Snakebit Page 8

  Miranda was spent when she pulled into the guarded parking deck of the thirty-five-story high-rise that housed her current home—at the very top.

  Nothing less than a lavish penthouse for a Parker.

  After stepping off the eardrum-popping elevator, she used her keycard to open the tall door and stepped through the fancy white hallway with its lighted antiques into the open main living area. Here she was greeted by high airy ceilings, a glistening mahogany floor, and manly blue-and-earthen tones. The overall style was classy but on the sparse side. Very masculine. Parker had moved in here after his wife died four years ago. It had been his version of a bachelor pad. Miranda had never set foot in the place until the Tannenburg ordeal.

  Before she came along, he must have entertained a number of ladies up here. He was the most sought-after man in Atlanta, after all. Funny, the thought had never crossed her mind until now.

  She stopped in the middle of the room and eyed the two ivory sofas near the floor-to-ceiling bookcase.

  No Parker.

  The place was still. She turned to the onyx desk tucked into a recess on the opposite wall. Its screen was black.

  “Hello?” she called out.

  No answer.

  She set her briefcase down next to one of the sofas and double-checked the message on her phone. Yep, he’d said he was heading home. She trusted him. He’d sown his wild oats, as they say, before they’d met. So where was he?

  She was about to call him when she saw the sliding glass to the patio was ajar. Letting out a breath of relief, she stepped over to it and slipped through.

  There in the corner of the high-rise balcony Parker sat in one of the wrought-iron chairs, intently staring at a laptop on the round glass table before him.

  Behind him stretched the backdrop of the city, dark and majestic, lights twinkling in the various-sized buildings. She thought of the people in them. People in offices working late. Others coming home from work to an apartment. Others getting ready for second shift, or preparing a meal for hubby and the kids.

  “Ever wonder what all those folks are doing out there?”

  He turned in the chair and smiled at her with a welcoming look that said he’d known all along she’d been standing there watching him. “I prefer to assume their lives are peaceful and uneventful.”

  “A good thought.”

  In part, due to Parker’s work and the Agency he founded. The Agency she was a part of now. The most meaningful work she’d ever done. Except maybe for her current case.

  She stepped up behind him and slipped her arms around his neck. “I missed you this afternoon.”

  “How did your meeting go?”

  He meant the one at two. The one she hadn’t invited him to.

  “I gave the team copies of the case file. Everyone’s going over it tonight. This afternoon we split up and started talking to the neighbors and Dr. Charmaine’s former coworkers.”

  He nodded. “Excellent.”

  “Except so far we’ve come up with zip. Everyone is saying exactly what they said ten years ago.”

  “Nonetheless it was a commendable start.” His tone indicated he had hoped for more.

  “Oh. I also called Chambers and got him to send over a DNA sample from the case. He hasn’t delivered it yet.”

  “I had trouble from Erskine when I asked for a sample ten years ago. He eventually complied. I’ll call him tomorrow and see if I can give him a nudge.”

  “Thanks.” Miranda remembered the night they met in the Fulton County Jail and the tension between Parker and Erskine then. She’d learned that night Parker had a persuasive style few could say no to.

  Then she thought about Becker and Fry smirking over the DNA results that they had in the file. “Dr. Boudreaux doesn’t happen to have any brothers, by any chance. Does he?”

  “You’re hoping for a monozygotic twin?”

  The scientific term Becker had used. “Something like that.”

  “Clarence was an only child.” He ran his hand over her arm and gazed out at the cityscape. “I remember going to his house when we were in grade school together. He and Jackson and I used to study together.”

  “Dr. Taggart?” Jackson Taggart was one of Parker’s closest friends.

  “Yes. He was close to Clarence as well. We used to hunt garden snakes in the backyard. Jackson encouraged Clarence to go into herpetology. Occasionally we both were invited to dinner. His mother was an excellent cook.”

  “What was his family life like?”

