Murder by Serpents (Five Star First Edition Mystery) (5 page)

“Where do we begin?” asked Wade. He shifted his weight back and forth, foot-to-foot, pacing in place.

Tony eyed the slumped figure in the driver’s seat. It blocked access to the rest of the car. “The passenger door.” Stepping up to it, he tested the handle. This door was locked. Without hesitation, Tony unlocked it with the ease of a professional thief. “We can at least see this snake, so I’ll open the door on your call, Stan.”

“Now.” The softly spoken command focused everyone’s attention.

Stan held the hook in his right hand and a snake bag in the left. He was all business as he focused on the first snake. “Okay, let’s do it, but slowly. We don’t want to scare the poor baby.”

Praying that Stan moved quicker than the snake, Tony worked the handle and pulled. He eased the door open. Even though he expected it, the hot air, carrying the aromas of death, seemed to rise as a cloud and hover around him until he turned his face into his left shoulder. The nylon smelled cool and sweet in comparison.

Next to him, Stan’s complexion turned green and gray, but he managed to concentrate long enough to lift the rattlesnake from the seat with the hook. With a gasp, Stan backed away from the car even as he tenderly eased the writhing serpent into the opening of the bag. He whispered sweet endearments to his prize. “Close the door.”

Tony did. The moment it shut, the men moved away, sucking in great gulps of clean air. Without a word, Wade turned and hustled over to a patch of weeds where he threw up what had to be both his breakfast and previous night’s dinner. He returned almost immediately, even though Tony thought that he did not appear to be a healthy young man.

“That’s the most awful . . .” Stan started to speak and had to stop. Suddenly he jogged away, holding the bag aloft, and his breakfast joined Wade’s.

When he returned, his face seemed less green but was still ashen. Tony watched the way his hands trembled as he wiped his face with a handkerchief before he tightened the drawstring on the snake bag and placed it on the ground.

“That can’t be normal.” Stan’s eyes watered and he wiped with the sleeve of his jacket.

“Oh, yeah?” Wade managed a one-sided grin, but his complexion was far from his usual shade of tan. “I do it all the time.”

“Not that, you big lout.” Stan punched the much larger, much younger man in the arm and grimaced and moaned as if he had broken his hand. “That.” He pointed to the car.

For his part, Doc Nash, who had followed only to watch the procedure, looked like he was thinking of early retirement, starting immediately. Any amusement on his part had vanished when the door opened. He began easing farther from the car.

“Hey Stan, your bag is on the move,” said Wade.

Tony guessed that his own color wasn’t normal either, but he was undecided whether it was from the aroma inside the car or from watching the bag with the rattlesnake in it moving toward him. It didn’t require a rocket scientist to see that a cotton laundry bag would provide no defense against fangs.

Stan lifted the bag as if it contained a treasure and moved it to the other side of the car. “Let’s get that copperhead, and then we can see if there are any more loose in there. If I wait much longer, I’ll never get my nerve back up. The snakes don’t bother me, but whatever is making that smell liked to do me in.” Taking a deep breath, he picked up his equipment.

The second snake proved to be harder to catch. They thought they saw it slip under the back seat, but then it couldn’t be found there. After several frustrating minutes that seemed much longer because of the smell, they decided to start emptying the car, hoping they would see it before it saw them. The first things they removed were a couple of latched crates that held other snakes, mostly rattlesnakes. Careful to keep them latched, the men stacked the boxes where they could keep an eye on them. One crate on the back seat was empty.

“I’ll bet this is the rattlesnake’s box.” Stan cast a professional eye over it and ran his hand over the smooth wood slats before he nodded his apparent approval. He lifted the unlatched lid of the crate next to it. A copperhead coiled and its tongue flickered busily. Closing it quickly, Stan latched the lid.

“You think it went back into its box?” Wade asked as he lifted that crate, holding it as far away from his body as he could manage, and placed it with the others.

“No way. Look, there it goes!” Stan dived back into the car like a duck going after a water bug. His voice was muffled as he said, “It went under the seat.”

Tony and Wade took one step back with drill team precision and watched the show. Hanging out the open door, Stan’s ample rear end wagged from side to side.

“Gotcha, you pretty baby.” Crooning endearments to the reptile, Stan backed away from the car before he stood and showed them his prize. Forgoing the gauntlets, tongs and hook, he held it just behind the head with his bare hand. Its body and tail wrapped around his arm.

