videotape.”
“Why would they use a hidden camera to videotape themselves?” Susan asked.
“Maybe only one of them knew the camera was there,” he said, but as he thought about the way both Carver and Linda acted while they were having sex and the way both of them played to the camera, he didn’t think that was true. So it was a good question, one that Shannon was beginning to have a hunch about. Something that could explain the money sitting in the empty speaker.
“Susie,” he told her. “I think I’m going to be busy most of the day. I probably won’t be able to see you until dinner.”
“Take your time. I’m going to visit Emily this morning, and I have some other things I’d like to do later. Hon, whether or not that videotape leads to the murderers, you should be proud of yourself for finding it. I’ll be looking forward all day to seeing you later.”
After they hung up, he rewound the tape to where Linda was hit across the face with the bat, then played it frame by frame to see if he could spot a reflection in the surface of the bat. He couldn’t find any. He fast forwarded the tape to the end and placed it back in the camera.
He pulled his latex gloves off, then called Daniels’ cell phone number and left a message suggesting where Daniels should look in the dead students’ apartment.
When he stepped out of the apartment, Maguire was waiting in the vestibule, his face unnaturally pale and his mouth not quite right. His voice sounded somewhat strangled when he told Shannon he thought he heard a woman scream in the neighboring condo.
Shannon put the padlock back in place, then made a decision as he reached for his car keys. “I need to go to Denver,” he told Maguire. “If you want to tag along, I’ll tell you about it.”
Maguire nodded. “Okay, sure.”
Shannon tossed him his keys. “You mind driving? I’ve got some calls to make along the way.”
They sat in a diner, Shannon with a plate of blueberry pancakes in front of him, Maguire still waiting for the corned beef hash and eggs that he had ordered. During the ride to Denver, Shannon squeezed in telling Maguire about the videotape he had found in between calls he needed to make and Daniels calling him back wanting to know how Shannon knew about the speakers. Shannon simply told the lieutenant he had a hunch about them and asked whether Daniels had found anything inside of them, at which point Daniels hung up. Now as he ate his pancakes, he checked his watch and saw it was only twenty-five past ten. He still had a half hour to kill.
Maguire’s hash and eggs were brought over. He played around with his food, then asked Shannon again about the videotape. “I still can’t get over that you found that tape,” he said. “When I heard that scream I almost called the police. You scared the shit out of me.”
“I should’ve given you a heads-up.”
Maguire took a small bite of his food, but seemed barely aware of it. “I still can’t get over a camera being hidden there.”
“Yeah, caught me a little by surprise too.”
“And it didn’t pick up a single shot of the killer? What a lucky sonofabitch.”
“It probably didn’t. It’s possible the FBI can process it and find a reflection somewhere. I don’t think they will, but it’s possible.”
Maguire pulled at his lower lip as he thought about it. “The whole thing’s unbelievable,” he said. “I guess we’ll be seeing some of that tape on the news, huh?”
Shannon shrugged. Even though it had been almost twenty-four hours since he had eaten anything solid, he didn’t have much of an appetite. He forced himself to finish off the pancakes knowing it was going to be a long day. Maguire appeared to have even less of an appetite, for the most part pushing his food from one part of the plate to the other, all the while shaking his head as if he still couldn’t believe a video camera had captured the murders-even if only partially.
Rude stood at the corner of East Colfax and Nineteenth Street where Shannon expected to find him. There was no mistaking him given the description Shannon had. Late fifties, bald, with a thick gray mustache, and hard rubbery flesh which hung loosely from his body the way it does when someone has lost muscle mass in a short time. A number of bluish-green tattoos showed on his skin, all of which gave the appearance of being deflated. Like tires that had the air taken out. The man stared blindly off into the distance smoking a cigarette.
Shannon drove up to him and got out of his car. Maguire stayed seated. “Rude?”
The man’s eyes shifted to meet Shannon’s. Before he could answer he broke into a violent coughing fit and hacked up something red that could’ve been a small piece of his lung. He wiped pinkish spittle off his chin with the back of his hand. Looking past Shannon, he asked in a weak, raspy voice, “Who wants to know?”
Shannon introduced himself. “A friend of yours, Max Roth, thought you might be able to help me.”
“Let’s see some ID.”
Shannon showed Rude his PI license. Rude’s eyes remained vacant as he glanced at it. He lowered his gaze to Shannon’s damaged hand. “How’d you lose those fingers?”
“Line of duty. I used to be a cop.”
“Yeah, thought I smelled cop on you. Who’s the boy scout in the car?”
“An intern I’m training.”
Rude accepted that. “He’s no cop. That’s for fucking sure.” He took a long drag on his cigarette and flicked what was left of it onto the sidewalk. He lit up a fresh one, nodding towards Shannon. “Max Roth, huh? Denver’s most famous PI thanks to that crap newspaper column, “The Roth Report”. I end up doing his dirty work and never get a fucking mention. Just like with the asshole before him, Johnny Lane. Ever hear of Lane?”
For the first time some life flickered in Rude’s eyes. Shannon nodded. “Yeah, I read about him.”
“Rotten sonofabitch,” Rude said, his eyes glazing over. “I hope they’re toasting his balls right now wherever he ended up.” He started making a wheezing sound, and Shannon realized the guy was laughing. The wheezing turned into another coughing fit and more pinkish stuff being spat out. Rude’s eyes shone as he looked at Shannon. “I got the big C,” he said. “In the lungs. According to the doctors I should be dead now. Bad enough I went through chemo, fuck if I’m going to live out my last days in a hospital bed. Not after spending three years in the jungles of Cambodia. So what the fuck you want with me?”
“I’m trying to find someone who sells porn tapes. The kind where one of the parties doesn’t know they’re being filmed.”
Rude sucked hard on his cigarette, holding the smoke in his lungs before directing it out his nostrils. “Those are illegal. You could go to jail selling those.”
“That’s why I thought I could use your help.”
“Why you looking for them? You a perv?”
“I’m trying to figure out a double-murder that happened in Boulder.”
“The two college kids killed?” Amusement shone in his eyes. “They were making these types of videos?”
“That’s what I’m trying to find out.”
Rude considered it, nodded. “Sure, I’ll help you. Two hundred bucks. Something else too.” He looked away, took another drag on his cigarette. “If you solve these murders and give a story to reporters, I want you mentioning I helped you. If your name goes in the paper, I want my name there too.”
“Deal.” Shannon counted out two hundred dollars and handed it to Rude. Rude rolled the bills into a wad and stuck it in his pants pocket without bothering to count it. He stopped to fill up his lungs with cigarette smoke, then made a call on his cell phone and talked briefly, giving Shannon’s name. He told Shannon, “Go to Sex Emporium on Colfax and Fourteenth. Look for a punk with long greasy hair named Starks. Likes to think he should be a movie star, but he’s nothing but a perv. Every voyeur tape he’s got he’s seen. If you’ve got pictures of those two college kids, he’ll know if they’ve made any.”
Rude looked away then, his eyes focusing on something too far off into the distance for Shannon or anyone else to see.
