Snakebit

by Linsey Lanier

  She climbed through the window and hurried to his side, bypassing Duval and the bodiless snakeheads that were immobile but still lethal. She wanted to bury herself in his arms, and didn’t even care if Wesson was there to see it.

  But as she reached him, their minds went to the same place. Clarence.

  “We’ve got to get a cell connection,” they all said together.

  While the police took care of Eileen, the snakeheads, and got ready to transport Duval to the hospital, she and Parker retrieved Wesson and hurried out to find Labatte. They had to get to a phone.

  Would they be able to get hold of someone in Atlanta in time? Miranda didn’t know, but they had to try.

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Dr. Clarence Boudreaux sat in the small cell of the Death House. He’d been transported to the facility by van at seven p.m. the previous evening.

  A guard had explained the process to him. He would be given a last meal of his choice and a chance to consult with a minister. At the appointed time he would be taken to the death chamber, strapped to a gurney, and given the lethal injections. He had barely listened. It all seemed like a dream, like an out-of-body experience. Charmaine’s sister would be there to witness his execution. He’d be given a chance to address her.

  What could he say to her? That he was innocent? That he was sorry? He hadn’t killed Charmaine, but if only he had never brought Ozzie into their home. Perhaps for that mistake, this punishment was fitting.

  He felt pressure on his leg. “Clarence? Did you hear me?”

  He turned his head and gazed into the solemn eyes of his attorney, who had been with him here for the last half hour. “I’m sorry. No, I didn’t.”

  “I said, based on what was revealed under hypnosis during your session with Dr. Wingate, I’ve sent the Board of Pardons and Paroles a request for clemency.”

  “And?”

  “Unfortunately they just rejected it. But I’ve sent an appeal to the United States Supreme Court. They should have a decision soon.”

  And why should that outcome be different?

  He thought of that hypnosis session and wished he’d never consented to it. It had been pointless. It had been like a dream. A very bad dream. Though the images in his head, the emotions piercing his heart had seemed so real, they couldn’t possibly be. They were the imaginations of a child.

  He had never had a brother.

  And if he did, what kind of a brother had he turned out to be? It was agony. The sense of emptiness from hope that had been dashed over and over was truly a cruel and unusual punishment. And so was this waiting.

  If only they would just get it over with.

  He would be glad to leave this life. He hoped to see Charmaine again on the other side. He longed to take her in his arms and say he was sorry for all the pain he’d caused her.

  He wished it were over. And yet, deep down, he was as afraid as that little child he’d once been long ago. The one whose mother had abandoned him.

  That part of the dream, he knew, was true.

  Antonio Estavez was speaking again. This time to a guard. He had his back to him and a phone in his hand.

  When the guard took it from him, he turned around, his white teeth glistening with a smile.

  Clarence felt his chest tighten. Could it be? Could it possibly be?

  His attorney sat down and took both his hands in his.

  “What is it?”

  “They’ve done it.”

  “What?”

  “Señor Parker and Miranda have done it. They found your brother in New Orleans. He confessed to it all. He killed Charmaine.”

  Clarence held onto the attorney’s hands to steady himself. He felt dizzy. Was he dreaming? Had the wish he’d hoped for so long been granted?

  “I do have a brother?”

  Estavez nodded. “An identical twin. It was his DNA at the crime scene. Señor Parker was able to contact his acquaintances on the Board of Pardons and Paroles early this morning. The board heard his and Miranda’s testimony. They have reversed the death order. They’ve acquitted you. You’re free, Clarence. You’re free.”

  His head rang with the words. It was true. Somehow his friends had worked a miracle. He was free.

  With the attorney’s hands still clasped around his own, at last Clarence dared to smile.

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Three days later Miranda stood with Parker and Clarence at Charmaine’s grave site in Saint Simon’s cemetery. Inside the iron gates, with the old headstones of the city’s founding fathers and mothers surrounding them, the mood was solemn.

