Bad Karma (21 page)

Other than dried drops of blood, the walls were bare. There were no photos or artwork anywhere inside the apartment. There were also no textbooks or personal effects in sight.

“The room looks pretty uncluttered for a couple of college students,” Shannon said.

“It does, doesn’t it?” Daniels said matter-of-factly. “What can I tell you, all their papers and such have been taken to the station.” He paused to squeeze his eyes with his thumb and forefinger before looking back at Shannon. “We’ve gone through it all. There’s nothing there that’s going to help. And nothing that showed where they got their money.”

“You didn’t find any cash stashed here?”

Daniels stared at Shannon, his hard granite mask back in place. After a long ten-count he shook his head.

“This doesn’t add up,” Shannon said. “They should have money stashed here somewhere. Everything so far points to it.” He took in a lungful of air and blew it out slowly. “Fuck, maybe their murders were to cover up a robbery after all. I’m going to make a quick pass and see if I can find anything.”

Daniels stood impassively and watched as Shannon checked the dresser drawers for fake bottoms. In one of the night table drawers he found Linda’s jewelry: several gold necklaces, earrings, a high school ring. He’d have to think if the motive for the killings had been a standard robbery gone bad, the necklaces would’ve been taken. After he finished with the drawers, he knocked on walls and gave the closet a quick search. When he was done Daniels asked if he was satisfied.

“How about helping me flip this mattress?”

The two of them turned the mattress over and found the bottom side undisturbed.

“You done yet?” Daniels asked.

“Almost. Let me give the kitchen and living room a quick search.”

Shannon was more thorough in the kitchen, testing each cabinet for hidden compartments and checking if any of the canned goods and boxes were being used to store money. He left to go back to his car for a screwdriver, then pulled the refrigerator and stove away from the wall and took their back panels off. After that he checked the light fixtures and electrical outlet boxes, then walked around the living room testing the walls for any hollow spaces. Daniels helped him turn the sofa and loveseat on their sides, but the bottoms of both were intact.

Shannon peered around the room looking for other places money could be hidden, then gave Daniels a halfhearted shrug. “I guess I’m done,” he said.

Their moods were both subdued leaving the apartment. Shannon put the padlock back in place while Daniels stood still, almost like a marble statue, as he peered off into the distance. “That was a good call looking for a stash of money,” he admitted. “Too bad it didn’t pan out.” He paused as his hard granite exterior softened for a moment, then said. “This damn thing is going to send me to an early grave. Any idea what you’re going to try next?”

Shannon smiled sardonically. “I’m seeing a psychic.”

Daniels laughed at that. “Yeah, why not? That makes as much sense as anything else with this case. Seriously, you have any other ideas?”

“I’m being completely serious.”

Daniels gave Shannon an odd look as he considered him. “Yeah, sure you are…” He let the sentence hang, stopping when the door to the neighboring condo opened. Maguire, looking half-asleep, stuck his head out. His skin color had a dead-fish quality to it, his reddish hair matted and pulled in different directions—almost like a clown’s wig. He blinked several times while his eyes focused on Shannon. “Bill, my good buddy from Cambridge. I thought I heard you out here–”. He noticed Daniels then and smiled apologetically. “Ah, jeeze, sorry if I interrupted anything.”

“No problem,” Daniels muttered. “I was just leaving.” He nodded curtly to Shannon, told him to call him if he found anything, and left through the vestibule door.

Maguire waited until Daniels was out of sight before apologizing again for interrupting them. “That guy’s a cop, right?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“He looked familiar. I think he was one of the cops who came around asking me and my wife questions after the murders.” Curiosity shined in his bloodshot eyes as he nodded towards the other apartment. “You two were in there, weren’t you? Come on, what was it like in there?” he asked.

“If I told you I’d have to kill you,” Shannon said. Maguire stood barefooted in his condo entranceway wearing a stained tee shirt and a baggy pair of basketball shorts that went down past his knees. From three feet away he smelled like an open keg of beer. “You doing okay?” Shannon asked.

“Yeah, I’m doing just peachy. Lost my job, wife’s gone, and I’m stuck in this godforsaken town with a condo I can’t sell.” He forced a weak smile. “But on a positive note, I don’t have to go to a shitty job anymore that was sucking the life-force out of me, my wife’s gone, and the Sox won yesterday.”

“Your wife being gone’s a positive?”

