Shock Treatment (7 page)

Sara raised an eyebrow. “Cleopatra? Wasn't she killed by a snake?”

“An asp,” Ray confirmed. “In retrospect, perhaps not the most auspicious of names.”

“Or too auspicious,” Sara said.

Vartann ignored their banter. “Careful,” he warned. “It's a zoo in there . . . literally.” He rapped on the door. “All clear?”

“Okay,” a female voice called out from inside. “But make it snappy!”

The detective cautiously opened the door, just enough to slide through sideways, then beckoned for the CSIs to follow him. “Step lively. Some of our ‘suspects' are still trying to stage a getaway.”

They entered to find a scene of slithery pandemonium. A pair of sweaty Animal Control officers, in blue uniforms, were busy rounding up what appeared to be several runaway snakes, who were scrambling all over the floor. A glass vivarium atop a low wooden cabinet appeared to be the original source of the infestation. The officers chased the snakes around an empty massage table.

Ray quickly pulled the door shut behind him. He backed up against the door to keep out of the way of the outnumbered snake wranglers. He glanced at Sara. “Hope you don't have a problem with snakes.”

She scoffed at the notion. “I'm married to Gil Grissom. I'm used to all sorts of creepy-crawlies.”

Good point,
Ray thought. He recalled her husband's extensive collection of ants, spiders, cockroaches, and other insects, which Ray had taken the opportunity to inspect prior to Grissom's departure.

They watched as a snake catcher extracted a writhing eight-inch corn snake from behind a radiator. Long metal tongs extended the woman's reach, allowing her to safely grasp the snake a few inches behind its neck. She pulled it from its hiding place, then grabbed onto its tail with her free hand before depositing it back into the vivarium, which had a sliding glass lid. A yard away, on the other side of the massage table, her partner used his own tongs to prod a recalcitrant black kingsnake into an overturned plastic bin. Once he had the snake fully inside, he swiftly snapped on a ventilated lid. Trapped, the snake hissed unhappily inside its prison. Several more snakes, hoping to escape their comrades' fate, slithered for cover.

Ray winced inwardly at all the activity messing up their crime scene, but acknowledged that it was unavoidable in this instance. They could hardly work the site with a lively passel of snakes swarming underfoot. He surveyed the room from against the wall. His gaze zoomed in on the massage table and vivarium. Discarded towels littered the floor. Specks of blood could be spotted upon the rumpled white fabric.

Sara was already thinking ahead, too. “We're going to need those snakes,” she informed the Animal Control team.

“All of them?” a stocky Asian woman asked. A shield-shaped badge identified her as B
ROOKSTON
.

“I'm afraid so,” Sara said. When collecting evidence, it was always better to have too much than too little; you never knew what inconspicuous detail could break a case wide open. She peered at
the tangle of reptiles in the vivarium. “Do we know which snake is our perp?”

Brookston shook her head. “Sorry. We've been too busy rounding them up to try to sort them out.” She helped her partner, whose name was SWEED, dump the contents of his bin into the tank, before looking around for her next scaly target. “And the masseuse who witnessed the attack is long gone.”

“How is that?” Ray asked, surprised to hear it. “Don't we need to question him or her?”

“Her.” Vartann scowled at his notepad. “One Heather Gilroy. She ran off before we got here. Hasn't been seen or heard from since.”

“Well, that's suspicious,” Sara observed. “She got something to hide?”

Ray was wondering the same thing. “What exactly happened here?”

Vartann crisply brought them up to speed. “Our vic, Rita Segura, a local who lives in Summerlin, showed up this morning for a ‘routine' snake massage, only to receive a nasty bite on her neck. She had a severe reaction, the owner called 911, and here we are.”

“Snake massages.” Sara rolled her eyes. “Now I've heard everything.”

“I thought you didn't mind snakes,” Ray reminded her.

“I don't,” she insisted. “But that doesn't mean I want them crawling over me.” Her face wrinkled in disgust. “I think I'll stick with shiatsu.”