  “This is the first time I’ve been able to visit her,” Clarence said in his quiet way.

  “I’m glad you could,” Parker told him.

  For a long while Clarence stood silently staring down at the simple inscription. The weather had turned cool and the surrounding oak and pine trees rustled around them as if mourning his losses with him.

  Pulling his lightweight coat around him against the breeze, at last the doctor drew in a breath. “And so my brother is—gone?”

  “Yes. I’m so sorry.” Parker’s voice was filled with genuine feeling.

  Jean-Baptiste Boudreaux Duval had died of anaphylactic shock from snakebite wounds at Tulane hospital at five a.m. the morning after the incident in the hut in the marshes. The same hospital where he and Clarence had been born forty-three years ago. The venom raging through his system, he expired in utter agony, cursing the doctors and nurses who were trying to save his life, and screaming at the top of his lungs that he had murdered his brother’s wife and was glad his brother would be executed for it.

  The police had heard it, too. More witnesses to prove Clarence was innocent.

  Miranda and Parker had explained everything that had happened in New Orleans and what they’d learned about his family to Clarence when they met him with Estavez shortly after his release from prison. He’d taken in the details, nodding, eyes wide. It wasn’t a pretty narrative, and he hadn’t processed it all yet. That would take a while. He’d mentioned making an appointment with both Dr. Wingate and the rector of St. Simon’s.

  On a happier note, Eileen Boyd had been reunited with her family. Detective Labatte had contacted them at Eileen’s request as soon as he’d returned to his station on North Rampart Street. The family had flown to New Orleans on the first plane out to see their little girl. It turned out Eileen’s mother had been looking for her daughter ever since she left home.

  The rest of the family had been convinced Eileen was dead, but her mother had never given up hope. It was a sweet moment to see them hugging each other, one Miranda related to deeply and would always remember.

  The story had inspired Labatte to begin setting up a nonprofit organization to reunite runaways with their families. The case had served to spark new life into the tired old detective. Miranda had come to like the man. She was glad for him.

  Blinking back tears, Clarence stared off toward the church building with its gothic spires. He shook his head in disbelief. “How could I be so closely related to such a monster?”

  Parker touched his arm. “It’s not your fault, Clarence.”

  Miranda had a sudden revelation. “Dr. Boudreaux, I’m sure you’re familiar with the debate of nature versus nurture?”

  Looking puzzled he turned to her. “Yes. Whether what you are comes from inside you or whether it’s due to how you were raised.”

  “In your case, you may have shared the same DNA with your brother, but it was nature that made the difference between you and him. It was how you were raised and the choices you made that made you each who you are.”

  Gazing at her with those gentle brown eyes, slowly he nodded. “I will have to ponder that. Thank you, Miranda. It helps.”

  She was glad.

  He turned back to the grave. “I only hope she forgives me.”

  “I’m sure she does.”

  Miranda wondered why the innocent so often felt guilty, while the guilty rarely did.
Perhaps because it was only the good who had the capacity for guilt. Another revelation. Suddenly, she wanted to talk to Mackenzie.

  “What will you do now?” Parker asked.

  “Jackson has been in touch. He talked about starting a research project to carry on Charmaine’s legacy, so to speak. I might like to spend the rest of my days in Asia and Australia, I think.”

  Miranda watched his face brighten as he spoke. “That’s wonderful,” she said.

  “The research in Charmaine’s field has progressed rapidly over the past decade, but there is always more to discover, more cures to find.”

  “She would have wanted that.”

  “Yes, I think so.” The doctor took their hands in his, his eyes filling with tears once more as he squeezed them. “Thank you, Wade. Thank you, Miranda. Thank you both for giving me back my life.”

  Parker smiled tenderly. “Our pleasure.”

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  They dropped Clarence off at his new apartment on Peachtree Street where he was settling in for the time being, and headed back to the office.

  As they were riding down Lenox, with the tall city buildings on either side, Parker reached across the seat and took Miranda’s hand. He pressed her fingers to his mouth in a heartfelt kiss.

