The Devil's Snare: a Mystery Suspense Thriller (Derek Cole Suspense Thrillers Book 4) (7 page)

Nikkie said, “It doesn’t give us a ton of time ff we only have three days and Monday morning to run this investigation.”

“More like six days. Three from me and three from you.”

“Makes sense. So, what’s our first step?”

Derek said, “Since the tab is still open and you’re not drinking, I think our next step is another scotch. You make an excellent designated driver.”

“I meant the next step in our investigation.”

“Bo’s out on bail, right?”

Nikkie said, “Yes. His dad got him out on half a million dollar bond. Crown texted me right before we sat down with Mr. Personality. She’s with him now at his house.”

“Text her back. Tell her you need to meet with Bo no later than eight tomorrow morning. Tell her she’s more than welcome to sit in during your interview with him. That will make her happy and will keep her from trying to figure out what I’ll be doing.”

“And what exactly will you be doing?”

“Digging where I’m not supposed to dig.”

Crown opened the front door of her son’s house, letting Nikkie inside. She could tell that Crown had been crying, an act Nikkie wasn’t certain Crown was capable of.

“He’s in the shower,” Crown said. “He’ll be out in about ten minutes, which gives us just enough time to talk about what you and Derek found out so far.”

“We met with your ex last evening,” Nikkie began, then was cut short by Crown,

“Not about your meeting with shithead; I want to know what you two found out about the case against my son.”

Derek and Nikkie had agreed to not tell Crown their decision to split the investigation. Derek assumed Nikkie would find some reason to object and demand that both he and Nikkie spend every waking hour hunting down clues. What they didn’t agree on was what Nikkie should tell Crown.

“There’s a lot of ground work that needs to be done,” Nikkie began. “Derek and I spent most of last night planning our approach.”

“In other words,” Crown said, “Cole got into some cheap ass bottle of scotch while you sat around wondering if he has the hots for you.”

“Only partially correct. Derek was drinking scotch but only after we finished meeting with your ex. We decided…”

“Hold your ass a second,” Crown interrupted. “Scotch boy isn’t here but you are, which tells me something happened during your sit down with Louis yesterday.”

“Your ex-husband is quite an interesting character,” Nikkie said.

“And Derek thinks he knows something and isn’t talking, right?”

Somewhat amazed at Crown’s ability to figure her and Derek’s plan out after only a few words, Nikkie said, “Derek is investigating to see if there’s any connection between the fire, the victims, your son and your ex. I’m here to meet with your son and figure out where the ground investigation should begin.”

Crown folded her arms across her ample breasts, stared at Nikkie, then said, “That’s what I hoped you two would do. Something’s not kosher with Louis and how quickly he started talking about a plea bargain.”

“I’m actually surprised with your reaction,” Nikkie said. “Derek and I thought you’d be pissed we aren’t both working at finding something to get your son vindicated.”

“Louis is a dirty lawyer. Anyone with half a brain could figure that out. If Derek starts digging, he’s going to find a pile of shit that stinks from here to Alaska. I just hope he doesn’t chase too many rabbits down their rabbit holes. And trust me, there’s a shit-load of rabbits to chase in Louis’s past.”

Crown poured Nikkie a cup of coffee, then offered her a bowl of Cheerios. Shrugging her shoulders, she said, “What can I say? Bo’s a bachelor. It’s Cheerios or yogurt that’s probably been in his fridge since two thousand and nine.”

Passing on breakfast, Nikkie sat at the kitchen island, pulled her laptop out of her carry bag and waited for Bo. When Bo walked into the kitchen, Nikkie could tell he was battling some seriously strong demons. His shortly cropped brown hair looked as if it hadn’t seen a brush in a few days, his face was darkened by stubble and his eyes seemed to be covered with a haze. He was taller than she’d expected, easily six foot two. Bo’s thin waist, broad shoulders and muscular arms would have made him a candidate for top billing in any fireman’s calendar. His deep, brown eyes suggested that Bo would find few challenges in the dating department.
 

Bo, still feeling the pain in his injured backside, limped closer to Nikkie, extended his hand, then, without emotion, said, “I didn’t do it. I didn’t start that fire and I didn’t kill Mack and his mom. You need to help me. You need to figure out who is framing me.”

“That’s why I’m here, Bo,” Nikkie said. “To find out exactly what happened.”

“My mom tells me you’re the smart one at the detective agency.”

Flashing a brief smile towards Crown, Nikkie said, “Derek Cole is one of the best, most dedicated private investigators I have ever known.”