Ray couldn't argue with that. Watching his step, he wandered over to inspect the snakes in the vivarium. He was no herpetologist, but his medical training
and practice had familiarized him with most of the venomous snakes native to North America. Looking over the undulating contents of the tank, he didn't spot anything that resembled a rattler.
Makes sense,
he thought. He couldn't imagine anyone volunteering to have a rattlesnake applied to their bare skin. “I'm guessing our culprit is some variety of coral snake,” he theorized. “Which can be easily mistaken for more harmless species.”

A quick scan of the tank's contents revealed a couple of banded red snakes that bore a resemblance to more venomous species. A coral snake would have blended right in, unless you knew what you were looking for.

He addressed the snake wranglers. “You folks seen a coral snake yet?”

“Don't know,” Brookston said. “Like I said before, we've mostly just been chasing them. We haven't really had the chance to give any of them a once-over.” She cursed under her breath as a small, striped garter snake eluded her. “Plus, to be honest, we don't deal a lot with reptiles. Stray cats and bad-tempered dogs make up most of our calls. Not sure I'd recognize a coral snake if I saw one.”

“Understood.” Ray appreciated her honesty. As he recalled, the coral snake was notoriously reclusive, accounting for less than one percent of reported snakebites in any given year. He couldn't recall ever actually treating a case before. He figured they would have to examine the snakes more thoroughly back at the lab. “We should notify the hospital that we believe their patient was bitten by a coral snake.”

In a case of snakebite, knowing which antivenin to administer could often be the difference between life and death. He just hoped that Desert Palm had an adequate supply of the correct serum, or Rita Segura could be in serious trouble. And, of course, there was always the danger of an allergic reaction to the antivenin itself. . . .

“I can do that,” Vartann volunteered. He took out his cell phone and immediately dialed the hospital.

“So how dangerous are coral snakes?” Sara asked.

Ray searched his memory. “Bites are uncommon, but potentially life-threatening. Their fangs deliver a potent neurotoxin which, left untreated, can paralyze the breathing muscles and also lead to cardiac arrest. The venom often takes several hours to take effect, but our vic appears to have been unusually susceptible to the venom. The fact that she was bitten on the neck, as the initial reports suggest, probably contributed to the rapidity of her reaction. Bites to the face and trunk are the most dangerous. In this case, the venom might have gone straight into her jugular.”

“Lucky her,” Sara said.

Vartann put away his phone. “Okay, I informed the docs at the hospital of your suspicions.” He watched the Animal Control team continue their wild snake hunt; it looked like they weren't going to be finished anytime soon. Vartann glanced at his watch, then nodded at the CSIs. “While these guys finish up, I'm going to interview the owner of this illustrious establishment. Either of you interested in taking part?”

“Sure,” Ray said. Meeting an interesting assortment of people was one of the perks of the job, and a frequent source of valuable information. Besides, he was just getting in the way here. He glanced at his cohort. “Sara?”

“You go.” She pulled on a pair of latex gloves and gestured at the vivarium, whose cold-blooded population was steadily growing, thanks to the persistent efforts of Brookston and her partner. “I want to check that tank for fingerprints. See if anyone has been tampering with the snakes who shouldn't have been.”

“Good idea,” Ray said. Chances were, a coral snake had ended up in the spa's supply by mistake, but they couldn't rule out the possibility that someone might have added a venomous snake to the mix on purpose.
In which case,
he thought,
we could be talking attempted homicide—or worse if the victim doesn't survive.

Sara waved him away. “Have fun talking to the snake lady.”

“I'll try not to make an asp of myself,” he replied with a grin. He and Vartann exited the room, being careful not to let any stray serpents out. An amused chuckle escaped his lips. This was probably the first time his prime suspects had ever tried to flee the scene without benefit of legs, let alone been literally cold-blooded. Although, come to think of it, he had investigated at least one case of death by falling turtle. . . .

They found the spa's owner in her office at the other end of the hall. A police officer stood by to make sure she didn't get a chance to coach her employees
on what to say. Ray assumed that the rest of the staff were being kept isolated as well. Aside from the runaway masseuse, of course. Tracking Heather Gilroy down and getting a statement from her was obviously going to be a priority.