  Her heart fluttered. “What’s that for?”

  “I can’t tell you how grateful I am for all you did on this case.” His tone was low and intense.

  But he made her smile. “I’m glad it turned out so well. We saved him.”

  “Yes.” Parker laid her hand on her lap, still holding it. “When I saw you jump onto that Catamaran—If I had lost you over my friend’s case, a case I asked you to work—I don’t think I could have ever forgiven myself.” He grew quiet.

  Guilt could strike indiscriminately. She was feeling it, too. She’d risked her own life and Wesson’s by assuming it would be easy to take down Baptiste.

  But as Dr. Wingate always told her, they should look for the silver lining. The good in all the horrors they’d faced. “We saved him, Parker. That’s the best part. And a lot of young women, too.”

  Most of the girls who had worked for Duval wanted to get out of the life. Many of them were going back to their families with Labatte’s help.

  “True. And I want you to know I’m proud of you. You were amazing on this case.”

  She felt her cheeks go red. His compliments always made her blush. “Thanks. Wesson was great, too.”

  He nodded. “Detective Wesson did outstanding work. She’ll be rewarded for it.”

  “She’s getting a bonus? She’ll probably buy a new wardrobe.”

  Wesson had cried when Miranda told her Clarence had been declared innocent of his wife’s murder. Her cohort wasn’t as shallow as she’d thought. She’d have to swear her to secrecy about whatever bonus Parker had in mind, though. Wesson had told her Holloway was furious with her for not taking him with them to New Orleans.

  “Perhaps she will,” Parker agreed. “And perhaps we should take a little time off. The trees are starting to turn. We could go back to our old spot in the North Georgia Mountains.”

  She’d grown to love that place. It was gorgeous in the fall. “Yeah. I’d say it’s about time for a little R and R.”

  The words were no sooner out of her mouth than her cell went off. She reached for it, about to set it to mute when she saw the call was from Colby.

  She answered, and the woman began talking at high speed without even saying hello.

  “I know you’re on a case, but—”

  “The case is over. I was going to get in touch—”

  “Oh, Miranda. I don’t know what to do.”

  Her chest tightened. “What’s wrong?”

  “Mackenzie’s been suspended from school for vaping.”

  Miranda’s stomach dropped down to her knees. She should have told Colby what she’d seen at the school last week. “We need to talk to her about that.”

  “It’s more than that.” Colby sounded frantic. “Last night I let her go over to Wendy’s house. I had a feeling I shouldn’t have said yes. It was a school night. But Mackenzie said she wanted to study for a big test with Wendy.”

  “And they weren’t studying?”

  “They were with boys. Two of them. And there was more vaping. Plus they got into Shelby’s liquor cabinet. They went through a whole bottle of Jack Daniels. The girls were sick all night. Mackenzie insisted on going to school this morning, but the principal called an hour ago and said she was being suspended. I just brought her home. Oh, Miranda. Can you come over and talk to her?”

  Overhearing the conversation, Parker gave her a nod.

  “Parker’s with me. We’re on the way.”

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Twenty minutes later they were sitting under the chandelier on the ice blue sofa in the grand and luxurious living room of the Chatham estate off West Paces Ferry. In a matching chair, the stately Colby Chatham sat, hands clasped together in her lap, staring at them in stunned confusion.

  She wore a refined camel-and-oatmeal outfit with several glistening layers of delicate gold around her neck. The ensemble was meant for casual wear but looked regal on her. Her short dark gray hair seemed grayer and her usually placid face was lined with worry.

  “I don’t know what to do.” She gestured to a device on the coffee table.

  On the middle of the glass lay a small, deep blue stick the size of a pen. It had a mouthpiece, a clear tube, and a plastic cylinder that looked perfectly innocent. Sort of.

  “It’s supposed to have a nicotine solution, which is bad enough,” Colby explained. “But the principal thinks she’s been using marijuana with it. My God.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “They’ve suspended her for three days. They want her to go for drug testing. They won’t let her back in school until she does.”

