Bad Thoughts (5 page)

      
She stared blankly at both officers. “Not without a warrant,” she said after a long moment.

      
“That’s not going to help John.”

      
She shook her head stubbornly. “You’re not coming in without a warrant.”

      
“I’ll get one then,” Shannon said. “My partner will be outside the apartment entrance with a flashlight. If he sees you or anyone else tampering with anything inside he’ll break down the door and arrest you for tampering with evidence. By the way, do you have any children?”

      
“I don’t have to answer that,” she said, her voice tinny, barely audible.

      
“I thought I heard a girl’s voice from inside.”

      
“That’s my daughter—”

      
“How can you have him live here when you’ve got children?”

      
Her eyes shrunk as she stared at Shannon. “He’s family,” she said stubbornly. “And it’s none of your business.” Then she closed the door on him.

      
DiGrazia let out a low whistle. “What a piece of work. Were you serious about having me hang around here while you get a warrant? It’s cold as hell, partner.”

      
“You’re going to have to,” Shannon said. “She’ll clean out the place if you don’t. I’ll bring you back some coffee and a couple of doughnuts.”

      
“Son of a bitch,” DiGrazia swore. “I’m going to freeze my ass out here.” He walked over to the in-law apartment entrance and peered in. “Get me some chocolate glazed.”

* * * * *

      
Judge Harold Coen was explained the urgency of the matter, and although he grumbled about the thinness of the evidence, he issued a search warrant for John Roper’s apartment. When Shannon returned to the triple-decker, Joe DiGrazia was breathing into his cupped hands. He gave Shannon a long, pained look, and Shannon handed him a cup of coffee and a bag of chocolate glazed doughnuts.

      
“Anything happen?”

      
DiGrazia took a sip of the coffee. “She snuck down at one point, but when I flashed the light at her, she scurried back upstairs.”

      
“They’re still home then?”

      
“Yeah, no movement.”

      
Shannon walked up to the main entrance and rung the bell. There was no answer. After waiting, he knocked on the door and yelled out that he had a warrant.

      
“Hell with it, we’ve got a warrant, right?” DiGrazia asked without waiting for an answer. He broke the glass pane on the basement door and unlocked it from the inside.

      
Roper’s apartment was nothing more than a room with a bed, a worn-out sofa, a TV, a cheap stereo, and a table. In the corner was a small galley kitchen and next to that, a bathroom. A staircase led to the upstairs level. Dirty clothes and tissues littered the floor. Dishes were stacked up in the sink, a layer of grease covered the kitchen countertop. The apartment smelled faintly of urine. Shannon found a vodka bottle lying next to the bed. It was two thirds empty and rotgut quality.

      
The door to the upstairs level opened. Wendy Soretti bounced down the stairs wearing a large, ratty bathrobe. Her husband peered down the staircase after her, but stayed where he was.

      
“You broke into my house,” she accused, her voice harsh but barely above a whisper.

      
“We have a search warrant,” Shannon said. He handed her a document. “You failed to open the door for us.”

      
She glared at the paper and then at Shannon. “I didn’t hear you. Look at my door—you’re destroying my property. I’m calling the police.”

      
“Feel free to do what you want,” DiGrazia said. “Just don’t interfere with our police work.”

      
The husband’s face disappeared from the top of the staircase. Wendy Soretti walked over to the phone, picked it up, and then put it back down. She glared at both officers. “I’m going to watch you,” she said. She took a small notebook and pen from her bathrobe pocket.

      
“Do whatever you want,” DiGrazia grunted as he pushed the mattress off the bed.

      
Shannon had found a collection of porn magazines and metro bus schedules buried within a pile of newspapers. He called DiGrazia over and showed him what he found. Wendy Soretti peered angrily at them and jotted something down in her notebook.

      
Shannon noted that it was an interesting collection for a guy who had been chemically castrated. DiGrazia suggested that Roper probably had them for the articles.

      
“Yeah, I’m sure that’s it.” Shannon pointed out the bus schedule Roper had for Somerville. “You notice, partner, there’s a five-twenty bus from Revere that gets to Somerville by five forty.”

      
DiGrazia stared at the bus schedule, his eyes narrowing as he studied it. He turned towards Roper’s sister. “Do you know how long he’s had these?” he asked her.

      
“I’m not talking to you,” she said.

      
Shannon placed the bus schedules in an evidence bag. He helped DiGrazia move the sofa. Underneath it they found more hardcore magazines, this collection even more sordid than the ones Shannon had already found.

      
In the back of the closet they found a shirt splattered with blood droplets. A sick, weary feeling hit Shannon as he looked at it. He could see DiGrazia’s jaw muscles tightening. They put the shirt in a separate evidence bag.

      
Wendy Soretti protested. “You got no right taking my brother’s possessions,” she croaked as if her voice was squeezed out of her.

      
“Read the warrant.” DiGrazia said.

* * * * *

      
When they were done, they left the apartment and stood by the curb. Shannon could see Roper’s sister peering at them from the window. He lit a cigarette and offered his partner one. The cold air felt good against his face, the cigarette smoke helped erase the stale smell of urine that lingered from Roper’s apartment.

      
“Any reason we shouldn’t settle on this freak?” DiGrazia asked.

      
“I don’t see any,” Shannon said. He took a long drag on his cigarette and held it in for a good ten-count. He studied the smoke as he let it out. “Let’s say he took the five-twenty bus to Somerville, he would’ve gotten to the Indian restaurant about the time Janice Rowley did. And if he’d been scouting for empty buildings in Cambridge he’d know where to dump her. Later, he takes a bus home. It seems to fit.”

      
“What do we do now, sweat him some more?”

      
“Let’s talk with Brady.”