“In her case…” He let the sentence die. “I was hoping to catch you today. I found a phone number for my wife if you still want to talk to her. Also I’ve been thinking more about doing PI work. I’m serious about it and am hoping you give me a shot. Why don’t we go upstairs and I’ll make some coffee and we can talk about it. And I’ll give you Nancy’s phone number.”

Shannon gave Maguire a hard look before nodding. As they walked up the staircase to his living room, Maguire mentioned how he had gotten blitzed during the Sox game the other night. “I’m sure I look worse than I feel,” he added. His apartment had the stale, unhealthy smell of a sick room. The blinds were shut, but even so there was enough light filtering through to show the newspapers, beer bottles and pizza boxes strewn across the living room carpet. Maguire kicked them aside as he made his way to the kitchen.

Dirty dishes and food containers covered the kitchen countertop and filled the sink. More empty pizza boxes were stacked up on the floor. From the corner of his eye Shannon thought he saw a mouse scurry behind the stove. Maguire seemed oblivious to it as he moved some of the clutter aside to make room for a coffeemaker.

“Your wife left only a couple of days ago?” Shannon asked.

Maguire’s lips compressed as he stared at the mess in the kitchen. “Hard to believe, huh?”

“Yeah, it is.”

“What can I tell you? Nancy was never the most conscientious housekeeper. Last couple of months she stopped caring altogether. With the hours I was putting in at work, I didn’t have the energy to pick up the slack. I guess now that I’ve got the time I should clean up this mess.”

“I think I saw a mouse run behind your stove.”

“Nah, I’m sure you imagined it.” Maguire squinted hard as he measured the water for the coffeemaker. Shannon opened a milk container that was on the countertop, sniffed it and poured the contents down the sink.

“I guess you’ll be drinking your coffee black then,” Maguire said.

“I think I’ll skip it.”

“This is good stuff.” He held up a bag of coffee that he had taken from the refrigerator. “Sumatra. And I’ve got a package of cups somewhere so I don’t have to clean anything from the sink if that’s what you’re afraid of. Damn, though, I didn’t think you PIs were so picky.”

Maguire started brewing the coffee. “Let me get Nancy’s number for you.” He started rummaging through a stack of papers. It took him a while before he pulled one out, then after squinting hard at it, he handed the paper to Shannon. “She’s staying with one of her friends back home in Medford,” he said. Shannon programmed the number into his cell phone and handed him back the paper.

The coffee finished brewing. Maguire opened a couple of cabinets before finding a package of cardboard cups, then poured coffee for the two of them. He let out a sigh as he drank his. “Man, I need this badly,” he said, a little color coming back to his face. “So what about it? You’re going to let me do some free PI work for you?”

“I’m not sure that’s such a great idea.”

“I’m sober if that’s what you’re wondering. A couple of cups of this stuff and I’ll be as good as new.”

Shannon thought about it and shook his head.

“Come on,” Maguire pleaded. “I’ll go nuts if I don’t get out of here and do something. Shit, there’s got to be some errand I can help you with. Just give me a chance, okay? If I do a good job, then give me something else. Come on, man, what do you have to lose?”

“I’m not sure I’m taking any cases after this one,” Shannon said.

“Really?” Maguire said. Then smiling broadly, he added, “At least this would be a start. And with you out of the business I’ll have less competition.”

Shannon relented. “Do you have a camera?”

“Sure do, boss. Top of the line digital.”

“Okay. Good. Wait here, I’ll be right back.”

Shannon left the condo, went back to his car, found the Vishna Yoga brochure and brought it back to Maguire. “They have a class today from one-thirty to three,” Shannon said, reading the schedule on the back of the brochure. “What I’d like you to do is to get there twenty minutes before, find an inconspicuous spot and take pictures of everyone going into the yoga studio. When the class is over, take pictures of everyone leaving. Give it at least thirty minutes for the class to clear out.”

“Sure, I can do that.” More color had come back to Maguire’s face. “But what’s the point of taking pictures of them coming and going?”

“In case you miss someone the first time around.” Shannon felt a sharp twinge where his missing fingers should’ve been. He reached down towards the pain, stopped himself. His reason for wanting Maguire there was to make sure that if Susan went back to the yoga studio someone would be keeping an eye out. He went on, “It will also let me know whether everyone who goes in there leaves, at least by the front door. This is serious business. If you see anything suspicious call me and the police. If anyone approaches you, go into the nearest store, call the police and wait until they show up.” He described the two Russians to Maguire. “If you see anyone resembling those two call me immediately.”

“Will do. What’s the connection with this yoga studio and my, uh, neighbors?”

