A Deeper Grave. Debra Webb

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СКАЧАТЬ frowned. “Is this a murder-suicide?”

      “No, ma’am.” Devine paused at the door, his hand on the knob. “If you watch the news or read the papers you’re familiar with the vics, Nigel and Heather Parker.”

      Bobbie doubted there was anyone in the state who hadn’t heard about the two. The identity of the victims added a whole new dimension to the investigation. Nigel Parker had apparently spent the past several years attempting to emulate the notorious Bernie Madoff. The wife, Heather, had started her own Ashley Madison–style service to accommodate her husband’s high-powered clients as well as the who’s who in the state of Alabama. The feds believed Heather had been using pillow talk to help her husband swindle his clients. Both empires had recently begun to crumble. Nigel’s diverting and skimming had been uncovered and Heather’s “little black book” had somehow landed in the hands of a national tell-all rag of a newspaper. Even the governor’s name had appeared within those torrid pages.

      “So what are they doing here?” Bobbie surveyed the neighborhood a second time. The Parkers owned one of those luxury estates over on Bell Road. Most likely the feds had seized their property. Or maybe the family was simply attempting to live incognito.

      “According to Mrs. Snodgrass, their longtime housekeeper, the reporters, the threatening calls and letters got to be too much. This is one of the rental properties Parker owned under a shell company so they moved here.”

      Bobbie had caught a couple of clips from the FBI’s recent press releases on the local couple who’d made national headlines. In addition to Nigel Parker having received numerous death threats, shots had been fired at his home on at least one occasion. A homicide investigation involving high-profile victims was a nightmare case for any police department. Literally hundreds of potential persons of interest would have to be combed through. Not only would a lot of time be unavoidably wasted, the feds would be poking their noses and two cents’ worth into every step.

      “We’ll have no shortage of persons of interest to interview and all sorts of help from the FBI.” The reality sounded worse when she said it out loud.

      Devine chuckled drily. “No doubt. There’re plenty of folks who wanted to see this guy get his.” He jerked his head toward the street. “Uniforms are canvassing the neighbors. Coroner arrived about fifteen minutes ago. Evidence techs are processing the house one room at a time. I put in a call to Special Agent Hadden. Had to leave a voice mail.”

      “Good.” Devine was meticulous, played by the rules and needed no prompting to get the job done—all of which made his initial action this morning completely out of character. “Why didn’t you call me when you first arrived on the scene?” Fair question. He’d clearly been here an hour or so.

      “You had to pick up Bauer,” he offered. “Holt said she’d let you know.”

      Frustration inched its way up her spine. Bobbie suspected the sergeant had her own reasons for not taking this one herself. Between the baby, new nightmare neighbors, and her need to keep Bauer on the straight and narrow, Holt was spread a little thin. Still, Bobbie would rather not see a crime scene after six or so other people had already walked through it.

      “In the future,” she said as she pulled gloves from her jacket pocket and dragged them on, “you call me first regardless. No exceptions. Got it?”

      Devine nodded. “Got it.”

      “Let’s have a look then.”

      Bobbie let that particular tension go. Her new partner had garnered plenty of homicide experience in Birmingham. No reason for her to worry about him handling the scene properly. It was the principle of the thing. She was his partner. He should have called her.

      Over the past month she’d been impressed by his work ethic. Since he was single he was completely focused on the job. It was also nice that he didn’t try using the fact that he was a man to prove he was better at every turn. With his criminal justice degree from Western Illinois University and eight years on the force in Birmingham he’d already turned down the offer of a promotion to sergeant. And if his stellar credentials weren’t enough, he’d showed his softer side when he made the lateral move to Montgomery to be close to his elderly aunt. The aunt had no remaining family beyond Devine and his parents. Since his parents had a prestigious medical practice in Birmingham, a move would have been problematic. With no complicated ties, Devine had decided he’d rather relocate to Montgomery than see his aunt sentenced to a nursing home. How often did someone his age make such a big sacrifice?

      His lapse in judgment this morning aside, he was a good partner.

      But he would never be Newt.

      Inside, the house wasn’t permeated with the usual smells related to violence. No bloody metallic odor, no hint of gunpowder in the air, but there was the lingering essence of death—that distinct uneasy impression that something bad had happened here. The living room, dining room and kitchen were one large open space. The furnishings likely cost more than the house. Every throw pillow was in place, every knickknack and piece of art expertly arranged. Two evidence techs were going over the space. Even the tiniest fragment of trace evidence could make all the difference to the case. Fortunately, MPD had a damned good forensic team.

      A staircase went both up and down from the west side of the main living area, creating the three levels. The house sported ’70s style paneling, popcorn ceilings and parquet wood flooring. She imagined the Parkers hadn’t lived this modestly in several decades, if ever.

      “The laundry room, a bathroom and a small den are next to the garage down there,” Devine said, indicating the seven or eight descending steps. “Three bedrooms and two baths are up.”

      “Let’s see the bodies.”

      Devine pointed to the second floor and Bobbie followed him up the carpeted stairs. She had a look at the first bedroom they passed. The purple walls were plastered with posters of rock bands and rap singers. The open doors of the closet showed a wardrobe of mostly black. Unlike the order she’d encountered so far, discarded jeans and sneakers were scattered across the floor. The laptop on the desk was open and displaying a stream of photos showing teenagers drinking beer and smoking God only knew what. Sweat formed on Bobbie’s skin as she crossed the room. The sixteen-year-old daughter’s bed was still made. Wherever Fern Parker was, she apparently hadn’t slept here. Maybe last night she’d decided to run away with a friend. Sixteen-year-olds were prone to impulsive behavior.

      “Let’s put the laptop into evidence.” No one wanted to believe a child was capable of murder, but it happened.

      “Yes, ma’am.”

      While Devine called a tech up to the girl’s bedroom, Bobbie checked the closet and dresser drawers. She took a look behind the curtains and spotted what she had hoped not to find. Damn. Few teenagers went anywhere without their phones. “This may be her cell phone.”

      Devine joined her at the window. He blew out a breath. “Damn. I missed that.”

      Bobbie examined the phone. No text messages, no emails. “That’s why we always take a second look.” Even the best detective wasn’t infallible.

      Devine reached for the phone. “We’ll start calling her contacts list now.”

      Bobbie moved across the hall. The boy’s room was located opposite the sister’s. Blue walls and loads of Legos set the theme for the space. Shelves were crammed with books and superhero action figures. Bobbie reminded Devine to СКАЧАТЬ