      
DiGrazia laughed sourly. “A lot of good that’s going to do us. It’s nine o’clock. Our boss has long been home with the wife and kiddies.”

* * * * *

      
They ended up catching Brady in the police parking lot. Brady, his soft features bleary with fatigue, complained that the abduction story given to the press had forced him to work well into the night. Shannon and DiGrazia listened sympathetically and then filled him in on what they had found.

      
“You’ll test the blood on the shirt.”

      
Shannon nodded.

      
“He’s an auto mechanic,” Brady added. “He’s going to cut himself on the job. The blood could easily be his.”

      
“It’s possible. What do you want us to do?”

      
Brady let loose a tired sigh. “Try and get him to talk. If the blood type matches the victim’s, then arrest him.”

      
“What about a door-to-door search?”

      
“It’s nine-twenty. I’m not going to wake up half the city now. Check the blood type, talk to Roper. If we still haven’t located the victim by morning, we can talk more about a door-to-door search.”

      
Brady gave his officers a curt nod and wished them luck.

* * * * *

      
John Roper looked uneasily at the porn mags that had been dumped on the table in front of him. “They’re not mine,” he said.

      
“What were they doing in your room?”

      
“I don’t know.”

      
“Your brother-in-law storing them down there, is that it, John?”

      
“I don’t know. Maybe.”

      
“What is it, John, yes or no?”

      
“I don’t know. There’s no law against having them, is there?”

      
DiGrazia smiled thinly. “No, there isn’t. But I thought you were being chemically castrated. What the fuck use do you have for these magazines?”

      
“They’re not mine.”

      
“You’re lying, John. You think we’re fucking idiots?”

      
Roper didn’t say anything.

      
“You still like hurting women, don’t you, John?”

      
“No.”

      
“You at least like looking at pictures of them being hurt.”

      
“I told you those aren’t mine—”

      
“John,” Shannon asked, “tell us why you had this bus schedule.”

      
Roper, distracted, looked over at what Shannon was holding. As he peered at the schedule and noticed the Revere to Somerville route, his small, gray eyes turned dull. “I never saw that before.”

      
“You never saw it before, huh?” DiGrazia asked. “And we’re fucking idiots, is that what you’re trying to say?”

      
Roper’s mouth opened and closed. He shook his head.

      
“John,” Shannon explained, “we found a shirt of yours stained with blood hidden in your closet. We’re having the blood analyzed right now. We know your blood type, we know the victim’s, we’re going to know pretty soon if you abducted her. Why don’t you help us now while it can still do you some good?”

      
Roper’s eyes glazed over as he listened to Shannon. The phone rang. DiGrazia picked it up and listened for a moment. When he put the receiver down his face was flushed with anger.

      
“Where is she, you little shit?” DiGrazia demanded.

      
Roper blinked several times at him, his small eyes seeming to grow more distant. DiGrazia moved quickly towards Roper, grabbing him by his shirt collar and swinging him out of his chair. He pushed the ex-convict hard into the wall.

      
“I asked you where she is,” DiGrazia demanded, breathing hard, his face inches from Roper’s.

      
“I want a lawyer,” Roper said, his tone impassive, his expression calm.

      
DiGrazia reached back and swung a thick, ham-hocked fist into Roper’s gut. There was a soft thud and Roper’s skin turned a queasy gray, but other than that there was no reaction from him. DiGrazia reached back and delivered another blow, this one to the side of Roper’s skull. Roper fell to the floor, but again there was no real reaction from him. DiGrazia backed away, his smile stretched tightly, his eyes sharp, black points. When Roper could, he asked again for a lawyer.

      
“John, we’ve got you for this one. You might as well help us,” Shannon said.

      
Roper pushed himself to his feet. He looked through Shannon as he again repeated that he wanted a lawyer.

      
DiGrazia gave Shannon a questioning look but it was obvious Roper had shut down and no amount of beating him was going to get him to tell where he had left Janice Rowley. Shannon told Roper that they were going to book him for kidnapping and he could see a lawyer in the morning.

* * * * *

      
Susan was sitting on the living room sofa watching TV when Shannon arrived home. It was past two in the morning and she was wearing a red flannel robe, her skin pale white in contrast to it. Dark lines ran under her eyes. She looked exhausted. Shannon explained why he was so late and why he had missed his appointment with his therapist. He knew Susan knew about him missing his appointment. Susan listened to his explanation and while she didn’t like it, she accepted it.

      
That night he had a restless time of it. Every time he’d start to drift off he’d see images of Janice Rowley, her thin body dotted with blood, her hands and feet bound, her eyes wild with terror—and he’d be jolted awake. Eventually he fell asleep. A little after four he woke with his heart pounding. He jumped out of bed and dressed quickly. He felt a sense of urgency, one he didn’t quite understand. Before leaving the bedroom he whispered to Susan that he had to go. She murmured something unintelligible and fell back asleep.

      
A light rain fell as Shannon drove towards the industrial park where Janice Rowley’s car had been found. When he got to the park he turned left and headed in the direction of the Indian restaurant where she had stopped to pick up dinner. He drove a half dozen blocks and then turned down an alleyway. Lining the alleyway were a series of rundown warehouses. The one on the end had boards nailed over its windows.

      
Shannon got out of his car and checked the entranceway to this warehouse and found the door bolted shut. He then walked around the building and checked the windows. With just a little pressure from his hand, the boards covering one of the side windows slid off. Someone had pulled them off recently and had placed them back in position. Shannon shined a flashlight through the hole and saw a small body lying in the corner. Something glinted from it. Shannon ran back to his car and radioed for an ambulance. He then ran back to the window and climbed through the opening in the boards.