“Roberson’s ex and Brad Hartwell got together and planned this?”
“No, but they’re both criminal lawyers. They both work in the same courts.”
“So?”
“So maybe they know the same people.” DiGrazia took another drag on his cigarette and then stubbed it out, all the while his eyes focused on Shannon’s. “Maybe by pure luck they hired the same guy. And maybe this genius had the idea to make it look like a serial killer to cover up the motive. Maybe he got the idea reading about the details of Janice Rowley’s murder. Shit, Bill, we have two women with marital problems murdered. You know the statistics as well as I do. Seventy-five percent of the time it’s the husband.”
“What about the other woman-the one killed last week?”
DiGrazia shrugged. “I think she was thrown in to confuse the issue. I’ll show you her file when you come down to the station.”
“Were any of them forced entry?”
“No, they were all let in. So what’s your gut feeling, a serial killer or something else?”
“My gut feeling is you’re suffering from sleep deprivation.”
“Come on-”
“It’s too complicated for a hit man. And I can’t see a hit man throwing in a third body just to be cute.”
“You’re not using your imagination, pal. Try thinking outside the box a little.”
“Okay, how about this-whoever’s doing this is enjoying it. It’s taking a long time for these women to bleed out.”
“Shit, Bill, that’s just a smoke screen. There’s been nothing sexual with any of these victims. And you got strong financial motives for both Roberson and Hartwell to be killed. I’m telling you, this serial killer business is just to throw us off the trail.”
“What does the FBI think?”
DiGrazia made a face like he had swallowed sour milk. “Fuck ’em,” he said, scowling. “I haven’t mentioned squat to them. They can keep searching for their serial killer for all I care. You want to come down to the station later today? I’ll bring in both hubbies for interrogation.”
“We better make it tomorrow. I need to clean myself up and take care of things with Susie.”
DiGrazia’s face fell slack, not bothering to hide his disappointment. “Okay, we’ll do it tomorrow,” he said. “I should go home and get some sleep anyway.” He leaned back against the sofa. “It’s good to have you back, Bill.”
“Thanks.”
“You really don’t know where you were?”
“Other than where I woke up, no idea.”
DiGrazia leaned further back into the sofa, his eyes narrowing as he appraised his partner. “I could look into it,” he said. “But a crack house in Roxbury doesn’t sound good. It’d probably be better if I didn’t.”
“Probably,” Shannon agreed.
Susie called later. Shannon told her he wasn’t sure if she’d be there this time.
“I wasn’t,” she corrected him. “I’ve been at work.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I know what you mean.” There was a hesitation where Shannon could only hear a soft hum over the line. Then Susie asked if it was over.
“Our marriage?”
“No. Not our marriage. Your-the sickness.”
“I certainly hope so.” He started to laugh. “At least for this year.”
“At least for this year,” she agreed, and then she started to cry. When she was able to, she told him she’d be home as soon as she could.
Susan Shannon reached Pig Dornich at his office. “My husband just came home,” she told him.
“No kidding.” He sounded disappointed, almost hurt. “Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
“Do you know where he’s been?”
“He didn’t say.”
“Would you mind if I speak to him?”
“Why would you want to do that?”
He hesitated. “About that other matter-” he started.
“I don’t want you speaking to him. I don’t want him knowing I hired you. And about that other matter, maybe we better-”
“I’ll tell you what,” Dornich interrupted, cutting her off before she could finish firing him. “I feel bad about not finding him. Pretty lousy, actually. Let me spend a few days, free of charge, looking into things. Maybe I’ll get lucky.”
“I can’t afford-”
“Free of charge,” Dornich repeated himself. “One thing,” he asked, “do you know if your husband’s been in the area?”
“I don’t know. All I know is I don’t want you talking to him.”
Dornich started to promise he wouldn’t but the line went dead on him before he could finish. All in all he really did feel lousy. He had been knocking himself out looking for Shannon; the last three days he’d been at it almost nonstop while charging his client for only a small fraction of his time. The case had become a sore spot for him and it had been picked at enough to leave it bleeding and festering. He knew it was a race, that his man was going to be coming home any moment, and he wanted to find him while he was still out there. He wanted to know what the sonofabitch had been up to.
After his talk with Joe DiGrazia, he hit the mean streets around Boston, showing Shannon’s picture, trying to find out if his man had a weak spot for hookers. None of the girls knew the guy. Dornich spent a few more fruitless hours driving around the strip clubs neighboring the city. Again no luck. Later that night he joined Joe DiGrazia as they barhopped ’til closing time, showing Shannon’s picture around. After last call they spent the rest of the night cruising alleys and side streets. They came across a few minor crimes; drug deals, prostitution, and the like, but nothing else. No Shannon. Not even as much as a clue.
The next day was purely routine; checking out Logan airport and the bus terminals. After that he drove down to Providence and then back up to Nashua. The problem was, if Shannon had left the city he could’ve done it any number of ways; hitchhiking, stealing a car, even with a bicycle. So Shannon could’ve been anywhere.
By the end of the week Dornich was spending half his time driving around the Boston area and the other half checking the wire services and contacting out of state law enforcement offices. At no time did he even get a whiff of Shannon. It hadn’t been a complete waste of time, though. He found out his client had been wrong about Shannon’s parents. The mother was dead, but the father wasn’t. He had an address and a phone number. The older Shannon was living in Mountain View, California. He wouldn’t talk much over the phone, just that he hadn’t seen his son in over fifteen years and he’d just as soon go another fifteen.
Pig Dornich picked up the photostatic copies that the Sacramento Journal had sent him from their archives. He read the articles slowly, carefully, letting his eyes linger on each paragraph. When he was done he read them again. Then he leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes and wondered what went on in that house between a thirteen-year-old Bill Shannon and Herbert Winters.
Chapter 17
Shannon’s eyes opened before the alarm went off. Susie’s small body was against his. He could feel her chest rising and lowering as she breathed. He could feel a moist heat coming from her body.
They didn’t talk much yesterday when she got home. There wasn’t much to say. He couldn’t tell her where he’d been and she was too worn out to blame him. The silence, though, was different than usual. There was nothing heavy or oppressive about it. It was almost comforting. Almost as if the last few years had been stripped clean. As if they still had a shot.
The alarm went off. Shannon watched as Susie started to stir. Watched as consciousness seeped into her. She pushed herself out of bed and turned off the alarm, and then turned and stood looking at him, her eyes struggling against the morning light.
“How are you feeling?” she asked.