare,” Drayco said.
Gonzalez placed the evidence in a new bag. “Naked photos and a strip club. They didn’t have college majors like that in my day.”
Drayco glanced over at the pile of papers Gonzalez had thumbed through earlier. He slid out a plain white nine-by-twelve envelope peeking out the middle of the stack. A familiar-looking envelope, with computer-printed lettering and no return address. It was already open, so he lifted out the contents. Another sheet of music with an unsingable melody.
Drayco handed it over to Sarg. “Our Da Capo.”
A second detective Drayco didn’t recognize p
opped into the hallway to let them know they’d found something in the trunk of Shannon’s rusting eighteen-year-old Honda. Drayco and Sarg joined him downstairs and saw what he’d collected—a can of red paint, a brush and another small voodoo doll. “This some kind of cult thing or a joke?” The detective asked.
Drayco couldn’t answer that. Perhaps just proof of Shannon’s bullying. Or that Shannon was indeed involved in a cult. Or used by someone else who was a member. The one person who could say for certain had just taken Cailan’s place at the morgue.
* * *
Drayco handed Tara the latte he’d ordered for her, as he joined her and Sarg at a corner table at Café Renée. Tara’s face had a healthy color, and the hand that accepted the latte was steady. She smiled at him and said “Thank you, Mister Drayco.” She appeared to be half-joking, but Falkor was back on the shelf, maybe permanently.
Drayco could tell Sarg was doing his best not to hover, but he was doing a lousy job. Tara patted her father on the arm. “I’m okay, stop worrying. It’s Shannon who’s not okay. Well, and John and Jessica. That John wouldn’t last an hour in the Rangers, Dad.”
Tara herself would do fine in the Rangers. She’d asked to be allowed to see Shannon’s body when the police arrived, though Sarg had objected at first. The police were thrilled, hoping she could ID the body since the other two students weren’t coherent at the time.
To her credit, Tara hadn’t flinched or looked the least bit green, something she hadn’t gotten from her father. She even had the presence of mind to make the observation, “That’s a weird blood pattern, isn’t it?”
One of the MPD detectives later told Drayco, “Hope her father’s encouraging her to go into law enforcement.”
Drayco was secretly hoping she’d pick forensics over pharmaceutical research. But this wasn’t the time or place to discuss that. He was just happy she was alive and enjoying a latte like a normal college kid.
Sarg, the model of tact, blurted out, “Don’t see what you like about that John guy. You can do better.”
“Other than the fact he’s gorgeous?”
She smirked as Sarg muttered, “He won’t be when I get through with him.”
“He’s got a sensitive side, Dad. He doesn’t show it to most people because they’ll make fun of him. He writes poetry. And he brought me a purple rose to our first date because he knows I like them.”
Her father just pursed his lips into a scowl.
Tara seemed to have something else on her mind, looking up, then down at her latte every few seconds. She removed the lid and stirred the foam into coffee whirlpools. “I didn’t like Shannon. I knew she had a mental illness. Sometimes I think that’s an excuse to justify bad behavior, when the bad behavior was there all along. But I am sorry she’s dead. Did you know she and Cailan sang a duet once?”
Tara stirred some more. “They had different voice teachers who thought pairing mezzo Cailan and soprano Shannon would be a great idea. They got through it without killing each other.” She lifted her head and looked stricken. “I mean—”
Sarg patted her hand. “We know.”
Drayco gave her a few moments to take sips from her latte, then guided the focus back on last night’s drama. “Tara, do you recall any more details about that vehicle you saw drive away?”
“I’ve tried. All I remember is what I told everyone. A white SUV without its lights and maybe a stripe on the side. I couldn’t tell if there were, like, police lights on top or a logo or anything.”
“And you didn’t get a glimpse of the driver or any passengers?”
“Wish I had.”
The look on Sarg’s face told Drayco Tara’s father had mixed emotions about that. Her eyewitness description could help track down the driver. But that eyewitness status could also make Tara a target.
Sarg stretched his arm along the backrest of the blue vinyl seat. “The NPS is fit to be tied, thinking it’s either the stolen SUV. Or an NPS employee.”
Tara watched Drayco sprinkle salt in his coffee and wrinkled her nose. “Guess this means Shannon is off the hook as killer?”
Sarg played with the straw in his iced macchiato. “Actually, the MPD is leaning toward murder-suicide.”
Tara looked at Drayco. “Dad said you found more of those music puzzles. And one came to you. Did Shannon do all those? I didn’t think she was that good a student. I mean, why would she bother sending one to you if she was just going to kill herself?”
“I’m not convinced she did. One was sent to her, too.”
“Well then, who—”
“That’s what I aim to find out.”
Tara picked at her scalp, a mannerism he thought she’d outgrown. She didn’t say anything for a minute, and he was worried he might have misjudged her toughness. Until she blurted out, “Math coins.”