  “Normal. Stable. His mother and father seemed very happy together. They were very affectionate and had nicknames for each other. His name was Armand, and she called him her Mondo. Her name was Estelle, and he called her his Elle.”

  “Sweet.”

  “I found it endearing. They had modest incomes. He drove a sanitation truck and she was a waitress. Clarence went to school on scholarships, as you know.”

  “Are his parents alive?”

  “Unfortunately Armand and Estelle are both deceased. They passed before all this happened.”

  At least they didn’t have to suffer through what had happened to their son. But that meant there was no one on that end to talk to. Bummer.

  Parker reached for the hand she’d wrapped around him and pressed it to his face for solace. She was more of a comfort to him now than she could ever know.

  Ever since he'd decided to take on this case again, to put his hand to the plough, so to speak, he'd been itching to dig into the files. He had, somewhat. But he'd held back. He'd had his chance. The case needed fresh eyes and a quick mind.

  Miranda was the perfect one to tackle it anew.

  She was his match. His soul mate. An investigator with the dogged determination of a bloodhound, and with the tender heart of a woman. The woman he’d come to love more than life itself. He had no doubt whatever the truth was about Clarence Boudreaux, she would find it.

  Breathing in Parker’s sexy scent, Miranda relished his touch. It felt so good after the unproductive day she’d had. She leaned forward to feel his skin and get closer to him.

  It wasn’t until then that she saw the paused video on the laptop. “What are you looking at?”

  “Old news reports I archived some time ago.” He pressed a key and the video continued.

  Squinting at the screen, Miranda recognized the guy from the evening news. His suit was less expensive than the ones he wore now. He was several pounds lighter and looked a lot younger. She listened to his words.

  “Today police arrested the victim’s husband, Dr. Clarence Boudreaux.”

  The video changed to a handcuffed Dr. Boudreaux being escorted into Fulton County Jail by two cops.

  “At this time, Sergeant Erskine of APD states there are no other suspects.”

  She winced at the words.

  “I’ve also been reviewing this.” Parker tapped a few keys and the screen changed to a more serene picture. The interior of a swanky bar.

  “What’s that?”

  “Footage from the doctor’s hotel.” Parker pressed the Play button.

  Her interest piqued, Miranda leaned in closer for a better look.

  Sconces mounted against a mirrored wall gave the place a golden tone. Under their muted lights a semi-circular bar stretched over most of the screen. Behind the counter, two barkeeps were hopping.

  The place was crowded with folks from the conference. Professionals milling about, chatting up colleagues. The two bartenders scooted around behind the bar, shooting liquid and squirting seltzer into fancy glasses. After a moment she spotted Dr. Bordeaux at the center end of the bar dressed in a nice-looking suit and talking to a woman beside him.

  Miranda glanced at the date and time in the corner of the screen.

  “That’s the day of the murder.”

  “Several hours before it. This was the Happy Hour for the conference attendees before the final presentations.”

  She watched the herpetologist finish his drink and rise. “That time woul
d be about when he claimed to return to his hotel room.”

  “Overcome with drowsiness.”

  “You think someone slipped something into his drink?”

  “That’s what I had hoped for, but I can’t see any definitive evidence of it in this footage. I’ve been over it dozens of times.”

  “Let me look.” She took the mouse and backed the recording to the point where the doctor had just sat down. She watched him order a drink—couldn’t tell what it was—and chat amiably with a plain-looking woman on his right. She had on a dark suit and wore her hair pulled back. The serious type.

  Miranda watched the woman carefully, but she kept her hands to herself.

  After a minute or two another man came along and sat on the doctor’s left. He ordered something, acknowledged Dr. Bordeaux’s presence, then seemed to concentrate on the conversation the doctor was having with the woman. It seemed pretty intense. Probably about snakes. Comparing the relatively sliminess of various species?

  Suddenly the man on the left leaned in a bit, blocking the view of the doctor’s glass.