Watching as Stan held the snake aloft like the winner might hold a golf trophy, his eyes glistening with love and joy, Tony cringed, fearing that Stan might plant a kiss on its face. To his own eyes, the snake was a deadly mixture of brown and cream. The way it writhed and twisted until Stan got it into a separate bag made Tony think that it wasn’t a very happy snake.

Wade stared at the crates and fluffed the fine fiberglass brush that he used to dust surfaces, looking for fingerprints. His pained expression earned him Tony’s most sympathetic look while Stan checked the car for other snakes.

“You have to at least fingerprint the latches on those crates,” said Tony. He surveyed his motley little team. “Doc, I think you can do your thing now, but Stan, I want you to stay on the hunt for a while just in case ‘pretty baby’ has a friend.”

Stan nodded his agreement, but his expression seemed to be less enthusiastic than it had been. Armed with his hook, he stood on guard, but upwind of the vehicle.

Doc Nash backed up one more step before he pulled himself together. Exuding professional competence, he stepped to the open door and looked intently at the corpse. “I’d say that he died right there.” He made little snapping sounds with the wrists of his gloves. Judging by the expression on his face, curiosity had taken over and he carefully examined the body. He paused with his gloved hands resting on the corpse’s torso. “This body is warm. I mean really warm, you know, like he’s been baked.” With the flair of Harry Houdini, he produced a thermometer. When he withdrew it, he squinted at the number and frowned. He turned to look up at Tony. “Was the car sitting in sunlight?”

“Nope.” Tony shook his head. “Darkness followed by a cool mist. The sun just became a factor a few minutes ago.” Peering over the doctor’s shoulder, he couldn’t read the thermometer. “I thought the car exterior seemed hot when we first got here but then it seemed to cool down.”

“Not much, I’d wager. It looks like it is still over a hundred degrees in there and that is after Stan’s pursuit of our legless companions.” The doctor shifted the body a little bit and suddenly jumped backwards, clutching his chest.

“Damn it all to hell! I’m not interested in being coroner any more.” A wisp of snakeskin-patterned silk lay at his feet. “I thought that was real.”

Stan’s shoulders fell. An aura of disappointment surrounded him as he wandered around the car.

Tony snagged it and bagged it before it had a chance to get muddy. “Not exactly my style handkerchief.” He made his notes on the evidence envelope and glanced up to see Theo staring at his hands. Her face had lost all color.

“I saw him last night,” Theo said. She sounded like she’d swallowed a bug. “The man with the handkerchief. He was with Quentin up on the hill.”

“What time was that?” Doc Nash turned to face her.

“It just turned six.” Theo shivered and looked around. “I ran into them as I headed down.”

“Was this car here?” said Tony.

“No.” Theo’s eyes searched the parking lot. “There were no cars at all back here, just a fat raccoon.”

Tony moved to stand behind her, one arm wrapped around her waist, keeping her close. Her shivers increased.

He balanced his notebook on her shoulder and stared into the doctor’s eyes. “Is there any way that the heat killed him?”

“Not directly.” The doctor returned to his examination.

Tony released Theo. “Go back to your shop, sweetheart. The gossip ought to flow like rain for the rest of the day. See what you can learn.”

Doc Nash waited until Theo was up on the path, out of earshot.

“Okay, Sheriff, I can tell you that the heat is sure going to screw up my calculations for time of death. There’s no question that a snake bit him, but until we get him out of here, I won’t be able to tell you much more than that. ” His bright brown eyes speared Tony. “And just how are we going to do that?”

“We have lots of photographs. Do you want us to leave him attached to the steering wheel?”

“Not if we don’t have to.”

With his forearm braced on the roof of the car, Tony studied the handcuffs. They were definitely not toys. In fact, one of the two pairs that he always had attached to his belt was the same brand and style. They were not only the stronger pair, but because the edge of the bracelet was sharper than that on other handcuffs, he used them on the more violent arrests, usually those that involved drug users. In his mind they were the “bad boy” handcuffs. He handed the doctor a small key. “See if this one will open them.”

Careful not to touch the surface of the handcuff and disturb any fingerprints, Doc Nash complied. The key worked and the blood-encrusted handcuff dropped open releasing the victim. Doc turned to look at Tony, one eyebrow lifted, “How did you know?”