Sarg put a hand on her shoulder, a concerned look on his face, but relaxed when Drayco said, “Macintosh. Are you sure it’s not a Gala or Red Delicious?” He looked at the lone apple sitting in a basket on the counter near the cash register.
“You can tell by the green and red,” she replied. “And it’s a fresh Macintosh, too, not a moldy one left over from the dinosaur era.”
Sarg groaned, while Tara and Drayco exchanged a conspiratorial smile. They were both well aware Sarg still had a 1990s Mac Classic II in his home office.
Tara asked, “So if it wasn’t a murder-suicide, who did it?”
Sarg clenched his teeth. “We don’t know yet, but stay as far away from Gary Zabowski as you can.”
Tara patted her father’s hand. “Threat assessment, right Dad?”
Drayco took a sip of his too-hot coffee and hoped the white SUV had seen as little of Tara as she had seen of it.
24
The same blue sports car Gary Zabowski drove at the bowling alley looked out of place in front of his apartment. Sarg shot it a wistful look. Drayco briefly considered warning Sarg’s wife Elaine her husband would be angling to get a sports car now their baby birds had flown the coop. Did Sarg not recall how they used to poke fun at Middle-aged Miata Men?
Gary didn’t look surprised to see them, waving them in with a shrug. He took off his shirt, threw it in a pile in the corner and grabbed a different one. But not before Drayco caught a whiff of sweet smoke. Not cloves this time. Marijuana.
“Look, I heard about Shannon, okay? A friend of a friend called. It’s all around campus by now. I’m surprised the po-leece haven’t dropped by yet.”
Sarg pulled out his notebook. “The friend’s name, Mr. Zabowski?”
Gary crossed his arms. “All I have to do is sic my father on you and he’ll turn you into minced-cop-burgers.”
Drayco nodded toward the window. “That your car in front?”
“A Lotus Exige. Cost seventy-five grand. A high school graduation present from my Dad. He gives me anything I want.”
Sarg put pen to paper. “Since you have nothing to fear, where were you last night?”
“Reed and I were at a club, knocking back some brewskis.”
Sarg flipped back several pages. “At the same Tuchman’s bar in Georgetown where the two of you were during Cailan’s murder? If I were you, I’d avoid going to that bar with Reed Upperman. Seeing as how people tend to get killed when you do.”
Gary went over to his desk and sat in his swivel chair, twirling it around. “We go there a lot. Ask the staff.”
The layout of Gary’s apartment looked the same as their last visit, maybe dustier and more cluttered. But the pornography book was gone from under the desk. Girls seemed drawn to Gary, so why masturbate to a book when a warm live body was one phone call away? Unless he got off on photos …
Drayco asked, “Did Shannon give you any pictures of her in the nude? Ones she had done professionally?”
“Sure, why not?”
“Who took them?”
Gary cleared his throat. “Uh, she didn’t say.”
“Did you do anything with them? Sell them, pass them around
, send copies on your cellphone?”
Gary looked up at the ceiling for a few moments. “I might have texted some to a friend.”
“Did your friend share them?”
“I told him not to. But yeah, he did.”
“With how many people?”
“Several. Shannon found out and was furious. She was afraid she’d lose her scholarship.”
“Did you do the same with Cailan?”
“Cailan? She wasn’t that type. Very into her career. Always thinking ahead about how this thing or that thing would look when she became a big star.”
Drayco picked up a matchbook lying on one of the tables and flipped it open. It was from the Potomac Pleasure Palace, with a phone number scrawled on the inside. A number he recognized from Sarg’s notes. “How long did you and Happy Ilsley date?”
Gary stopped moving in his chair. “How did you—” and he noticed the matchbook. “Shannon worked there. Could have been hers.”
“But it’s Happy’s phone number written inside, not Shannon’s.”
“No bigs, we went out a few times.” He looked from Drayco to Sarg and back. “You can’t tell Elvis. He doesn’t know.”
Drayco walked over and took a whiff of the shirt Gary had taken off. “Is Elvis your source for marijuana?”
“Elvis and I have this arrangement. He needs money, I need weed.”
Drayco frowned, and Gary added, “Reed gave me that look, too. Said to be careful or I’d get in too deep.”
“You and Reed seem to be close, despite your age difference.”
“What of it? Is there some age-gap rule?”
Drayco perched on the edge of Gary’s desk. “Just wondering if he talked about his dissertation project much.”
Gary relaxed. “Mixed brain signals or something. Sounds woo woo or whatever.”
“Cailan was in that project. Was Shannon?”
Gary laughed. “Shannon was so obsessed with Cailan, she’d do anything to get inside her head. So yeah, she signed up for the project. Needed the money. Told me later she was faking it. She didn’t have that syness-whatever but looked it up at the library and learned the lingo so she’d get in.”