When the ambulance arrived, the EMT workers moved swiftly and within minutes had Emily on an IV and were monitoring her vital signs.
“How’s she looking?” Shannon asked one of them.
The EMT worker didn’t bother to look up. “Blood pressure’s low. She has a fractured skull and probably swelling around the brain. We’ve got to get her to the ICU right away.”
They stabilized her head, then one of the EMT workers lifted her up enough so the other could slide a stretcher under her. Shannon asked which hospital they were taking her to and he was told Memorial.
They were loading Emily into the back of the ambulance when a police cruiser arrived. Two uniformed patrolmen got out, talked briefly with the EMTs, then approached Shannon with their poker faces firmly intact. One of them introduced himself as Officer Robideau, the other-the larger of the two-didn’t bother giving his name, but Robideau referred to him as Jenks. Shannon explained what happened and his relationship with the victim. Both officers were young, maybe late twenties. Both had short buzz cuts and sunburned faces. Neither of them looked like they believed him. Jenks peered at Shannon with a distant look in his eyes, almost as if he were waiting for an excuse to be able to unload on him with his nightstick. He asked Shannon to show them where the attack happened.
Shannon led the way to his apartment. When the officers saw that his front door was unmarked, Robideau asked whether the attackers had a key to the apartment.
“I hope not,” Shannon said. “My guess is they’re good with locks. These were pros.”
When he opened the door and the two officers saw the gaping hole in the wall, their skepticism faded. Robideau let out a low whistle. “It looks like they had a crowbar with them.”
“What are those recorders hooked up to?” Jenks asked.
“Surveillance cameras.”
“Tapes missing?”
“Yep.”
He gave Shannon a look indicating that he was just itching to smack him with his nightstick. “How do you suppose they knew you had video surveillance?”
“Don’t know. They probably found one of the cameras, then looked for the recorders. As I said before, these guys are probably pros.”
Jenks had small, almost baby-like ears, and as he stared at Shannon the tips of them turned a bright fire-engine red. “Do you mind telling me why you have this system?” he asked.
“I was on the job for ten years.” Shannon held up his right hand showing his missing two fingers. “I was a Detective First Grade when I lost these and had to go on disability. Now I’m a licensed private investigator, and have a surveillance system for my safety, okay?”
“There’s no need to take that tone,” Jenks said, his manner more subdued. “Under the circumstances that was a more than reasonable question.”
“Agreed. Let me show you where I found Emily.”
Shannon led the two cops to his bedroom. While they were staring at the blood stain on the carpet, a hard knock came from the front door followed by Daniels yelling through it to announce himself. Robideau joined Shannon, and when Daniels was let in and he saw the patrolman, he nodded brusquely to him and asked who he was partnering with. Robideau told him Chris Jenks.
“What hospital they take the victim to?”
“Memorial.”
“Why don’t you head over there and take a statement in case the victim regains consciousness. Jenks can stick with me for the time being.”
Robideau nodded and was out the door when Daniels asked him how the victim was doing. “EMTs didn’t think it looked good,” Robideau said.
Daniels stepped into the apartment, nodded at Shannon, then sniffed a couple of times. He made a face. “You been smoking?”
“A couple of cigarettes. Filthy habit,” Shannon said.
“Yeah it is. I didn’t know you were a smoker.”
“Up until today I haven’t been. At least not during the last five years.”
“I sympathize,” Daniels said. “This Carver-Gibson business can take its toll. These last few months I’ve been pouring an extra couple of shots of Maker’s Mark each night. And now just what we need. Another homicide.”
“It’s not a homicide yet,” Shannon said.
“No, not yet. I guess we can hope for the best. How well did you know the victim?”
“Pretty well. Emily lives two doors down. She’s probably Susan’s best friend here in Boulder.”
“Susan…?”
“My ex-wife, well sort of my ex-wife. We got back together four years ago, just never bothered remarrying.”
“How well did you get along with this Emily…?”
“Emily Janney. I like her. She’s a good kid.”
“You two ever involved?”
“No.”
Daniels took several steps into the room and looked around. “I had to pull in a few favors to get this case assigned to me,” he said. “My boss didn’t want me touching anything else until the Carver-Gibson murders are closed. My own personal circle in hell: to work that case for all eternity.” His eyes settled on the hole in the wall. “You had access to the equipment from the closet?”
“Yeah. I had built in a side panel that could be slid out. Too bad they didn’t use it instead of carving up the wall.”
“They probably found the video recorders with a stud detector-type device for electronics.” Daniels’ barrel chest expanded as he took a long deep breath. He let it out slowly through his nose. “This is going to be another fucking long day. Just what I was hoping for on a Friday night. What was your neighbor doing here?”
“She was keeping an eye on the place. She was supposed to call the police if she saw or heard anything.”
“You were expecting someone to break in?”
“I thought there was a chance the muscle I ran into at True Light would try it. A couple of Russian thugs.”
“Yeah? What made you think so?”
Shannon scratched his neck, looked away. “They threatened to come here if I kept bothering the True Light. It was an indirect threat. Nothing I could sign out a complaint on.”
“Ah fuck, this is just what I need. Now I’ve got to chase after a couple of phantom Russian thugs.” He lowered his head into his right hand and squeezed his eyes. When he looked back at Shannon they were as bloodshot as any bassett hounds’. “I’m going to need you to go to the precinct and look through mug shots. I’ll give our sketch artist a call and see if I can get him down there tonight.”
“Maybe I can do better than that.” Shannon took out his wallet, found the Russian’s driver’s license and handed it to Daniels.
“How’d you get this?”
“During our scuffle the other day. I doubt you’re going to find much on him. I’d already faxed his picture to my friend at the FBI and so far she’s found nothing.”
“What about fingerprints?”
“Already checked. License had been wiped clean.”
Daniels held the license closer and squinted as he read the name and address. “Dan Smith from Los Angeles. What do you suppose the chances are that that name and address are genuine?”
“Unless he legally changed his name, zero. Both of these guys had thick Russian accents. If I had to bet money on it, I’d say this one was ex-KGB. Also, at one point he boxed professionally-at least in Russia.”
“Give me a timeline.”
“I stopped off here at ten to two to check emails, stayed no more than fifteen minutes. I came back around six and found Emily. I think the window’s smaller. One of the Russians picked up a few of True Light’s members at Vishna Yoga around three-thirty. He was driving a black Mercedes 500 SEL. I didn’t get a license plate. They were probably here somewhere between two thirty and a quarter past three.”
Daniels nodded slowly as he considered that, then yelled out for Jenks. The patrolman came out of the