“None. This is a different matter.”

Maguire’s round face deflated like a flat tire as he absorbed the news. “Ah, jeeze,” he moaned. “I was kind of hoping to work on the murder case.” He showed a guilty smile. “It would look good on my resume if I do become a PI. Also, they were my neighbors. I feel like I should be doing something for them, you know?”

“Why don’t you do this first, and we’ll talk about more assignments later, okay?”

Maguire nodded, accepting his disappointment in stride. “No problem. And rest assured, I’ll have all the pictures printed out and ready for you later today.” He drained his coffee, then poured himself another cup. He was smiling, but still looked a bit deflated. “How’s the murder case looking?”

“At the moment, bleak.”

“Well, maybe when you get me working on it things will turn around,” he offered cheerfully.

“Maybe.” Shannon poured the rest of his coffee down the sink, and clapped Maguire on the shoulder on his way past him. “I’ll give you a call later this afternoon, but let’s plan on meeting back here at four.”

After making sure Maguire had both his cell phone number and the police’s added to his speed dial, Shannon went back to the adjoining condo, unlocked the padlock and entered the dead students’ bedroom. There he found a baseball cap that he remembered Taylor Carver wearing in one of the newspaper photos. He also pocketed Linda Gibson’s high school ring.

Chapter 13

Les Hasherford was a tall, thin man with a sallow complexion and eyes that bugged out slightly. He could’ve been in his early forties, but could also just as easily have been twenty years older than that. It was hard to tell given his ash gray hair that fit his skull like a helmet, and his smooth, hairless face that seemed more wax than flesh. When he offered his hand, it was cold and damp and gave Shannon the impression that he was shaking hands with a corpse. Hasherford turned and moved slowly, leading the way into his cottage-style house. The interior was probably no bigger than Shannon’s apartment, but it was clean and orderly and had a nice feel to it with its antique pine floor boards and wood beam ceiling. The room Hasherford took him to had a fireplace with a hand-cut flagstone mantel and several paintings of lush green English gardens mounted on the walls. Hasherford lowered himself into a red leather recliner. Shannon took a rocking chair beside him.

Hasherford sat for a moment catching his breath. In a soft halting voice he told Shannon that Susan was a wonderful woman. “Three days ago I was having to use an oxygen tank and a walker. Really, quite a miracle what she has done for me.” Then, smiling more to himself than at Shannon, he added, “Taken from one foot in the grave so to speak.”

“Susan told me how you can feel as if you’re in two worlds at the same time.”

“Quite true.” He nodded solemnly. “It’s as if sometimes I’m in a fog where the worlds for the living and dead intertwine.” He stopped to catch his breath again, went on, “But I’ve been feeling less like that since Susan gave me my remedy. Do you have those articles of clothing?”

Shannon handed him the baseball cap and class ring he had taken from the dead students’ condo. Hasherford rested the ring on the arm of his chair, then closed his eyes and held the baseball cap to his chest. After a while he gave up. “I’m not getting anything with this,” he said. He went through he same routine with the ring before opening his eyes and shaking his head. “Nothing at all.”

“Yeah, well, I knew this was a long shot, but thanks for giving it a try.”

Hasherford nodded. “I’ve never tried anything like this before,” he said, his breath sounding more asthmatic than it had earlier. “To be honest, I never wanted to know whether I could do this. It takes so much out of me locating the children that I do that I never wanted to add this additional burden. But this is discomforting. Until I took the remedy, when I would close my eyes I would usually drift towards the other world. That hasn’t been happening as much. Something has changed.”

“Maybe you might find it happening later. Can I leave the baseball cap and ring with you? If you find yourself drifting towards that other world again, could you give it another try?”

“Yes, certainly. If I succeed in locating either of them, what would you like me to ask?”

“The name of the person or persons who murdered them.”

His lips parted into a smile revealing grayish colored teeth. “But of course.”

The phone rang. His smile faded quickly as he picked it up. He sat still, listening, and before hanging up told the other party that he would be there as quickly as he could.

“I must leave,” he told Shannon. With what appeared to be a great deal of effort he pushed himself out of the recliner and grimaced as he straightened his back. “A six-year old boy is missing in Colorado Springs. I need to get there as quickly as I can.”

Shannon hesitated for a moment thinking about what he still needed to do that day, then felt ashamed and asked whether Hasherford needed help getting to the Springs.

“Once I get to my car I’ll be fine,” he said. “But maybe you could give me a hand to there?”

