Bad Thoughts (25 page)

      
“Okay, Bill,” he said, “I’m done in here. Would you help me flip over your mattress?”

      
Shannon stared blankly up at him.

      
“I’d like to look under your mattress,” DiGrazia repeated.

      
Shannon got off the bed and helped DiGrazia flip the mattress over. There was nothing under it.

      
“I’m going to search the rest of the apartment,” DiGrazia said. He turned towards the door and stopped to wipe some sweat from his forehead. “I’ll make something up for Susie,” he grunted as he left the room.

      
Shannon sat back down on the bed. Elaine had seemed genuinely surprised the other night when he had told her what really happened with Herbert Winters. Or did she? He tried to re-create their conversation in his mind. He tried to picture the way she looked at him when he told her about Winters. Because if she had left those articles for DiGrazia, if she really thought he might’ve murdered those women . . .

      
DiGrazia was standing in the doorway. Shannon almost didn’t recognize him the way his partner was looking at him. “I’d like to show you something,” DiGrazia said.

      
“What?”

      
“Come on. It will take a minute.”

      
Shannon followed DiGrazia out of the room. “What did you tell Susie?”

      
“Nothing.” His voice was cold and brutal, barely above a whisper. “She was already gone.”

      
In the living room, the sofa had been pushed away from the wall and a wooden panel that provided access to the bathroom’s shutoff valves had been removed. DiGrazia got on his knees and shined a flashlight into the opening. He waved for Shannon to take a look.

      
“You see that?” he asked.

      
Pushed under some pipes was a plastic bag that Winters had left behind when he had visited the apartment. DiGrazia reached in and pulled it out. Inside were twenty-year-old newspaper articles.

      
DiGrazia, stone-faced, studied Shannon. “It would be a good idea if we went down to the station,” he said. “Do you want to try to call Susie first?”

      
Shannon declined without giving the matter any thought.
 
 

Chapter 25
 

      
When they arrived at the station Shannon was shuffled into an interrogation room. A half hour later he was joined by DiGrazia, Agent Swallow, and a third man he didn’t recognize. The third man wore a cheap suit and had a badly pockmarked complexion. His skin reminded Shannon of chipped glass.

      
Swallow took over the interrogation while DiGrazia and the other man watched. The questioning focused on Shannon’s movements the previous night. There was nothing about his mother’s murder or the newspaper articles or any of the other women’s murders. Instead, Swallow kept going over a timetable of Shannon’s movements, from when he was with Elaine to when he later arrived home to his wife. At first, it surprised Shannon. After a while he caught on.

      
“Tell me about who you found last night,” Shannon said.

      
DiGrazia and the guy with the cheap suit kept their poker faces intact. Swallow’s color dropped a shade.

      
“Why don’t you tell us about her?” Swallow said after a long ten-count.

      
Shannon shook his head. “I don’t know anything about it. It just became obvious that’s what this is about. What did you find?”

      
“You want to make a guess?”

      
“Another woman forced to swallow a knife?”

      
Swallow flashed a look at cheap suit. He, in turn, stared straight ahead at Shannon, his eyes glazing over.

      
“Very funny,” Swallow said.

      
“I don’t think she would’ve been able to swallow much of anything,” DiGrazia added.

      
“It would be tough,” cheap suit said vacantly.

      
“Especially with her tongue ripped out of her mouth,” Swallow noted. He opened a briefcase and took some photos from it that he dropped in front of Shannon. They were crime scene photos of what had probably been a young woman, although it was tough to tell through all the gore. As hardened as Shannon had become to this type of stuff, the pictures turned his stomach. He looked each one over before handing them back to Swallow.

      
“You think I could’ve done this?” he asked.

      
Swallow showed a smug I-got-you-by-the-balls smile. “Now why would I think that?”

      
“Fuck you.” Shannon felt a hotness burn his neck. “I didn’t black out yesterday and I didn’t commit any of these murders.” He turned towards cheap suit and demanded to know who the hell he was.

      
The man’s mouth tightened a bit. “Detective Ed Foley,” he said. “I’m working this murder out of the East Boston precinct. Did you know this girl?”

      
“No, I never saw her before.”

      
“You sure?” Swallow asked. “Take a closer look.”

      
Agent Swallow handed him back one of the photos. Shannon forced himself to take a long, hard look at it before shaking his head and telling him he didn’t know her.

      
Agent Swallow frowned. “Even if she were my own daughter, I don’t think I’d recognize her from this. I mean, Jesus, look at it. It looks like her head’s been pushed through a lawn mower. Maybe you know her, though. Ed, what’s her name?”

      
The East Boston detective curled his lips before announcing that the woman’s name was Liza Keenan.

      
Shannon had tried to brace himself. He knew it was coming, so he had tried to brace himself. He could feel a vein start to pulse along his temple. He shook his head slowly. “Never heard of her,” he said. From the corner of his eye he could sense DiGrazia’s face darkening.

      
Agent Swallow looked almost amused. “You want to think about it a little harder? Maybe you ran into her one night?”

      
“I’m getting sick of this,” Shannon said. “What do you think you got?”

      
“Absolutely nothing.” Swallow’s smile had crept back in place. “I’m just hoping you can help us better understand whether your blackouts or your mother’s murder have anything to do with this mess. You want to guess what killed her?”

      
There was some noise from out in the hallway and then someone pounding on the door. Agent Swallow turned towards the commotion, a look of annoyance rubbing out his smugness. A key turned in the lock and a red-faced man of about forty bulled his way in.

      
“I’d like to know what the hell’s going on!” he demanded, his voice blasting out like a bullhorn.

