Bad Thoughts Page 3

  On his way back to the station Shannon made a detour to the industrial park to talk to security there. No one saw anything unusual the night before, nor did they have any video security cameras for the parking lot.

  * * * * *

  When Shannon arrived back at the station he told DiGrazia about finding where Janice Rowley had stopped to pick up dinner and his thoughts about what happened afterwards. DiGrazia listened patiently and then told him that Kyle Rowley’s polygraph test had been inconclusive.

  “That’s too bad. Was there a feel one way or another?”

  “Nah. You know Parker, if the results are fuzzy then the test is inconclusive. That’s all he’s willing to say. I didn’t get any type of read from watching Rowley.”

  “Anything about the steak knife?”

  “Inconclusive, just like the rest of the test.”

  “Where’s Rowley now?”

  “I sent him home.”

  Shannon was shaking his head. “It would’ve been nice to have that test back him up, but I don’t think he’s involved. I have a strong gut feeling Janice Rowley was abducted from that parking lot.”

  “She could’ve gotten home with the food. She could’ve been killed in the apartment and then dumped. That nasty odor you got a whiff of could’ve been spoiled Indian food. Hubby could turn out to be as inconclusive as his test results.”

  “I don’t think so.” Shannon paused as he tried to block out an image from his dream of Janice Rowley bound and gagged with red lines crisscrossing her naked body. “Not from the vibes I picked up from that parking lot,” he added after a while.

  DiGrazia gave his partner a hard look. He was going to make a crack about whether Shannon had called the psychic hotline, but he trusted his partner’s intuition, maybe more than his own. “You think she was left somewhere within walking distance of where her car was dumped?”

  “More specific than that, I think she was left somewhere between that restaurant and the industrial park. It’s about four miles between the two. I think our guy walked a couple of miles to get to that restaurant. He probably didn’t want to walk more than a couple of miles from where he left her car. My guess is his hole is closer to the industrial park. He’d be too anxious to get back to his victim to want to walk too far.”

  “And you think she’s still alive?”

  “What time did Kyle Rowley leave his apartment this morning?”

  “Around five. He said he had to do something, so he drove around looking for his wife’s car. He came to the station around seven.”

  “Sometime after five this morning our perp would’ve retrieved that steak knife. Yeah, she’s still alive.”

  DiGrazia made a face as if he had stomach problems. “I don’t know,” he said. “If it was an abduction I don’t see why he couldn’t have moved her to another car. He could’ve parked somewhere and waited until the industrial park emptied out.”

  “He’d be too anxious to wait.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m still not convinced. Anyway, take a look at what the computer spat out.”

  DiGrazia handed Shannon a folder. Inside was a listing of sexual offenders who had been released over the last six months. Each of them had a prior history of either abducting their victims or using knives on them.

  “Four of them are in the Boston area,” DiGrazia said.

  “This is going to keep us busy.”

  “I still have to check on their addresses—”

  “Take your time. I want to talk to Brady. I want to see if I can plant a bug in his ear.”

  DiGrazia took the folder back and scanned through the listing, his eyes closing to the point where it looked as if he were going to start napping. As Shannon walked away he heard his partner pick up the phone and start dialing.

  * * * * *

  After Shannon entered his office, Brady told him to pull up a chair and then asked him whether he knew that Rowley’s test results had been inconclusive. Brady showed a thin smile; his eyes, though, remained as dull as a mannequin’s.

  “I don’t think he’s involved,” Shannon said. “I found where his wife stopped to pick up dinner last night. An Indian restaurant in Somerville. My gut feeling is she was abducted in the parking lot.”

  “Any witnesses?”

  “No.”

  “No one heard or saw anything?”

  “Not that I know.”

  “But your instincts tell you she was abducted there.” Brady’s smile faded, his expression becoming as dull as his eyes. “You have no evidence of any kind she was abducted. For all we know she picked up dinner, went home, and met an untimely end at the hands of her husband. Statistically, that’s most likely what happened. The little evidence we have seems to suggest that; her husband’s inconclusive test results, his behavior, the missing knife.”

  “About the knife—”

  “Yes, I know. Joe told me your theory.”

  “I have a real strong feeling about this. And I think I have a solid read on the husband.”

  “You didn’t have any read when I asked you earlier.”

