Daniels stifled a yawn, shook his head. “Yeah, well, I’m not convinced of that either,” he said. “It could’ve been as you said. It could’ve also been a couple of pervs trying to make it look like something it wasn’t. And who the fuck knows, this could still turn out to be nothing more than a thrill kill. Or maybe someone sending a message. As far as I’m concerned, until I get more information anything’s possible.”
“About someone sending a message, if you found a drug connection then I’d believe it, but without it, what’s the message?”
Daniels stared blankly at Shannon, then muttered under his breath asking how the fuck would he know. He abruptly collected the photos and shoved them back in his folder. He didn’t seem in any mood to talk as they made their way out of the interrogation room and through the station, and Shannon was too deep in his own thoughts to bother trying. They ended up driving separately to the dead students’ condo, Shannon in his late model Chevy Corsica, Daniels in his city issued Buick Century. Different scenarios buzzed through Shannon’s mind as he drove, and while he couldn’t disagree with Daniels’ assertion that it could’ve been some other way than what Shannon had described, none of the other scenarios made sense to him. His gut kept telling him that the murders were committed by a single person. That the person had a vendetta against Carver, and Gibson was killed only because she had been caught in the crossfire. He thought about Eli’s observation from a few days ago that at some level he knew the murders were committed by a single person. He would have to try to figure out what his subconscious had picked up on.
Daniels still wasn’t speaking as they parked and made their way to the condo. He stood grinding his teeth, watching while Shannon unlocked the deadbolt and removed the padlock from the door. Stepping inside, Shannon saw that the trail of the red smudges along the living room carpet were in fact handprints. From the blood splattering, he guessed that the killer had stood to the side of Linda Gibson when he smashed her skull in. He looked away from the blood-stained carpeting and surveyed the rest of the room. There was a matching cream colored leather sofa and loveseat not too far away from where Linda had been killed, both showing a spray of red dots. The book case, end tables and dining room table in the room were all walnut and expensive looking.
“Higher end furniture than I’d expect from college students,” Shannon said.
“Yeah, nicer stuff than I have in my own home,” Daniels agreed. “I checked the money transfers and deposits that were made to Linda’s bank account. Nothing unusual, at least nothing to explain this.” He paused, rubbing a thick hand across his jaw. “Maybe her parents were paying her cash under the table to keep quiet about the sexual abuse,” he offered without much conviction.
Shannon scanned the book case. It was filled with volumes by Kafka, Shaw, Nietzche, Camus and Sartre. He picked up a copy of Being and Nothingness by Sartre and flipped through it and found Carver’s name scribbled on an inside page before putting it back on the shelf.
“Anything show up when you looked at Carver’s bank account?”
“Nothing. None of this stuff was bought with credit cards, at least not with any cards they had on them.”
“Linda use one of her parents’ cards?”
“She didn’t have any in her pocketbook.” He scowled as he glared at the blood stains on the carpet. “I’ll put a call in and try to find out. I might have to subpoena their credit card records.”
Shannon shrugged his shoulders. “If they did pay cash for all this stuff and for what was in Carver’s mom’s home…”
“Yeah, I know,” Daniels said. “Points to drugs. I’m telling you, we found nothing tying them to drug activity.”
“Then how’d they get all this money? Either of them have a job outside of Carver’s teacher’s assistants position?”
“Not that we’ve been able to find.” He half-laughed, half-scowled. “Maybe they robbed a bank or something.”
Daniels looked like he wanted to punch someone. Not necessarily Shannon, but someone. At that moment he could’ve easily been mistaken for his old partner, Joe DiGrazia. The thought of that brought a slight smile to Shannon.
“What the fuck’s so funny?” Daniels demanded.
“Nothing. I’m going to check the rest of the apartment.”
Shannon followed the blood trail to the bedroom with Daniels close at his heel. As with the living room, the gore had been cleaned up, but the blood stains on the carpeting, along with the splattering on the walls and furniture, were left alone. Carver must’ve bled out most of what he had in him. The stain where his body had been found ran almost four feet, and had saturated the carpet to the point where after three months it still gave the impression that it would feel damp to the touch. Shannon scanned the blood patterns on the walls and furniture and tried to visualize where Carver and the killer were standing when the attack happened. There was a light spray of blood halfway up the wall to his left, the rest closer to the baseboards and the bottom sections of the furniture. The first blow must’ve sent Carver to the ground.
He moved away from the blood stain. Opposite the bed was the flat panel TV he had seen in the crime scene photos. It looked expensive, as did the stereo components underneath it. Speakers were mounted close to the ceiling in each corner of the room and two additional ones on opposite sides of the TV set. The brand name was something German that he had never heard of. Like everything else in the room they looked expensive, and he would’ve given odds that they were worth more than his car. The CD collection was mostly heavy metal and grunge rock. He opened the CD player and saw that the last thing they were listening to was Nirvana.
Other than dried drops of blood, the walls were bare. There were no photos or artwork anywhere inside the apartment. There were also no textbooks or personal effects in sight.
“The room looks pretty uncluttered for a couple of college students,” Shannon said.
“It does, doesn’t it?” Daniels said matter-of-factly. “What can I tell you, all their papers and such have been taken to the station.” He paused to squeeze his eyes with his thumb and forefinger before looking back at Shannon. “We’ve gone through it all. There’s nothing there that’s going to help. And nothing that showed where they got their money.”
“You didn’t find any cash stashed here?”
Daniels stared at Shannon, his hard granite mask back in place. After a long ten-count he shook his head.
“This doesn’t add up,” Shannon said. “They should have money stashed here somewhere. Everything so far points to it.” He took in a lungful of air and blew it out slowly. “Fuck, maybe their murders were to cover up a robbery after all. I’m going to make a quick pass and see if I can find anything.”
Daniels stood impassively and watched as Shannon checked the dresser drawers for fake bottoms. In one of the night table drawers he found Linda’s jewelry: several gold necklaces, earrings, a high school ring. He’d have to think if the motive for the killings had been a standard robbery gone bad, the necklaces would’ve been taken. After he finished with the drawers, he knocked on walls and gave the closet a quick search. When he was done Daniels asked if he was satisfied.
“How about helping me flip this mattress?”
The two of them turned the mattress over and found the bottom side undisturbed.
“You done yet?” Daniels asked.
“Almost. Let me give the kitchen and living room a quick search.”
Shannon was more thorough in the kitchen, testing each cabinet for hidden compartments and checking if any of the canned goods and boxes were being used to store money. He left to go back to his car for a screwdriver, then pulled the refrigerator and stove away from the wall and took their back panels off. After that he checked the light fixtures and electrical outlet boxes, then walked around the living room testing the walls for any hollow spaces. Daniels helped him turn the sofa and loveseat on their sides, but the bottoms of both were intact.