      
“I’d like to know the same thing,” Agent Swallow shot back. Thin veins started to push out of his forehead. “You better have a good reason for being here.”

      
“I’ve got a hell of a good reason,” the red-faced man stated angrily. “It’s called the Constitution. Let me introduce myself. Russ Korkin, Mr. Shannon’s attorney. Maybe you can explain to me why you’re questioning him without me present?”

      
“He’s helping us with an investigation—”

      
Korkin snorted loudly. “Yes, of course,” he said. “Are you charging my client?”

      
Swallow opened and then closed his mouth. “I haven’t decided. I was hoping he could help us clear up a few issues—”

      
“He’s not going to help you do anything. My client is through talking. Again, are you charging him or is he free to leave?”

      
Agent Swallow stared at Shannon before looking back at the red-faced attorney. “I haven’t decided yet,” he said as if he were spitting out phlegm.

      
“While you try to make up your mind, why don’t you and these other two gentlemen get out,” Korkin said, pointing a thumb at DiGrazia and the East Boston detective. “I’d like to talk to my client alone.”

      
“Bill, is this the way you want it?” DiGrazia asked.

      
“This is exactly the way he wants it,” Korkin answered for Shannon. He then sat down and crossed his legs and waited for the three detectives to clear out. As he waited, he clasped his hands behind his head and whistled the theme song for Cops. When the door closed behind them, Korkin sat upright and held a hand out to Shannon.

      
“Your union hired me as soon as word got out about this. It’s a good thing you’ve got friends here. Now, before you say a single word, I want to know if this interrogation room is private or if it can be observed from outside.”

      
“It’s private.”

      
“Thank god for that.” The attorney looked as if he were going to slap Shannon across the side of his head. “You ought to know better than to agree to questioning without an attorney.”

      
“I’ve got nothing to hide—”

      
Korkin glared angrily. “You ought to know better.”

      
“I said I’ve got nothing to hide. I haven’t done anything—”

      
“That’s good,” Korkin said, cutting him off. “That’s all I want to hear about the matter, understand? Nothing else. What did you give them?”

      
“They were trying to get a timetable for last night.”

      
“And?”

      
Shannon gave the attorney the same rundown he had given Swallow. Korkin smiled as he took it in. When Shannon was done the attorney shook his head and let out a sigh.

      
“You shouldn’t have said a word without an attorney present,” he said. “You really should’ve known better.”

      
Shannon didn’t say anything.

      
“Eh!” Korkin waved the issue away. “It doesn’t matter. You know what they got on you?”

      
Shannon shook his head.

      
“An anonymous phone call!” Korkin exclaimed with amazement. “That’s all. About an hour ago some punk called up and gave them your license plate. What the hell does that mean?”

      
“Not much,” Shannon said.

      
“That’s right,” Korkin agreed. “I mean, shit, you’re a cop here in Cambridge, I’m sure you’ve made life difficult for some of the punks doing business here. So one of them decides to make life difficult for you. Why in the world would anyone take an anonymous call like that seriously?”

      
“I don’t know.”

      
“Probably because your neighbor was murdered recently,” Korkin noted. “And probably by the same person who butchered Liza Keenan. But that’s probably what gave the punk the idea in the first place to make the call.”

      
“Probably.”

      
Korkin laughed at that. As he laughed his face grew redder. “I’ll tell you,” he said, “if they do try to charge you, we’ll hit them with a twenty-million-dollar defamation suit. Let’s keep our fingers crossed. With a little luck we could both be retired in the Bahamas.”

      
The attorney stood up and winked at Shannon. “I’ll go check and see what’s happening,” he said as he left the room.

      
When he came back his red face had somewhat deflated. “Bad news,” he said. “They’re not charging you with anything. You’re free to go. The Bahamas will have to wait.”
 
 

Chapter 26
 

      
Phil Dornich couldn’t keep from thinking about Liza Keenan. A lot of ink had been given to her murder—more than you’d expect for a junked up prostitute in East Boston. The pure brutality of the crime was partly responsible. Even though the papers didn’t give many details, they sure as hell hinted at them. It bothered Dornich when he read the articles. There was something oddly familiar about the murder, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. He tried calling acquaintances of his from the East Boston precinct, but they were being vague about it; either they didn’t know anything or they weren’t talking. It took over a dozen phone calls before he was told about her tongue being pulled out and then another half hour of calls before finding out about the internal damage that had been done to her.

      
He tried to imagine how difficult it would be to pull a person’s tongue from their body. After a while he realized he couldn’t even imagine it.

* * * * *

      
Dornich was rereading the articles when Susan Shannon called. She wanted to know if he had found anything yet. He hesitated before telling her that he had. “I think it would be better if you came to my office,” he told her.

      
Susan tried to get him to tell her over the phone what he had found, but Dornich refused. She finally agreed to meet him at his office during her lunch break.

      
Dornich closed his eyes and tried to pull out whatever it was that was lurking in the back of his mind. Eventually, he gave up and made a long distance call to California.

* * * * *

      
Susan Shannon showed up at his office around twelve-thirty. She looked a bit ragged, her eyes reddish, thin lines creeping underneath them.

      
“I only have about fifteen minutes,” she told Dornich after he offered her a seat.

      
“We shouldn’t need much more than that,” Dornich said, smiling sympathetically, showing his few rotting teeth. “I’d like to ask you to read something.”

      
Dornich handed her the articles he had gotten from the Sacramento Journal. As Susan read them, the skin around her mouth tightened. It gave the fat detective a good idea what she’d look like at fifty. By the time she finished with the articles her hands were shaking. She looked up at him, her eyes nothing more than small black beads. Dornich could see fear in them.