  “There,” she said stopping the tape. “The guy to his left could have done something there.”

  “Yes. Unfortunately no one remembered the man and there was no way to discover his identity. This tape was inadmissible in court.”

  With a deep sigh, Miranda continued the footage.

  After a few more minutes of conversation, the woman on Dr. Boudreaux’s right excused herself and left. Soon after the doctor took his drink and moved off camera.

  “He seems okay there. He isn’t staggering or anything.”

  Miranda let out a grunt, reversed the video, and watched it again, this time keeping her eyes on Dr. Bordeaux’s glass. She slowed it down when the guy on the left blocked the view of it, trying to get a look at his face. But he didn’t even turn toward the camera.

  “Were there any cameras in the halls? Anything to verify the doctor was in his room during the hours he claimed he was?”

  “The only surveillance was in the bar. It wasn't a common practice at the time. Management had installed this single camera in the bar after a customer complained of a pickpocket. We were lucky to get this much.”

  “It confirms part of what Boudreaux said. What about a record of when he checked out?”

  Parker ran a hand over his face. Looking weary. “The checkout time matches Clarence’s statement. The prosecutor convinced the jury Clarence set it up as an alibi.”

  “He thinks Clarence left the hotel, went home and killed his wife, then returned to the hotel and checked out?”

  “That’s what he said in his summation. With a few colorful adverbs such as ‘ruthlessly’ and ‘with malice aforethought’.”

  The prosecutor convinced the jury it was premeditated. But that seemed pretty cold for the gentle doctor she’d met that morning.

  Still, the DNA confirmed the theory. She thought about the neighbor across the street.

  “Wesson and I spoke to Mrs. Fairchild today. The one who saw the doctor’s car in his driveway.”

  “How is Spring? Did she feed you?”

  “Chicken ‘n’ Dumplings.”

  “She’s a good cook.”

  “Yeah. She told me something.”

  “What?”

  “She said she heard Clarence and Charmaine arguing in their driveway. She didn’t know what about, but it was intense enough to convince her he was guilty of killing her.”

  “The same thing she told me several times.”

  “And you don’t believe her?”

  “All couples argue, even heatedly. As far as I know, Clarence’s marriage to Charmaine was idyllic.”

  Though an abuser could keep things looking good on the outside, while inside the home became a private hell for the abused. She knew that firsthand. But Becker and Holloway hadn’t turned up any signs of abuse when they questioned Charmaine’s coworkers.

  Once more doubt pecked at her conscience. “Do you really think he’s innocent, Parker?”

  “I do in my heart.”

  “But your mind tells you something different.”

  Closing the video down he let out a weary sigh. “How could it do otherwise?”

  “And yet you go with your heart.”

  He took her hand and pulled her close. “You’re not the only one with instincts.”

  “Guess not.”

  He ran his lips up her arm to her neck and nuzzled her there, sending chill bumps down her spine to her private parts. Her mind went blank as his hand slid up her side to her breast.

  She closed her eyes and let out a groan, giving into temptation for a moment, letting him linger there, teasing, caressing.

  Then she reached up and grabbed his hand. “As much as I’d like to fool around, I’ve got homework to do. You gave me a thick case file and I don’t know half of what’s it in.”

  He let his lips graze her neck once more then let her go. “Very well. Have you eaten?”

  “Not since the Chicken ‘n’ Dumplings.”

  “There’s Szechuan Beef on the counter, if you’re interested.”

  At least it wasn’t more chicken. “That’s the second time today you left me food.”

  “The least I can do for my ace investigator.”

  “We’ll see how much of an ace I am.” She pulled out of his arms, giving him a peck on the cheek, then ran upstairs for a quick shower.

  When she was done, she came back down in her sweat pants and a loose T-shirt, got the file from her briefcase, and read at the kitchen counter while she munched out of the container.

  The food was good. The beef was velvety, the vegetables crunchy, and the peppers hot enough to singe her tongue just a little. But she couldn’t savor it. Instead she finished quickly, dropped the fork into the sink, took the papers and moved to the living room.

