Bad Karma by Dave Zeltserman

something I need to do,” he said as he placed the geode back on the desk.
    “I think you need to figure out what you really want.” Eli took a cassette tape from the top drawer of his desk and tossed it to Shannon. “For whatever good it will do you, here are some new exercises. Like the old ones, play these a half hour before going to bed.”
    Shannon nodded. “Thanks. Are we still meeting tomorrow morning?”
    “Why wouldn’t we?”
    “I thought you might be too pissed at me for taking this case.”
    “You want to put obstacles up for yourself, that’s your business. I still plan on working with you. And besides, I’m not ending a friendship over something like this.”
    “Fair enough. I’ve got a few things to do over the next hour or so, but any interest in catching the Sox game later?”
    Eli made a face as if he had swallowed spoiled milk. “I already told you my thoughts on interleague play. Besides, I don’t see any reason to pay money to watch a second-rate team beat a third-rate team.”
    “What are you talking about? The World Champion Red Sox a second rate team? Last I checked they’re two and a half games up on your beloved Yankees.”
    “I was referring to the Rockies as the second-rate team. I’ve also decided that the Red Sox never won the World Series last year. We’re either the victims of a massive media hoax or are suffering from some sort of mass delusion. And about the Yankees being two and a half games out—don’t take too much solace from that. In seventy-eight they were fourteen games out this same time of year, and we all know how that turned out.”
    Shannon got to his feet and, at the door, told Eli that he would see him tomorrow.
    Eli nodded, his long face reflective. “Do me a favor,” he said. “Think harder about why you’re still doing this detective work.”
    “You got it, Chief.” Shannon gave him a quick salute and left.

    ***

    The condo complex where the murdered students had lived was off Arapahoe Avenue and was made up of clusters of newer-looking two-story townhouses, with what looked like four townhouses grouped together into each cluster. Driving through the complex, Shannon guessed that the townhouses had been built within the last five years.
    Taylor Carver and Linda Gibson had rented a condo in an end unit townhouse that was in the back of the complex and not visible from the street. Shannon found the door to the building unlocked. Inside was a small vestibule leading to two condos. The door to Carver and Gibson’s unit had red smudges on it and some splintering where it had been kicked open. A police notice on the door warned that it was a crime scene and that the area was sealed off to the public until further notice. The other condo had a small metal sign screwed into its door indicating that it was the residence of Mike and Nancy Maguire. Shannon knocked on the Maguire’s door and waited. After several minutes a man in his early forties came out, his face flushed as he gave Shannon a wary look. “Yeah?” he asked.
    Shannon introduced himself. “I was hoping you could tell me about the two students who were murdered next door,” he added.
    “How about you show me some identification,” Maguire said, a thin smile showing that he thought Shannon was full of shit. Shannon handed him his PI license. Maguire studied it and then, coordinated with a sudden jerk of his head, snapped his fingers, a wide grin breaking over his face.
    “I knew you looked familiar. I used to live in Medfa ,” he said, grossly exaggerating his Boston pronunciation of ‘Medford’. “You were in the news for weeks. A police detective, right? What was the name of that serial killer? Carl… Carl Winters, right?”
    “Charlie Winters.”
    Maguire snapped his fingers again. “That’s right. Charlie Winters. You killed him, didn’t you?”
    Shannon nodded.
    “Damn,” Maguire said, still grinning widely. His flushed face showed a deep pink along his cheeks, almost as