Night Vipers

by Carolina Mac

  Tyler stood up, tossed his napkin on his chair and left the room.

  “Our family seems to be coming apart at the seams,” said Bobby. “We need some glue to hold us together.”

  “Marnie is the glue,” said Jesse reaching over and touching her long dark hair. “She holds me together.”

  8:10 a.m.

  The Blackmore Agency. Austin.

  LILY sat at the end of the table making notes on her yellow pad. The crew sat around the table drinking coffee ready to listen to Blaine dish out their orders for the day.

  “Jesse is off today. He has personal business, so we’ll be short a man. Georgie Deleon lawyered up, and so did Sal Lara. Deleon is being arraigned this morning and Luke and Fletch will be on him like glue in the surveillance unit. We have ears on the clubhouse and on his residence.”

  “Copy that, boss,” said Fletch.

  “The thing is, a call came into Austin PD last night. Lieutenant Lopez is always in the loop with what we’re working on and he sent the call to us. Two girls didn’t come home from shopping last evening and Georgie was in the lockup when that happened. Don’t know if it was the Cobras or if we have more than one gang on the same gig. Lil and Rob will go talk to the parents of the missing girls and see if we can get a handle on it.”

  Lil nodded her blonde head.

  “I’ll be at the LBJ Building talking to the guy Misty ID’d as having something to do with Congressman Flaherty’s murder.”

  “Is he high up the money mountain like she pictured him?” asked Luke.

  “State Comptroller’s office,” said Blaine. “High enough.”

  “Misty is fuckin amazing,” said Luke. “You going alone, boss?”

  “Have to. Jesse is away today, and Dillon won’t be back until next Monday.”

  “I can go, boss.” Travis was pouring himself a coffee and listening to the briefing. “Dec is here with Annie while she rests. She’s secure in the compound, and we’re not going back to Coulter-Ross until tonight.”

  “Okay,” said Blaine. “That solves the problem. Let’s get going. Everybody have a good day.”

  9:00 a.m.

  Austin Courthouse.

  LUKE and Fletcher parked where they had a bird’s eye view of the front door of the courthouse. They’d been there about ten minutes when four bikes pulled into the parking lot. The riders killed their engines and sat astride their Harleys waiting.

  “Picking up the boss,” said Fletcher.

  “Looks like it.”

  A few minutes later Georgie Deleon and Sal Lara swaggered out the front door. They spotted the bikes in the parking area and cut across the grass. Each of them hopped on behind one of the Cobras and the bikers started their engines.

  “Here we go,” said Luke. “This might be interesting.”

  “Hope so,” said Fletcher.

  9:15 a.m.

  LBJ Building. Austin.

  BLAINE signed in at reception on the first floor and made inquiries as to where he might find a man named Arlie Theriault in a building where thousands of people worked.

  “Do you have an appointment?” asked the middle-aged woman peering over her glasses. She rolled her eyes at Blaine’s long hair and leather jacket.

  “This is a police matter, ma’am. I’m going to see Mr. Theriault with or without an appointment, so just tell me where to find him.”

  “Perhaps I should have someone from security escort you.”

  “And why would I need an escort, ma’am?” asked Blaine. “I have Major Bristol with me. I’m sure he can fight off any ambushes along the way.”

  “Mr. Theriault is an assistant to the Deputy Comptroller. You’ll find him on the twelfth floor in Mr. Pickard’s office.”

  “Thank you.”

  Pickard’s office was at the end of the corridor on the twelfth floor and when they arrived there, another receptionist blocked their path and had to be dealt with. “Mr. Theriault, please,” said Blaine using his patient voice.

  Wanting to smile but trying not to, Travis stood silently by his boss’s side waiting for the fuse to blow.

  “I’m sorry, sir. Mr. Theriault is in a meeting. Did you have an appointment?” She glanced at the cred pack in front of her on the desk. “Ranger Blackmore, I’m afraid you’ll have to return another day when Mr. Theriault’s schedule isn’t so full.”

  “Where’s the meeting?” Blaine barked out the question like a rabid dog and the woman didn’t back down. She didn’t even flinch.