Shannon took hold of Hasherford’s left elbow and provided support as they made their way out of the house. “I hope I can still help that boy and his parents,” Hasherford said in a breathless whisper that was meant more for himself than for Shannon. “I just don’t know anymore.”

Once he got seated behind the wheel of a badly dented pickup truck, he nodded to Shannon and drove off. Shannon waited until the truck was out of sight before moving. From where he was standing he had a full view of Golden Gate Canyon, and stood silently looking out at the aspens lining its mountain ranges. Even though it was only the last week of July, the trees had already started to turn gold. After several minutes of meditating on that sight, the noises buzzing through his mind had quieted. He got into his car and headed back to Boulder.

***

Maguire called to tell him that he took pictures of fourteen different people entering Vishna Yoga.

“All women,” he said. “All very nice looking too. I actually know one of them if you can believe it. I don’t think she saw me, though.” He laughed nervously. “Christ, you would’ve been impressed with how I handled this. What I did was find a spot diagonally across the street and sat down with a cup of coffee and a newspaper. While reading the paper, I kept one eye on the entrance and took profile shots of them as they went down the steps. So far no one’s noticed a thing. No Russians with busted noses or anyone else coming after me.”

“Mike, nice job.”

“Thanks. I’m telling you, Bill, I was born to do this type of work. Fuck, this has been an absolute blast so far. No way I can go back to writing software after you’ve given me this taste.” He went silent for a moment, then came back on the line. “I thought I saw someone heading down there. False alarm. I’m going to go get a burger or something until a quarter to three so I don’t look too conspicuous sitting here. I’ll call you after the next round of pictures.”

Shannon felt a little guilty after he got off the phone. He couldn’t imagine how those pictures could be of any use unless by some miracle Melissa Cousins was being taken to the yoga studio. But it seemed like a harmless enough activity to give Maguire. At least as long as nobody noticed him. And he felt better knowing that someone was keeping an eye on the place in case Susan went back there. He decided that he would give Maguire a real assignment later, maybe let him tag along if he needed to stakeout a location.

When he got back to his apartment building, he knocked on Emily’s door and got no answer, which was what he expected knowing that she usually worked until two-thirty. After that he entered his apartment. A quick check of his spy cameras showed that they hadn’t been activated. The Russians were keeping away. He knew that would change once True Light realized he wasn’t giving up, but at least up to this point they were staying away from his home.

He had two emails waiting for him: one from Professor White, the other from Kathleen Tirroza. White, in his email, explained that he couldn’t recall any specific incidents demonstrating Carver’s callous behavior, but that it seemed evident in the cavalier manner in which Carver treated both him and other students, and in how he would dismiss others’ works and ideas. He had directed his office to send Shannon a copy of Carver’s Master’s thesis and hoped that that would give Shannon a better idea of what he was talking about.

Kathleen Tirroza’s email was of more interest. She’d been able to track down information about Vishna’s background, finding that his name was Anil Paveeth, and that he had come to the United States on a student visa in 1992 from New Delhi to enter a master’s program in chemical engineering at the University of Texas. He finished his degree in 1994, got a green card, and worked for Dow Chemical until 2000 when he was laid off. After that he was off the radar. Given his recent activities, she had already suggested to her bosses that they start a more extensive file on him. She still hadn’t identified the Russian, but was going to keep trying—and wished Shannon luck in keeping his face intact until she did, reminding him that she wanted him looking good for her wedding pictures. Shannon reread her email several times before turning off his computer and leaving the apartment.

The fourteen minute drive to True Light’s compound went by in the blink of an eye. Shannon was barely aware of the road, of the other drivers, of the bicyclists he passed. When he arrived at the compound, he held his thumb down on the intercom’s buzzer until the same woman from the other day answered. She recognized his voice and told him to go away or she would call the police.

“I don’t think so,” Shannon told her. “Why don’t you tell Anil that I want to speak to him.”

“Who?”

“Anil Paveeth. Your guru’s name before he started calling himself Vishna.”

“You’re mistaken –”

“No, sister, I’m not. I suggest you find the great almighty true source and let him know there’s someone here who wants to talk to Anil Paveeth.”

There was a long silence on the other end, then she told him to wait. Ten minutes later someone claiming to be Vishna spoke over the intercom. His voice had a lyrical sing-song quality similar to Charlie Winters’, and it sent a chill down Shannon’s spine. “You’ve been asking to speak to me?” Paveeth said. “Well, speak.”