  “I’ve got one now.”

  “Is that right?” Brady’s eyes opened a bit wider but his soft, round face remained unperturbed. “That’s just wonderful, Bill. By the way, since the twelve o’clock news ran I’ve gotten calls from both our local universities, wanting to know what we are going to do to protect their student population from being randomly abducted.”

  “You could tell them to keep their students out of Somerville.”

  “Very constructive, can I quote you on that?”

  “Feel free.”

  “I wish you had cleared it with me before going to the media,” Brady said, his round face deflating a bit. “If this turns out to be a domestic situation which we could have wrapped up—”

  Brady stopped himself and took a deep breath. “Prove it’s an abduction. Find me some evidence, any evidence. Talk to the individuals from Joe’s computer search.”

  “Here’s what I’d like to do.” Shannon took a map from his inside jacket pocket and unfolded it on Brady’s desk. Both the Indian restaurant and the industrial park were marked off and a circle drawn between the two. “I’d like us to do a door-to-door search of all properties within the circle.”

  “This is another attempt at humor, right?”

  “She’s being held somewhere within that area. She’s still alive, Martin, she’s got to be. If we move quickly we can save her.”

  Brady sat staring at his officer, his small eyes bland, his expression incredulous.

  “Trust me on this, Martin—”

  “Find me some evidence,” Brady stated softly, impatience edging into his voice.

  Shannon stood up, took the map from Brady’s desk, and then shrugged and moved towards the door.

  “By the way,” Brady called out, “she had a hundred thousand dollar life insurance policy.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Shannon answered without turning back. “It’s a company benefit. Her husband wasn’t involved with it.”

  “It’s still motivation. Find out if he’s having financial problems, or better yet, a girlfriend. Do your homework. Then talk door-to-door search to me.”

  Back at DiGrazia’s desk, Shannon was asked if he was ready to visit some freaks.

  * * * * *

  John Roper was soft-looking, round, and mostly bald with a few wisps of blond hair scattered on his head. He had a pockmarked complexion, and a thin, affable smile. Nine years earlier he had drugged a young woman in a bar in Providence, got her to his car, and then held her captive for four days in the basement of a condemned building. During those four days he sexually assaulted her and terrorized her with a straight-edge razor. One night while sleeping he left the razor edge down against her throat. Somehow, even though both her hands and feet were bound, she was able to free herself with it. John Roper was arrested and later sentenced to a minimum of twenty years. In August, the State of Rhode Island paroled him and he relocated to Revere, Massachuset
ts.

  He was the third sex offender Shannon and DiGrazia had tried to visit. The first one, a twenty-four-year-old who had raped a couple of teenage girls while a juvenile, was living with his mother in Arlington. The mother insisted her son was with her the previous night, got belligerent, and threw the officers out. They talked with a few of her neighbors, none of whom could confirm the mother’s story. The general feeling they got from their talks was the son wouldn’t have had the initiative to get to Somerville by himself.

  The next person on their list turned out to be in police lockup in Boston, arrested two weeks earlier on a narcotics charge. Now they were with Roper at the auto garage where he worked, and Roper seemed nervous about it, rubbing his hands against his overalls and forcing an overly affable smile. He asked whether they could question him someplace else.

  “What’s wrong with right here?” Shannon asked. “Your boss must know you’re an ex-convict?”

  DiGrazia said, “He probably does, but I bet he doesn’t know what you were in for, does he, John? If he’s got a wife or daughter he might feel differently about having you around his garage.”

  “Come on, guys, there’s a doughnut shop across the street. I’ll buy you a couple—”

  “Are you trying to be funny?”

  “No—”

  “I think he was trying to be funny,” Shannon said.

  “Come on,” Roper pleaded, “I’m trying to start a new life here. I’ve been paroled—”

  “By Rhode Island,” Shannon observed. “I don’t think Massachusetts had any say in it.”

  “I bet you’re right,” DiGrazia agreed. “So, John, why’d you pick our state to settle in?”

  “My sister lives here. I’m staying with her—”

  An older man with large, grease-stained hands and a cigar stub stuck in his mouth had walked over to them. He asked whether anything was wrong.

  “We need to ask your employee some questions,” Shannon said.

  “What about?”

  “About a crime that was committed last night.”