  Dear Lord.

  Colby put her hand to her mouth, her eyes filling with tears. “I don’t know what to do,” she said again. “I just don’t know what to do.”

  Parker picked up the e-cig, turned it over in his hand. “It doesn’t have a compartment for oil.” He sniffed it. “I don’t think she was using drugs with it. We can test it at the lab, if you like.”

  “That would help. Thank you, Wade.”

  Talk about guilt, Miranda thought miserably. This was all because of her. Her and her past. It was haunting her daughter, tearing her apart.

  That was, if she knew about her past. “Where is she?”

  “Upstairs in her room. I sent her there to think about all this.”

  “Can I see her?”

  “Of course.”

  Miranda rose and hurried through the tall arch on the opposite side of the room and up the curving staircase to Mackenzie’s room.

  In the elegant hallway, softly she knocked on the door.

  No answer.

  She opened the door and stepped inside.

  The room had a feminine feel, done in lilac and rose shades with pictures of flowers and posters of a girl singer on the wall who Miranda didn’t recognize. Mackenzie sat at a white desk, fixated on a computer screen as if Miranda weren’t there. She had on a pair of raggedy jeans—one of those crazy styles—and a loose fitting sweater of pink cashmere. Her rich dark hair fell to her shoulders, hiding her face.

  Colby and Oliver must have given her back her computer. Miranda bet it had a lot of parental controls on it.

  “Hey, kid,” she said in a breezy voice as she plopped down on the bed. “I hear you got suspended from school.”

  No response.

  Miranda forced out a laugh. “I remember when I got kicked out for three days when I was fifteen. I was smoking in the john and some hoity-toity goodie-two-shoes ratted me out. My mother just about killed me.”

  Actually she’d beaten her with a belt and locked her in a closet for the night. She’d been in one of her better moods. But at least Miranda had never smoked after that.

  That got Mackenzie to turn around.<
br />
  Her expression was anything but welcoming. “What do you want, Mother?” she said as if Miranda had come to take her to the dentist for an extraction.

  Looking into her daughter’s eyes, as blue as her own, all Miranda’s defenses melted away. She sat up, smoothed her slacks. “I want to tell you something.”

  “What?”

  “Have you heard of Dr. Clarence Boudreaux?”

  She shook her head.

  “He was a childhood friend of Parker’s. He was wrongly convicted of killing his wife. We just proved he was innocent.”

  “That’s good.” She didn’t sound very interested.

  “You know who did it?”

  She lifted a shoulder in teenage disinterest.

  “His identical twin brother.”

  Now she came alive. “Wow.”

  “Yeah. We found him in New Orleans. He ran a riverboat casino and a prostitution ring. He was a crime lord in the area.”

  “Wow,” she said again. “And you caught him?”

  “More or less. He confessed to the murder and a few others. He won’t be giving anyone any trouble again.” She didn’t want to go into the graphic details. “So see?” She raised her hands.

  Mackenzie frowned. “See what?”

  “The twins were separated when they were one year old. Dr. Boudreaux’s father remarried and Clarence was raised by two good people. He became a successful herpetologist. His brother was raised by his mother, who married a criminal and became one herself.”

  “O—kay. Glad you got the good guy off.”

  Miranda studied her daughter’s body language. The twist in the corner of her mouth. The shift of her slender body in her chair. The sneakered foot toeing the thick carpet.

  Did she know about her father? Or was her rebellious behavior just teenage hormones? Despite all her detective instincts, Miranda honestly couldn’t tell.

  “But that’s just it,” she continued. “Dr. Boudreaux, our client, turned out to be the good guy because he was nurtured and well taken care of, like you’ve been with the Chathams. His brother—wasn’t, so he turned out bad. I’m not saying he wasn’t responsible for his choices. I’m just saying he had an environment that influenced him. Nurture over nature. See what I mean?”