  She slid off her shoes, got comfortable in one of the ivory sofas, and dug into the file.

  She reread the summary, then the incident report from the first officer on the scene, then the transcript of Dr. Boudreaux’s 911 call. She studied the autopsy report and the findings from all the tests. She reviewed Parker’s interviews. Finally, she got to the transcript of the trial itself.

  It was pages and pages of testimony. She reviewed what the doctor had said on the stand. He’d brought the snake home to calm it down so it would provide venom for his wife’s research. He never intended for her to even see it, but she’d come home early from her conference. That night at his own conference, he’d become drowsy and gone to his hotel room to sleep. He didn’t arrive home until around nine o’clock. He found his wife dead and called 911. He had no idea how his DNA had gotten inside her. The same thing he’d told Miranda that morning.

  She read what the character witnesses had to say. That, too, was what she’d heard before.

  The words began to blur together and her eyelids to droop. She felt herself drift, and the pages slip from her fingers.

  Then Parker’s strong arms were sliding under her. She caught a whiff of his sexy cologne as he carried her up the spiral staircase to their big luxurious bed. She moaned as he tugged off her clothes and pulled the soft duvet over her.

  The last thing she felt was his lips against her cheek.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Water dripped somewhere. Plop. Plop. Plop.

  It was driving her crazy. And she was cold. The surface she was lying on was icy and hard. And wet.

  Slimy.

  She lifted her head and felt pain throb through her temples. Had someone knocked her out? It was so chilly and dark in here. The air smelled damp and foul. She sat up. Shivering, she rubbed her arms, finding herself dressed in flimsy gauze nightgown.

  Getting her legs under her and rising, she gazed up at the high walls and ceiling surrounding her. Rock. Craggy and glistening and damp. She was in a cave.

  Lost.

  Her heart began to pound. She should call out for help. But what if he heard her? What if they heard her? No.
Be quiet.

  Plop. Plop. Plop. Water was dripping somewhere.

  Suddenly she saw light streaming through an arch up ahead. That’s where the water was.

  She inched toward it, the rocks sharp and slippery beneath her bare feet. It seemed to go on forever. And just as she reached the opening, she found it led to another part of the cave. More light poured into it. Just around a boulder lay another opening. Then she heard a different sound and froze in her tracks.

  A tail rattling. More than one. And hissing sounds. Snakes.

  She couldn’t go in there. How was she going to find her way out?

  A baby’s cry rang out, a brilliant cry of helplessness echoing against the high rock. Her heart squeezed in her chest.

  Amy.

  Forgetting her fear she hurried toward the light, slipping and stumbling as she went. At last she found the slab where the cave wall curved. She followed it with her hands for a long while, and finally stepped into a wide cavern. Heavy drops of water slid off the rocky ceiling into a large pool of inky green water. The dripping sound she’d heard. But this was where the other sounds had come from, too.

  Surrounding the entire pool were snakes. Hundreds of them. Serpents of all shapes and sizes.

  They were everywhere. Hissing, rattling their tails, growling. Where was her baby?

  “Mother!”

  She looked up and saw her standing on a high boulder that stretched over the pool. The young girl with her long dark hair blowing in a wind that wasn’t there. Her gauzy dress clung to her form and she held her arms out, as if beseeching her. There was fear on her face.

  The girl was terrified.

  “Hold on. I’m coming.”

  She lifted the hem of her garment and began to move through the hissing serpents. Her heart pounded in her head as she went. The snakes slinked around her ankles, nipped at her calves. She wanted to scream, to cry out for help. But the girl. She had to save the girl.

  “I’m coming,” she called out.

  “You’ll never get there.” The voice behind her was dark and raspy. She knew it instantly.

  “I will.”

  “You won’t, you stupid whore. Look.”

  She gazed up at the boulder. The girl was gone.