  She smiled and didn’t answer the question. Blonde and chunky, she looked ready to block the door bodily from all comers.

  Blaine tapped his finger on the desk. “If you don’t go get Theriault for me, I’m going to open every door on this floor and holler bloody murder until I fuckin find him.”

  She grabbed for her landline. “No, you’re not. I’m calling the police.”

  “Lady, I am the police and in two seconds I’m going to arrest you for obstruction.”

  She laughed. “You can’t do that.”

  “Cuff her Travis.”

  Travis pulled a pair of cuffs off his belt and made a motion towards blondie.

  She eyed the cuffs and lost a little of her color. “Okay, I’ll go get him for you, but I don’t like disturbing meetings.”

  “Too bad,” snapped Blaine. “I don’t like dead bodies but that don’t make them disappear.”

  Blondie crossed the huge office to a closed door and stuck her head in. A couple of minutes passed. She returned to her desk, then the door opened and a tall, slim man in a blue/gray suit came out looking pissed at the world.

  “Mr. Theriault?” asked Blaine.

  “Yes, and you are?”

  “Ranger Blaine Blackmore from Violent Crime. I’d like you to accompany me to headquarters for an interview.”

  Theriault squinted his eyes like he had trouble seeing Blaine. “I recognize you now and I’ll do no such thing, young man. I have a full schedule today and I can’t leave the building.”

  Blaine tilted his head and Travis cuffed Theriault’s wrist, pulled his arm behind him and cuffed his hands together. “Let’s go, sir.”

  “This is outrageous. Am I under arrest?”

  “You are,” said Blaine. “Suspicion of conspiracy to commit murder.”

  Theriault smiled. “And who am I suspected of killing?”

  “Congressman Flaherty.”

  Theriault paled slightly but put up a good front. “Ridiculous. I want to call my attorney.”

  “You will have a chance to do that at headquarters, sir. Come with us.”

  “And if I refuse?”

  “Why would you?” asked Blaine. “If you haven’t committed a crime you should be able to clear this up quickly.”

  “I suppose that’s true.”

  Travis took Theriault’s arm and escorted him to the elevator.

  9:30 a.m.

  Hyde Park Area. Austin.

  THE two missing girls lived in the Hyde Park area and they’d walked over to the shopping mall a few blocks from where they lived. They never returned.

  These two were younger than the target victims at the outlet mall. Marissa Evely was fourteen and Juanita Soler was fifteen. They lived on the same street and were best friends since elementary school.

  Rob Vicars knocked on the door with his creds in his hand and Lily stood at his side. Lily had called ahead to the homes of both missing girls and the parents knew they were coming.

  A Hispanic lady in her thirties opened the door to them holding a tissue to her face.

  “Mrs. Soler?” asked Lily. “We’re from the Blackmore Agency.”

  She nodded and motioned for them to come in. She pointed to a sitting room to the left of the front door and Lily led the way. She sat on the sofa and pulled a notebook out of her purse.

  Lil asked all the standard questions and Mrs. Soler offered nothing more than she’d already told the police.

  “Do you have recent pictures of your daughter?” asked Rob.
>
  Mrs. Soler found a couple of pictures of Juanita and Lil wrote down a detailed physical description. Not much. A pretty young girl in her second year of high school.

  They moved down the street to Marissa Evely’s house and the interview was a carbon copy. The parents knew nothing except their girls went to the mall and never returned. They wanted them back.

  10:00 a.m.

  Ranger Headquarters. Austin.

  BLAINE and Travis brought Theriault to headquarters and placed him in interrogation room one.

  “You go on back to Annie,” said Blaine. “I’ve got the interview covered. I think the Chief is going to sit in on it.”

  Travis left and Blaine tapped on Calhoun’s door. “We picked up Arlie Theriault, Chief. Want to meet him?”

  “He’s from the State Comptroller’s office?”

  “Yep. He was in a meeting when we rousted him.”

  “Let’s see what he’s got to say for himself.” Calhoun led the way into the interrogation room and introduced himself. “Mr. Theriault, I’m Chief Calhoun.”