“Then why isn’t he here?” Bo asked.

“He’s working in the field,” Nikkie responded.

Crown said, “He’s digging up dirt on your father. That should keep him busy for the rest of his life.”

“Why the hell is he investigating my dad? He had nothing to do with any of this.”

Nikkie was excellent at handling difficult situations. Over the next several minutes, she summarized the meeting she and Derek had with Bo’s father and explained that while neither she nor Derek suspected Louis Randall to have played a role in the arson, they were still curious why he was so quick to rush to working out a plea with the DA and not trying to find out if someone was indeed framing his son.

“I don’t suppose you met with the DA or the sheriff’s office?” Bo asked.

“They usually won’t meet with private investigators. So, no, we haven’t met with them.”

“Well, do you know all the evidence they have against me? I mean, shit, if it wasn’t me in this situation, I’d say I did the crime.”

“Let’s start there, okay? With the evidence they have pinning you to the arson. Tell me everything they have on you.”

It didn’t take Bo long to go over the key incriminating evidence. As he detailed the case against him, Nikkie noticed that Bo seemed to be utterly distant. Like he was recalling details about a book he had read several years ago. To Nikkie, Bo seemed totally lost. “You’re saying everything like it’s all foreign to you. Yet, and pardon me for saying this, every bit of evidence puts you in the perpetrator’s position. Every last thing.”

“That’s because I can’t remember anything about the whole night. I mean, I remember going out to dinner, drinking a few beers…”

“More than a few, Boregard. More than a few,” Crown interjected.

Displaying the first bit of emotion, Bo snapped at Crown, saying, “Let’s not start that again, mom. I drink, yes, so sue me.”

“Don’t take that tone with me,” Crown fired back. “You drink way too much. That’s what got you into this shit-mess in the first place.”

Nikkie raised her hands to calm Crown and Bo, and continued. “Okay, so all you can remember is going out to eat, drinking a few beers then waking up the next morning. Correct?”

“And sitting on a three-inch Buck knife. I remember that pretty fucking clearly.”

“The knife the police say you purchased and you taped to the inside of your couch?”

“The one and only,” Bo said. “Want to see the hole in my ass it left?”

“Not necessary.”
 

Over the next thirty minutes, Bo shared everything he could remember about the night of the fire, about his relationship with Brian Mack, the fire department and everything else he felt might, in some way, make sense of everything. He shared his theories, most of which were too bizarre for even him to give any credence to. But a few sparked Nikkie’s interest.

“So,” Nikkie started, “you admit to using cocaine on a very occasional basis and you’re certain that your most recent acquisition of cocaine should have lasted you several months?”

“I’m not proud of using the shit,” Bo said, throwing a sideways glance at Crown. “I’m far from being addicted to the stuff, so I really have no reason why I buy it and why I use it. But I know the last score I made should have lasted me through the summer and probably into fall.”

“But the bag of cocaine you say you kept in your office safe was not only laying out in full view on your desk, but was practically gone?” Nikkie confirmed.

“Hardly enough left for one line,” Bo said.

“Your last score? Enough for one line? Bo, you may not believe you’re an addict, but you sure as hell talk like one.” Crown knew her son had a problem with alcohol and she long suspected that beer proved to be a gateway drug for Bo. But hearing
 
her only child talking casually about a drug as dangerous and as addictive as cocaine, was becoming more than she could handle. “That shit will mess with your mind, make you do things you normally would never do.” Crown stood, grabbed Bo by both shoulders, and said directly to his face, “You look me right in the eye and tell me if you did drugs the day of the fire? And God help you if you say you don’t remember. Tell me, Bo. Tell me the truth!” Her voice bordered on screaming.

While the words never came out of his mother’s mouth, her saying that cocaine can make people do things they normally wouldn’t, was the same as if she said she didn’t believe Bo was innocent. Tears began to cloud Bo’s vision. He twisted his body free from his mother’s grasp, wiped his eyes then slumped against the kitchen wall till he was sitting on the tiled floor.
 
Sliding to the floor in the manner he did, reminded Bo of the knife wound and the continued pain. He winced in pain then twisted his body so that he was more leaning than sitting.
 

The fire that had burned a house practically to the ground and took the life of two people he knew and loved dearly, had only been extinguished less than two days ago. But, in those two days, Bo felt his life and everything he loved about it, was falling down a deep and dark hole. “I don’t know. I don’t think I did any, but, honestly, I don’t remember.”

