Read Online The 8th Confession by James Patterson, Maxine Paetro - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: James Patterson, Maxine Paetro
Tags: Suspense & Thrillers
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I took in the astonishing tableau in front of me.
The Baileys lay in their bed, as still and as unblemished as if they were made of wax.
Both bodies were nude, sheets and a comforter were draped over their lower trunks. A black lace demibra hung over the massive carved-mahogany headboard. Other clothing, both outer- and underwear, was scattered around the floor as though it had been tossed there in haste.
"Everything is as we found it except for an opened bottle of Moët and two champagne flutes, which are headed back to the lab," Clapper told Conklin and me. "Mr. Bailey took Cafergot for migraines, Prevacid for acid reflux. His wife took clonazepam. That's for anxiety."
"That's some kind of Valium, right?" Conklin asked.
"Similar. The directions on the bottle were for one tablet to be used for sleep at bedtime. That's minimal."
"How much was in the medicine bottle?" Conklin asked.
"It was nearly full."
"Could clonazepam have a lethal interaction with champagne?"
"Put her to sleep is all."
"So what are you thinking?" I asked Clapper.
"Well, I look at the positions of the bodies and hope that'll tell me something. If they were holding hands, I'd be thinking suicide pact. Or maybe something a little more sinister."
"Like the killer staged the scene after the victims were dead?"
Clapper nodded, said, "Exactly. Some kind of forethought or afterthought. But here are two apparently healthy people in their thirties lying in natural sleeping positions. There's semen on the sheets but no blood, no other substances. And I don't see any signs of struggle, no marks or wounds."
"Please, Charlie, give us
something,
" I said.
"Well, here's what it's
not:
carbon monoxide. The fire department did a thorough sweep, and it was negative. Also, the Baileys' dogs slept here," Clapper said, pointing to the dog beds near the window, "and both are alive. According to the housekeeper, the dog walker came for them at eight, and when she brought them back, she told Hernandez that the dogs were fine."
"Lovely," I said. "Perfect, really."
"I'll get back to you on the prints and leave the rest to the ME when she gets here. But you're right, Lindsay. This crime scene is too clean. If it
is
a crime scene."
"And that's all?"
Charlie winked. "That's all. Clapper has spoken."
Chapter 29
T HE BAILEYS GOT the best of everything, even in death. We got search warrants without a grilling. First time ever. Then Deputy DA Leonard Parisi came by and asked for a tour of the so-called crime scene.
His presence told me that if this was homicide and there was a prosecutable suspect, Red Dog was going to try the case himself. I showed him the victims, and he stood silently, respectfully.
Then he said, "This is ugly. No matter what happened here, it's grotesque."
No sooner had Parisi left when Claire walked in with two assistants. I briefed her as she took photos of the Baileys: two shots from each angle before she touched the bodies.
"Any thoughts you can share?" I asked as she pulled down the bedsheets, took more pictures.
"Hang on, baby girl. I don't know
what
the hell I'm thinking yet."
She harrumphed a few times, asked for help in turning the bodies, said, "There's no rigor. Lividity is blanching. They're still warm to the touch. So I would certainly put time of death at twelve hours or under."
"Could it be six?"
"Yes."
"Anything else?"
"Yeah. They're rich, thin, beautiful, and dead."
Claire then gave me the usual disclaimer: she wouldn't say anything official until she'd done the posts.
"But here's what's unusual," Claire told my partner and me. "Two dead folks, the rigor is pretty much the same, the lividity is pretty much the same. Something got these people at the
same time,
Lindsay.
"Look at them. No visible trauma, no bullet wounds, no bruising, no defensive wounds. I'm starting to think of poisoning, you know?"
"Poisoning, huh? Like maybe two homicides? Or a homicide-suicide? I'm just thinking out loud."
Claire shot me a
The Baileys lay in their bed, as still and as unblemished as if they were made of wax.
Both bodies were nude, sheets and a comforter were draped over their lower trunks. A black lace demibra hung over the massive carved-mahogany headboard. Other clothing, both outer- and underwear, was scattered around the floor as though it had been tossed there in haste.
"Everything is as we found it except for an opened bottle of Moët and two champagne flutes, which are headed back to the lab," Clapper told Conklin and me. "Mr. Bailey took Cafergot for migraines, Prevacid for acid reflux. His wife took clonazepam. That's for anxiety."
"That's some kind of Valium, right?" Conklin asked.
"Similar. The directions on the bottle were for one tablet to be used for sleep at bedtime. That's minimal."
"How much was in the medicine bottle?" Conklin asked.
"It was nearly full."
"Could clonazepam have a lethal interaction with champagne?"
"Put her to sleep is all."
"So what are you thinking?" I asked Clapper.
"Well, I look at the positions of the bodies and hope that'll tell me something. If they were holding hands, I'd be thinking suicide pact. Or maybe something a little more sinister."
"Like the killer staged the scene after the victims were dead?"
Clapper nodded, said, "Exactly. Some kind of forethought or afterthought. But here are two apparently healthy people in their thirties lying in natural sleeping positions. There's semen on the sheets but no blood, no other substances. And I don't see any signs of struggle, no marks or wounds."
"Please, Charlie, give us
something,
" I said.
"Well, here's what it's
not:
carbon monoxide. The fire department did a thorough sweep, and it was negative. Also, the Baileys' dogs slept here," Clapper said, pointing to the dog beds near the window, "and both are alive. According to the housekeeper, the dog walker came for them at eight, and when she brought them back, she told Hernandez that the dogs were fine."
"Lovely," I said. "Perfect, really."
"I'll get back to you on the prints and leave the rest to the ME when she gets here. But you're right, Lindsay. This crime scene is too clean. If it
is
a crime scene."
"And that's all?"
Charlie winked. "That's all. Clapper has spoken."
Chapter 29
T HE BAILEYS GOT the best of everything, even in death. We got search warrants without a grilling. First time ever. Then Deputy DA Leonard Parisi came by and asked for a tour of the so-called crime scene.
His presence told me that if this was homicide and there was a prosecutable suspect, Red Dog was going to try the case himself. I showed him the victims, and he stood silently, respectfully.
Then he said, "This is ugly. No matter what happened here, it's grotesque."
No sooner had Parisi left when Claire walked in with two assistants. I briefed her as she took photos of the Baileys: two shots from each angle before she touched the bodies.
"Any thoughts you can share?" I asked as she pulled down the bedsheets, took more pictures.
"Hang on, baby girl. I don't know
what
the hell I'm thinking yet."
She harrumphed a few times, asked for help in turning the bodies, said, "There's no rigor. Lividity is blanching. They're still warm to the touch. So I would certainly put time of death at twelve hours or under."
"Could it be six?"
"Yes."
"Anything else?"
"Yeah. They're rich, thin, beautiful, and dead."
Claire then gave me the usual disclaimer: she wouldn't say anything official until she'd done the posts.
"But here's what's unusual," Claire told my partner and me. "Two dead folks, the rigor is pretty much the same, the lividity is pretty much the same. Something got these people at the
same time,
Lindsay.
"Look at them. No visible trauma, no bullet wounds, no bruising, no defensive wounds. I'm starting to think of poisoning, you know?"
"Poisoning, huh? Like maybe two homicides? Or a homicide-suicide? I'm just thinking out loud."
Claire shot me a
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