  “Nice to meet you, Chief. I think I’ve seen you on TV a couple of times.”

  “How well did you know Congressman Dan Flaherty?” asked the Chief.

  “I don’t believe I ever met him,” said Theriault.

  “Perhaps you only talked to him through emails,” said Blaine.

  Theriault shook his head. “I don’t think so. I never met the man.”

  “That’s odd,” said Blaine. “I have his computer and there are several dozen emails to your office at various times before his murder.”

  “He was murdered?” asked Theriault trying to sound surprised.

  “Who did you hire to kill the Congressman, Mr. Theriault?” asked Blaine. “You might as well tell me because I’m going to find out anyway.”

  “I didn’t kill anyone,” said Theriault, “and I didn’t hire anyone either.”

  “I have a witness who told me you were connected to Dan Flaherty’s murder.”

  “Your witness is lying,” said Theriault. “I want to call my attorney. I have rights.”

  “You do,” said the Chief, “and as soon as you are booked, your phone call will be arranged.”

  “I don’t want to be booked on a trumped up suspicion charge. That means I’ll have a criminal record and I’ll lose my job.”

  “Maybe you should have thought about losing your job before you began your little scheme to rip off the Texas taxpayers.”

  Chief Calhoun stepped out of the room and Blaine followed. “What do we have on him besides Misty’s sketch?”

  “Nothing yet.”

  “Damn,” said the Chief. “I can hold him until morning, but you better come up with something fast.”

  10:30 a.m.

  Lazzaro, Johnson and Simic. Dallas.

  JESSE rode in the passenger seat all the way to Dallas listening to the country station and Tyler never said a single word. He still hadn’t broken his silence as they sat in comfortable leather chairs thumbing through old magazines in the firm’s well-appointed waiting area.

  The blonde secretary called Tyler’s name. “Mr. Simic will see you now, Mr. Quantrall. I’ll show you to his office.”

  Tyler rose to his feet, took a deep breath and he and Jesse followed her down the long hallway to an office halfway along. She opened the door and said, “Mr. Quantrall is here, sir.”

  Dorsay Simic stood up and walked around his huge mahogany desk to shake Tyler’s hand. A stocky man, solidly built with silver hair and a golfer’s tan, he had a friendly smile and a welcoming demeanor. “Wonderful to meet you, Mr. Quantrall, and is this your brother? You look a lot alike.”

  “I’m Jesse Quantrall, sir. Nice to meet you too.”

  “Sit down. I told Margie to bring us some coffee while we sort this out.”

  “I hope you can sort it out,” said Tyler. “I don’t know if you’ll be able to.”

  Simic sat down behind his desk and shuffled through a sheaf of papers. “I obtained a copy of the Santa Fe police report and I’ve read the reports of both officers who were first to the scene, but I’d like you to tell me in your own words exactly what you remember.”

  “Okay. I can do that.” Tyler sat on the edge of his chair and took a deep breath before he started. “After the meeting with the architect, I played poker at the casino the rest of the day. Annie and Travis played until around midnight, then left ahead of me and went back to the apartment.”

  “Tell me who the players are,” said Simic. He picked up a pen ready to write.

  “Annie is my wife. We’re in the middle of a divorce and Mr. Lazzaro is handling it.”

  “Okay, I’ll get an update from Stefan when I get a minute.”

  “Travis Bristol is Annie’s bodyguard.”

  “Your wife has a bodyguard?”

  “My wife is Annie Powell,” said Tyler.

  “You’re charged with trying to kill Annie Powell of Powell Corp?” asked Simic when he put it together. “Jesus Christ, man, give me a minute.” Simic took a few deep breaths. “Your trial will be a national event, Mr. Quantrall. We can’t let this go to trial.”

  “I thought of that,” said Jesse. “The media would have a field day.”

  “Go ahead Mr. Quantrall, can I call you Tyler?”

  Tyler nodded. “So… Annie and Travis went to the apartment when Annie got tired. I was on a winning streak and I said I’d take a cab. A couple hours later, I cashed out and got a cab in front of the casino. The driver dropped me off at Annie’s Antique store—her apartment is upstairs—I used the outside staircase and she left the door open for me.”