“Cocaine stays in a body for two to four days,” Nikkie said, as calmly as she could. “Let’s get over to your doctor right now, have him or her draw your blood, and find out if you have any cocaine in your system.”

“Why?” Bo said, still sitting on the floor. “What the hell difference does it make if I did coke or didn’t?”

“Because if you didn’t use cocaine the night of the fire,” Nikkie said, standing up, closing the lid of her laptop and collecting her rental car keys, “then your story that someone is setting you up gains a whole lot more credibility.”

Bo struggled to return to his feet, vocalizing his discomfort with guttural gasps. When he felt steady on his feet, he said, “And by the way, not that it matters, but my doctor’s name is Amanda. Dr. Amanda Jefferson.”

“Well,” Crown said, “at least you have the good sense to see a woman doctor. At least something I taught you stuck with you.”

From inside his front pocket, Bo’s cell phone began to ring. He pulled it out, glanced at the caller ID, and said, “It’s dad. I’ll take this in my office. Be right with you.”

With that, he slid his finger across the phone’s screen, said, “Hey dad,” then his voice trailed off as he walked towards his home office. Once he closed the room’s door behind me, Crown and Nikkie could hear nothing from Bo’s end of the conversation.

“I raised him better than this, you know?” Crown said, her eyes fixed on Nikkie’s. “The drinking, the drugs, he got that shit from his father.”

“Louis uses drugs?” Nikkie asked, surprised.

“Can’t say for certain, but I know he’s big into his high-ass end scotch. Makes a big fucking deal of it, like his idiocy of spending forty dollars for a glass of alcohol proves his success in life. As for drug use? I wouldn’t be surprised. When we were first married, we didn’t have two dimes to rub together, but once his practice picked up, shit if he wouldn’t have gotten into cocaine for the prestige of it all.”

“Not much prestige in burning the lining of your nose, I’d believe. Not that I’m suggesting anything about Louis, but, it wouldn’t surprise me. He seemed a little wired when Derek and I met with him yesterday. He had trouble paying attention to our conversation. Eyes always darting back and forth.”

“That’s a habit he picked up after we were divorced,” Crown said. “Pissed me right off when he’d show more interest in some bimbo’s ass than whatever conversation he and I were discussing. Could be coke, I don’t know. I’m more leaning to his distraction just fitting in with his whole ass-wipe persona.”

A few minutes after he had left the kitchen, Bo returned; his face brighter, his complexion ruddier. “Let’s get this over with. Time to pee in a cup,” he said quickly.

“Actually, Bo,” Nikkie said, “pretty sure it will be a blood test and not a pee-in-a-cup type of thing.”

“Then I guess I’m ready to bleed a little. Still not sure why this whole thing matters, but, at this point, I’ll do anything to clear my name.”

“One last thing,” Nikkie said. “You said that the baggie of cocaine you found on your desk was almost empty. Less than a line left, I think you said.”

Bo glanced at Crown who was glaring at him. He dropped his wide shoulders, hung his head a few inches lower and said, “Yeah, what about it?”

“Where’s the baggie now?”

Bo said, “I put it back in the safe. After I sat on that knife in my couch and called the sheriffs, I figured I’d better not leave it out for them to catch a glimpse of. Why do you ask?”

“Wouldn’t hurt to have it checked out. The bag, that is. If someone was dipping into it, they might have left some prints behind.”

Bo said, “You actually want me to take a bag of cocaine with me to the sheriff’s office so they can dust for prints? Not sure how that will turn out.”

Nikkie said, “Not what I was thinking. Derek has a friend, a police chief north of Albany. I’ll ask Derek to contact him, see if he’d do us a favor and check out the bag for prints.” Nikkie retrieved her Moleskine notebook, jotted down a reminder, then said, “Why don’t you grab the bag for me? I’ll hold on to it.”

“You know if you’re caught with it, you’ll need to hire my dad. Maybe we could be cell mates.” The way Bo said it gave Nikkie pause. Bo was handsome and certainly held himself with the confidence one would expect someone with his looks to possess. Nikkie held no doubts about Bo’s ability to do well in the romance department. She thought that he was the type that never struggled to have a date for any night of the week. The type whose bed supported two people more often than one. But he was also a client; a client facing some serious jail time, whose life as he once knew it, was, more than likely, finished. Yet his playfully suggested tone of voice and the promising look etched across his face belonged to a man more interested in filling a need or satisfying a desire than one facing twenty to life.