Alexandra turned out to be a middle-aged woman of somewhat exotic appearance. Jet-black hair matched the kohl highlighting her eyes. Crystal and turquoise adorned her ears, neck, and wrists. She sat behind an antique bamboo desk. Shaking hands held on to a steaming cup of herbal tea.

Her office was equally colorful. A potted papyrus plant sprouted in the corner behind her. An eclectic collection of crystals, idols, and amulets crowded her shelves. The sacred Eye of Horus was painted over the door, watching protectively over the office. A polished quartz scarab served as a paperweight. A small ceramic statue of Hathor, the Egyptian goddess of beauty, blessed the proceedings from her perch on to the windowsill. A filing cabinet, personal planner, and in-box served more prosaic functions. A scented candle perfumed the air.

Vartann took care of the introductions. “This is Dr. Langston from the crime lab. He'll be assisting in our investigation.”

“
Crime
lab?” Kohl-lined eyes widened in dismay. A quasi-British accent sounded more affected than genuine. “But there's been no crime here. This is all some sort of terrible mistake!”

Ray didn't blame her for being upset. According to Nevada law, the owners of dangerous animals could be held legally liable for any serious injuries resulting from bites or other mischief. One way or
another, she could be facing criminal and civil penalties. Not to mention a lawsuit of catastrophic proportions.

Vartann sat down opposite the distressed spa owner. Ray did the same. The detective took out his notebook. “Why don't you tell us all about it?”

“I wish I could help you, gentlemen!” She took a deep breath in an attempt to compose herself. “But I don't understand any of this. Our snakes are perfectly harmless!”

“Apparently not all of them.” Vartann got right down to business. “So you say Ms. Segura arrived early this morning for her massage?”

“Yes, an hour before opening.” She displayed a trace of irritation. “It was quite irregular, to be sure, but she was very insistent.”

“Really?” Vartann asked dubiously. “She was that keen on having live snakes dumped on top of her?”

“Don't sound so skeptical, Detective,” she chided him. “Serpents have been associated with healing since time immemorial. The ancient Mesopotamians believed snakes to be immortal, achieving rebirth every time they shed their skins.” Her spiel had a well-rehearsed tone to it. No doubt she was accustomed to people resisting the idea of snake massages. “Indeed, to this day, the medical profession is symbolized by a serpent entwined around a staff.”

Ray nodded. “The Rod of Asclepius, not to be confused with the Caduceus, which features
two
snakes.” Although deriving from different mythological roots, the two symbols were often mistaken for each other and used interchangeably. “Moses also healed his people with a staff topped by a serpent.”

“Precisely!” She beamed at Ray as though she had just found a kindred spirit. “Our serpentine brothers and sisters are meant to soothe those in need, not inflict pain on the innocent.

“Uh-huh.” Vartann sounded unconvinced. “Too bad it didn't work out that way.”

“I assure you, I feel absolutely terrible about this,” she said. “Ms. Segura is a very dear friend of this salon. It grieves me deeply that she's come to harm.”

Ray wondered again if anyone could have deliberately added a coral snake to the vivarium in the Cleopatra Room. “Did she have an appointment? Did anyone know she was going to be receiving a snake massage this morning?”

“Not at all. It was completely spontaneous. We were not expecting her at all.” Alexandra Nile frowned at the memory. “Truth be told, it was actually something of an imposition. I routinely avail myself of the serpents' soothing caresses every Monday morning, before we open our doors, to ensure that my body and spirit are in tune and fully prepared for the inevitable stresses of the coming week. But this morning, I sacrificed my own treatment to accommodate Ms. Segura.” A sudden gasp escaped her lips. A hand went protectively to her throat. “Good heavens! I just realized . . . that could have been me!”

Interesting,
Ray thought. Perhaps Rita Segura had not been the intended victim at all. “Do you know of any reason why someone might want to harm you?”

Madame Alexandra's hand came away from her
throat. “Don't be absurd. I'm in the business of helping people. Why would anyone want to hurt me?” Her eyes narrowed as the full implications of Ray's question sank in. “But . . . you don't actually think that someone arranged this on purpose, do you? That's ridiculous.”