  “What type of crime?”

  “A woman was abducted.”

  “And you think John’s involved?”

  “From his criminal record we need to talk to him.”

  Alarm showed in the older man’s eyes. He looked quickly at Roper and then away from him, settling on a spot near his feet. “I had no idea,” he murmured to no one in particular, his voice dropping to a hoarse whisper. “I better leave you officers alone,” he croaked as he moved away.

  Roper’s smile disappeared. His skin had turned a blotchy white, his eyes becoming nothing more than small, gray holes. He trembled slightly as he watched the older man walk way. “I’m going to lose my job,” he moaned. “Fucking Jesus Christ, I’m going to lose my job because of you assholes.”

  “Shut up,” DiGrazia stepped forward and pushed a thick finger into Roper’s chest.

  “One of my conditions for parole is being employed,” Roper said, his tone not quite human, “another is chemical castration. I get shots every week. I got nothing down there anymore. What the fuck would I want with a woman, you assholes?”

  “Nice mouth on this guy,” DiGrazia said.

  “A real sweetheart,” Shannon agreed.

  “Maybe we should take him back to the station. If nothing else we can teach him some manners,” DiGrazia said, moving closer to Roper.

  Roper took a step back. “You don’t have to take me anywhere—”

  “Shut up,” DiGrazia said.

  “Are you going to be civil to us?” Shannon asked.

  “I didn’t do anything,” Roper said. “I told you, with the shots I’m getting I don’t have any use for a woman.”

  “We’ll check that,” DiGrazia said. “But even if you can’t get it up anymore there’s still the violence part of it. You’re a violent man after all, John.”

  “You still like to cut them, don’t you, John?” Shannon asked.

  “No, it’s not like that—”

  “I read the report on that woman in Providence. You cut her over sixty times. It’s a wonder she didn’t bleed to death.”

  “Those cuts were superficial. I didn’t really hurt her that bad. And it’s not like that anymore, not with the treatment I’ve had and the shots I’m getting—”

  “You don’t have to explain, John. We understand. You like to cut women. The one you took last night, where is she now? Where’d you leave her?”

  “I didn’t do anything. I tell you, with the shots—”

  “We’re sick of hearing that crap,” DiGrazia said. “Where is she?”

  Roper closed his mouth. Something shut down within his small, gray eyes. “I’m not talking to you anymore,” he said. “I want a lawyer.”

  “Your choice, John,” DiGrazia said. He had Roper put his hands behind his back and then he cuffed him. DiGrazia and Shannon then led him out of the garage to their patrol car.

  Back at the station, DiGrazia read Roper his rights and had him initial different paragraphs of it and sign at the bottom.

  “We’ll get you your lawyer now,” DiGrazia said. “Then I’m going to get a search warrant for your room at your sister’s. I’ll find something that will break your parole.”

  Shannon said, “A couple of grams of coke in his sock drawer would do it.”

  “That’s usually a good place to find it,” DiGrazia said. “Then we’ll send you back to Rhode Island. I’m sure your friends in lockup will be glad to see you again, especially now you’ve been turned into a fat, little eunuch.”

  “Should be loads of fun for them,” Shannon agreed. “They’ll have a ball.”

  Roper started to cry. “I didn’t do anything.”

  Shannon said, “You don’t have to talk to us. You’ve already asked for a lawyer.”

  “I swear to you I didn’t do anything.”

  “Are you telling us you’ve changed your mind about wanting a lawyer?” Shannon asked. “You willing to talk to us, see if you can clear this up?”

  “Sure,” Roper said. He was still sobbing. He rubbed both his palms against his eyes. “We can clear this up ’cause I didn’t do anything.”

  “A woman was abducted last night. It looks a lot like what you did in Providence.”

  Roper took both palms away from his eyes and looked at Shannon. His small eyes had a pinkish look to them, like rat’s eyes. “I was home all last night,” he said, sniffling.

  “Home—you mean your sister’s house?”

  He nodded. “They have a small in-law apartment in the basement they’re letting me use. I was tired yesterday. After work I went home with a bottle of vodka and a quart of orange juice.”

  “What time did you get off work?”

  “Five. Kelley, the owner of the garage, can back me up on that. I bought the vodka and juice a block away from my sister’s house and was home by quarter past.”