“How much do you smoke?” the captain asked as Shane sat back down with them.
“Not enough,” Shane answered. “No. In all seriousness, too much. Bad habit. I know I need to at least cut back.” Shane lit a cigarette and sighed happily. “It’s not a lack of ability, it’s a lack of caring.”
“And why’s that?” Jack asked.
Shane considered the question for a moment. “Captain, I lost my parents when I was at boot camp on Parris Island. Literally lost them. They were taken by the house. I spent two decades in the Corps, and I loved it. I’m not going to sugarcoat this: I killed a lot of people. Not always people who needed killing, either. Those are the only deaths that bother me. I came home to a house empty of life and filled with death. I’m not afraid of dying. I’m not afraid of much.”
“Cancer?”
Shane shook his head and knocked the head off of the cigarette. “If it’s bad enough, I’ll blow my brains out with my Colt.”
“I’m a cop, Shane,” Jack said gently. “You shouldn’t say things like that around me.”
Shane grinned at him. “Fair enough. So, feel like going and looking for those sunglasses?”
***
Tuesday, 1:30 PM
Shane stood at the crime scene, hands in the front pouch of his sweatshirt. He looked around the room as Jack stood silently beside him, then fixed his eyes on the coffee table. The coffee table where the sunglasses should have been.
But there was nothing. The sunglasses had been removed, but according to the report, they had not been logged in as evidence. Shane glanced over at Jack, and he saw the man’s frustration.
“Where the hell could they have gone?” Jack muttered angrily.
“Just about anywhere she wants, if she picks the right guy,” Shane stated.
“I don’t think she did,” Jack informed him.
Shane eyed the room, and after a moment, he nodded his agreement. “Someone came and robbed the place.”
“Knowing Nashua right now,” Jack continued, “it was probably someone looking to flip something for some quick cash. Score a hit.”
“Yeah,” Shane muttered. “Now, we have to find her.”
“Where do you think we should start?” Jack asked.
“We have to wait,” Shane answered, walking out of the apartment. The captain followed him.
“For what?” The tone of the question told Shane that Captain Jack Thompson already knew the answer.
“Another death, Captain,” Shane answered, pausing to light a cigarette. “Pretty sure there’ll be one soon enough. There always is.”
Chapter 14: On the Way to Work
Wednesday, 7:45 AM
Zeke Driscoll stepped out of the Dunkin’ Donuts on Canal Street in Nashua, pulled back the tab on his medium-hot regular coffee, adjusted the grip on the bag that contained two glazed donut sticks, and looked at the Laton Hotel. The four-story building squatted across the street, and its denizens, many of whom had recently been freed from a New Hampshire correctional facility, were already outside. They sat in the park, and Zeke knew from experience that if he lingered too long in the parking lot of the donut shop, then one of them would venture across the street to try and panhandle.
Zeke disliked confrontation, which was why he was a research lawyer and not a trial lawyer. He was best suited to life in the legal library, looking up case law and history.
He wanted to walk to his car and drive up to Manchester to his firm’s offices, but he couldn’t.
A soft, feminine voice whispered, “Look.”
Unwillingly, he looked closer at the Laton Hotel and saw a board had been tacked up over one of the windows. His stomach turned over as he stared at the blood on the pavement. It seemed as though someone had gone out of the window. Gone out of it and died on the broken pavement beneath it.
“You should go and look,” the voice whispered.
Zeke nodded. Surprisingly, he did want to go. He wanted to see what had happened. Why the window was boarded up.
Glancing to either side, he crossed the street and walked up the few steps into the park. One of the derelicts peeled off from the others, smiling ingratiatingly. Zeke didn’t hear what the man said. Didn’t care what was said. All he did was hand his coffee and food to him, who took them with a shocked expression.
Zeke continued past the man and crossed the small parking lot. He reached the entrance to the Laton Hotel and went in. The stench of old urine and dried vomit pushed at him, but Zeke ignored it. He passed by the bored attendant sitting behind thick plexiglass, and he refused to acknowledge the man’s protestations as Zeke went to the stairwell. He pushed open the door and waited a moment.
“Third floor,” the woman whispered.
Zeke nodded and climbed toward the third floor, his anticipation and excitement building with every step. A steady ache pulsed through his legs by the time he reached the landing for the correct floor.
Walking out, Zeke hesitated. The stench of a backed-up toilet assailed him, and he tried to understand what he was doing.
Why am I in here? he asked himself.
His answer came a moment later.
“Don’t stop now,” the unseen woman whispered, her voice sultry. “You’re so close to seeing me.”
His feet moved as though of their own accord. Zeke needed to see her, whoever she was.
He walked slowly down the hall, and when the woman said, “Here,” he stopped.
The door was propped up in the frame, and Zeke surprised himself when, without encouragement from the strange voice, he took hold of it and moved the door out of the way. He found himself looking into a small, dark room. A chill drifted out and into the hall, and Zeke shivered as he stepped in. His eyes adjusted to what little light was there, but he didn’t see anyone.
“They’re on the dresser. Do you see them?” she asked, her voice gentle, soothing.
His attention focused on the dresser’s scarred top. He saw a pair of sunglasses. “Yes.”
“Take them,” she murmured. “Put them in your pocket. Go to work.”
Zeke nodded. He went to the dresser and did as he had been told. Leaving the room, he paused long enough to put the door back in place and then walked toward the stairs, the weight of the sunglasses in his suitcoat’s pocket comforting.
Chapter 15: At the Clubhouse
Wednesday, 9:00 AM
Marty lay on the couch in the main room, half-asleep. He wanted nothing more than to sink into a deep and refreshing slumber, but Shannon had denied him that.
Shannon had denied him anything resembling peace and joy.
She had vanished.
She probably just switched her phone and didn’t bother to save the number I left on her voicemail. It’s not like I’m going to the house and checking the machine, he tried to reason.
But he didn’t believe that line of rational thought was true. There is no way she would have lost track of the number. Something’s going on.
The door to the main room opened. Marty glanced over, and he froze.
Alex Kallistos stood in the doorway, grinning. The dead man, Timmy, was already in the room. As Alex came in, he glanced around, his nose wrinkling.