“Not over the intercom,” Shannon said.

Paveeth chuckled softly on his end, the noise sounding like something that might come out of a small animal. “And how do I know it would be safe to talk to you any other way?”

“If what you’re wondering is whether you need to wait until your Russian muscle arrives, the answer is no. All I want to do is talk. It’s either going to be with you or with reporters at the
Denver Examiner
.  They might find it as interesting as I do that a chemical engineer is now running a cult in a remote area of Boulder.”

“This is not a cult,” he stated angrily, then cut himself off and, with his lyrical sing-song voice back in place, said, “Mr. William Shannon, correct? What I operate here is a devout religious temple, I assure you. But I will grant you an interview. However, and believe me when I tell you if there is any further violence on your part, we will prosecute. I hope that is understood.”

Before Shannon could respond the intercom went dead. He stood waiting another fifteen minutes, then the two stooge cult members he had dealt with two days earlier came out of the house. They were both wearing the same style white robes and sandals as before. The one resembling Curly had his head bandaged, the smaller angrier-looking one showed dark purple bruises on the side of his head. They marched silently towards him and unlocked the gate. Neither of them spoke a word, instead stood glaring at him in unison. Shannon realized they intended to trail him through the compound, and while he didn’t like the idea of that he didn’t see what choice he had in the matter. He walked through the open gate and headed towards the front entrance with the two cult members falling in close behind him.

“By the way, I loved you in ‘Three Little Pigskins’,” Shannon said over his shoulder to the bigger one. “But then again, I’m a huge Stooges fan.”

The Curly look-alike didn’t respond. A glance over his shoulder saw that the man’s face had darkened, his eyes small and piggish, his mouth having contracted into a small angry oval. Shannon stepped through the front door and into the marble foyer. The two cult members walked close behind him. He could smell the sourness from one of their breaths.

“How about you two giving me some space?” Shannon asked politely.

Neither of them responded, but they both backed up enough so that he could no longer smell their breath or feel it on the back of his neck. He made his way down the hallway of Hindu gods and when he got to the marble sculpture of Vishna, the Curly look-alike barked at him to take a left. At the end of this new hallway was a door that looked like it had been embossed in gold leaf.

“In there!” Curly demanded.

Shannon raised a skeptical eyebrow at him, but braced himself in case the door handle was missing on the other side, then opened the door wide enough to look in. Inside, Anil Paveeth sat cross-legged on a gold satin pillow, his eyes closed, his thumbs and forefingers touching as his hands rested lightly on his knees. Paveeth, as in his picture, wore a long flowing golden robe and had his head shaved. The room was large, with what looked like twenty-four foot high ceilings, and was filled with flowers and caged parrots. Floor to ceiling paintings of Paveeth were mounted on each wall. Shannon counted eight parrots, each in separate cages. None of them made a peep as he walked into the room, but they all looked at him curiously.

Paveeth opened his eyes and stared at Shannon. The man was as lean as a knife blade and had the same dark penetrating eyes that he did in his pictures. Shannon had to give the guy credit; he projected a good stage presence and could pull off looking far more imposing than he had any right to.

“Sit down next to me and speak,” Paveeth commanded.

“The one true source,” Shannon said. “You don’t know how many false and semi-true sources I’ve stumbled upon before finding you.”

Paveeth’s dark eyes flashed. “Did you come here to mock me or to speak with me? And if you wish to speak with me then be seated! I will not talk to you standing the way you are!”

Shannon took one of the white satin pillows lying on the floor and sat on it cross-legged. Paveeth smiled as he watched him. “Your posture is quite good,” he said. “A private detective who does yoga?”

“And a chemical engineer who becomes God. It takes all kinds, huh?”

“I never proclaimed to be a god, but the gods have breathed on me, giving me a special light to lead my followers with. That much is true. As far as my past, that is immaterial. There are many paths to righteousness.”

“Yeah, sure. Look, you have a Melissa Cousins here. Her mother is worried about her and wants to talk to her.”

“That is up to Kamal. My followers are free to make their own choices and do as they please. If Kamal wishes to talk with this woman then she will do so.”

“Kamal is Melissa Cousins?”

“That is the name she has adopted. Yes.” Paveeth breathed in deeply through his nose, a look of serenity forming over his razor-sharp features as he let it out. “It is the word in my native language for lotus flower. Like all of my followers there is much beauty and delicacy in her.”

Shannon swallowed back what he wanted to say, instead asked, “If I bring her mother here will you let her talk to Kamal?”