Tony produced the matching handcuffs. “I have a pair just like them.”

The doctor jerked around, hitting his head on the doorframe. “Mmf.” He massaged his bruised scalp. “Is this man a cop or did a cop do this to him?”

Tony considered the question. “He isn’t one of mine, but until we can get to his wallet and find out who he is, we won’t know.” His focus shifted to his own handcuffs and he idly twirled them around. “You don’t have to be a cop to have a pair of these, you know. Even your wife could have ordered them on the Internet. We might be able to trace them through the serial number.” Tony beckoned to the waiting ambulance driver. The man might be half-asleep now, but he was about to get a rude awakening. “Let’s get him out of there.”

Stan stepped forward, blocking Tony’s way. “Say, Sheriff, what do you want me to do with those boxes of snakes?” He picked something out of his ear with his little finger and examined it. “Are they, like, evidence or anything?”

“Yeah.” Tony glared at the boxes, but they were silent. “I am not taking them to the station. That’s for sure. Can you take them home with you or to wherever and care for them? The county will pay.”

Stan nodded.

“Do you know if they are valuable?” said Tony.

“You mean like money or environmentally or what?” His tone and expression said it all. Stan was tired of dealing with people who didn’t share his enthusiasm for the reptiles.

“I mean like money. Would someone want to steal them to make a quick profit?” Fists on hips, Tony stared at Stan. Santa or not, his attitude irritated him.

“No.” Stan lit a cigarette. “You know, though, the timber rattlesnake is protected. I don’t know where he got his snakes, but they are not all local.” He pointed to one of the crates. “That snake comes from the western desert around California. It is really bad news. It is short tempered and extremely toxic.”

“He probably ordered them on the Internet.” Tony turned to Wade. “Did you find any usable prints on those boxes?”

“I tried, but there were only smudges on the latches and tops.” He looked at Stan. “If you empty them and give them back to me I’ll be able to dust the whole thing.”

“I’ll wear gloves. I promise.” Stan continued to study the boxes, an odd expression on his face. “Those boxes are strange, though.” Without waiting, he trotted closer and looked them over carefully.

“How so?” Tony couldn’t see what the man found disturbing, but then, he didn’t think that he had ever seen snake boxes before. To his eyes they were rectangular wooden boxes constructed of narrow slats and held together with metal brackets and finished with a hinged lid. “How are they special?”

Clearly bewildered, Stan shook his head as he lifted two of the boxes and headed toward his truck. “I can’t quite put my finger on it but if it’s important, I’ll call you.”

“Okay, Doc, explain it to me. If the only apparent holes in the guy came from a pair of fangs, or several pair, where did all of that blood come from?” Tony and Doc Nash stood upwind of the car, watching the paramedics puking in the weeds. Tony wondered idly if he should have the fire department come out and hose down the area. “It looks like something exploded in there.”

The doctor nodded. “If I’m right, something did.” He looked from the sheriff back to the car. “It’s an extreme reaction but if he was bitten, say at the base of his thumb, the venom could travel quickly through his system causing blood blisters which could burst. Different snakes produce venoms that create different types of reactions.” He pointed out the deep injuries to the dead guy’s wrists. “Off the record, I am guessing that one of those snakebites created some intense swelling, and I would guess that he struggled like crazy to get out of those handcuffs. He probably didn’t even notice that his wrists were bleeding. Mix that with the excessive heat, which might have caused the violent vomiting, and you have our fragrant little scene.”

“So if he had been wearing long sleeves, especially a coat, there wouldn’t be so much of a mess?”

“Exactly. It’s a hellish way to die.” Doc Nash crossed his arms over his chest and watched with sympathy as the ambulance crew maneuvered the body into a body bag and then onto the gurney. “Speaking of hell, why do you suppose it was so hot in there?”

“I’m guessing that he had the heat cranked up in the car for a long time, but who knows if that is what he intended.” Tony rolled his shoulders, making them pop and snap to release some of the tension. The specter of those license plates haunted him already. He sincerely hoped that he wouldn’t have to talk directly to Queen Doreen. A conversation with her would triple his heartburn. “I’m going to have the car checked out, and the heating system is just one part of it.” They both leaned over the body. Doc Nash stared at the man’s wretched condition even as Tony removed the wallet and flipped it open.