  “Okay, you came to the apartment and you were drunk,” said Simic. “Then what did you do.”

  “I was supposed to sleep in the spare room because we’re getting a divorce and I was only there to talk to the architect,” said Tyler, “but I wanted to sleep with my wife.”

  “Okay.” Simic made a note.

  “I opened Annie’s bedroom door and she woke up when I walked in. She told me to go sleep in the spare room.”

  “And.”

  “And, that’s when Travis woke up and told me to go sleep where I was supposed to sleep. We had a fight and I can remember hitting him with a lamp. When he fell on the floor, I grabbed Annie, pushed her into the bedroom and threw her on the bed. I guess I was choking her when Travis pulled me off and beat me senseless.”

  “You guess you were choking her?” Simic tapped one of the reports on his desk. “The report from the ambulance crew says Mrs. Powell wasn’t breathing when they arrived.”

  Jesse sat with his head in his hands.

  “I don’t remember it clearly,” said Tyler. “I didn’t mean to hurt her. I love Annie.”

  “There are pictures of her injuries,” said Simic. “Are you leaving anything out?”

  “Don’t think so,” said Tyler.

  “There is one other thing you should know, sir,” said Jesse. “When we were all in Vegas for my wedding on New Year’s Eve, Tyler was my best man. He had a lot to drink and he… got angry with Annie and they had an altercation.”

  “Did you get physical with her at that time?” asked Simic.

  Tyler nodded. “I didn’t mean to. It just happened.”

  “How badly was she hurt?”

  “Her face was black and blue, and her leg was badly bruised where he kicked her,” said Jesse.

  “In other words, he beat her up,” said Simic. His eyes widened. “Was he charged then too?”

  “No, Blacky didn’t press charges because Annie insisted she didn’t want to ruin my wedding weekend, but…”

  “I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop,” said Simic.

  “But Annie’s son took pictures of all her injuries.”

  “The son you’re referring to wouldn’t be Ranger Blaine Blackmore-Powell would it?”

  “Yes, sir. Blacky has the pictures.”

  “Okay.” Simic was on his feet and pacing. “The previous
beating sets a pattern and we can’t say you made a one-time only mistake. That’s out. There is only one way we can go with this, Tyler. You have to plead guilty to a lesser charge and take whatever the Santa Fe DA’s office hands you.”

  “Can’t you defend me in court and get me off?” asked Tyler.

  “In my opinion,” said Simic, “if you stand trial—and it will be a huge media trial—you will receive a far harsher sentence than if we plead you down and take a lesser penalty.”

  “What would be the time he’d do if he took a plea?” asked Jesse.

  “That would be up to the deal we made with the prosecutor,” said Simic. “But to my way of thinking it would be far less than what he would get if found guilty by a jury. With the previous injuries inflicted on Mrs. Powell, and the paramedics’ testimony that she’d stopped breathing, I’m guessing if he went to trial he’d be looking at minimum fifteen years and probably more.”

  Tyler dropped his head onto his chest looking ill.

  11:30 a.m.

  Giddings Medical Clinic.

  MARNIE came out of the doctor’s office with the test results in her hand. She was happy and excited that she was pregnant with Jesse’s child and couldn’t wait to tell him, but the nausea hadn’t passed in late morning like it had other days.

  “I wonder if I can make it home without throwing up?” She slid behind the wheel of her Mustang and drove out of the parking lot heading towards route seventy-seven.

  Only about ten more miles to go and Marnie knew she wasn’t going to make it all the way home. She eased up on the gas and started to pull over when her breakfast came up so fast she didn’t have time think.

  No way she was going to puke in her beautiful new car, so she opened the driver’s door, leaned to her left and hurled on the road. Horns honked and she cranked the wheel and drove straight into a deep ditch on the right hand side of the highway.

  On impact, the airbag inflated and hit her in the face. She moaned in pain and couldn’t get out from under it. Marnie stretched out her right arm and felt around on the passenger seat for her purse. She stuck her hand in and blindly groped around until she felt her cell phone.

  11:45 a.m.