The Snake and the Spider

by Karen Kingsbury

  “I’ve got him,” Bob said, taking care to keep his head down.

  “We’re on our way. What’s your location?”

  “I’m at the trucking company in Tampa. How quick can you get here?”

  “Not quick enough. We’ll send one of the local guys. Fifteen minutes.”

  “Get it lined up and then let me call you first. No telling which way Snake will go when he gets out.”

  Bob hung up the phone and waited. Seven minutes passed and then Snake walked out of the office, folding a white envelope. He slid the envelope into his back pocket and pulled out a set of keys. Oblivious to Bob and Mike, he walked toward a Harley-Davidson chopper, climbed on top and started the engine. In a matter of seconds, he had pulled away.

  There’s an art to following someone without being detected. And Bob had perfected the art long ago. Many detectives made the mistake of following a subject too closely. The chase went much more successfully if the pursuer followed at a greater distance, anticipating the subject’s next move. Most drivers were fairly predictable. They drove at a steady pace and when they made a turn it was usually preceded by a blinker. The key was having enough patience to maintain a significant distance from the subject being followed.

  Bob waited for Snake to pull onto the highway. Then, after several seconds, first Bob and then Mike pulled out after him.

  As he drove, Bob picked up the radio and once again dialed the FDLE.

  “It’s Bob Brown. We’re traveling south on the old highway near the trucking company. Roll the units.”

  Then Bob hung up the phone and concentrated on the task ahead of him. For the next five minutes they followed Snake without incident. Bob began to look in his rearview mirror, praying that the FDLE would catch up to them soon. If they didn’t, and if for some reason they were unable to make the arrest, Bob was not sure what he would do. He was armed but he was not sure if he was capable of apprehending someone like Snake Cox.

  “Hurry,” he whispered out loud. “Please hurry.”

  Just then, he saw flashing lights behind him.

  “Thank God,” he said.

  He and Mike were positioned between the squad cars and Snake, and Bob hoped that Snake would be unable to see their lights until they were nearly on top of him. Bob picked up speed, closing the gap between himself and Snake. When he was only a car length behind him, the FDLE agents sped past him and turned on their sirens.

  Snake looked up, startled by the sudden commotion. The agents waved him toward the edge of the road and he pulled over. As his bike came to a complete stop, the two squad cars pulled up alongside, at either end of the motorcycle.

  Snake was shouting a litany of profanity as the officers approached him. Bob and Mike pulled over a few feet away and climbed out of their cars to watch.

  “What’s this all about, man?”

  “You John Cox, Jr.?” one of the uniformed agents asked.

  “Yeah, so what? I ain’t done nothin’ wrong.”

  All four agents at the scene had their guns drawn and directed in the vicinity of Snake’s face. They had decided to go with the forgery charges and not warrants for past crimes since the forgery charge was directly related to the disappearance of the boys.

  “We have a warrant for your arrest.” One of the agents moved close to Cox. “Put your hands behind your back, Cox.”

  Cox angrily followed the officer’s command and began spewing hateful four-letter words at everyone around him. He turned toward the arresting officer.

  “What’s the charge, man?” he shouted.

  “Forgery.” He placed the handcuffs on Snake’s wrists. “John Cox, you have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do can and will be used against you in a court of law. . . .”

  Snake shook his head furiously while the officer continued to read his rights. “This is a bunch of lies,” he said, his eyes seething with anger.

  From the distance, Bob Brown and his assistant watched in satisfaction. Finally, Bob thought. We’re going to get to the bottom of this mess.

  CHAPTER 35

  By that afternoon, Snake had been booked into Volusia County Jail, just a few corridors away from his good friend, Spider. He had been charged with eight counts of forgery in connection with the signing of Jim Boucher’s traveler’s checks and—although Bob had hoped there would be no bail set—the judge had set bail at forty-two thousand dollars.

  Mikelson had been notified and had agreed to allow Ziegler and the sheriff’s department further pursuit of the matter. The FDLE officers had also decided to back down from the case. Ziegler and the sheriff’s department would be the official investigative agency from this point on.

  Of course, by then Snake knew that something had gone terribly wrong regarding the ordeal involving the Michigan teenagers. Everything had seemed so perfect, like it had gone without a hitch. After all, what happened had taken place months ago.

  But, if he saw Jim Boucher’s name on the written charge against him, he must have known there was trouble. In fact, he probably realized that when the law enforcement agency of Florida state was through with him, paying the penalty for eight counts of forgery would be equivalent to a day in the park.

  By eight o’clock, several contacts had been made regarding the turn of events that day. First, the state had assigned Snake a public defender. By that night the two had made initial contact and were working on a plan involving Cox’s defense should the case go to trial. Even at that early stage when no one had mentioned that murder charges might be pending, the defense they were working on had nothing to do with forgery. It had to do with a double homicide.

  Second, James Byrd (the Michigan investigator who had in the past six weeks made a tidy profit without ever leaving his desk) contacted the Barbers who in turn contacted the Bouchers.

  It was the best news they’d had in weeks.

  Snake Cox, the man who had somehow gotten hold of Daryl’s Nova, had finally been caught.

  The couples met at the Barbers’ house that evening and tried to contain their nervousness.

  “You know what this means, don’t you?” Faye was saying to the others. “It means they might find the boys in the next few days.”

  No one said a word. Even after all the time that had passed, the emotions surrounding the possibility that the boys might be found were utterly mixed. There was a sense of relief, that just maybe the nightmare might soon be over. But just as strong was the feeling of heartbreaking fear that with the discovery of the boys would come the truth. The boys were probably dead. Still, it would be better to know. It was the not knowing, the unanswered questions, the inability to go on with life that was killing all of them. And now the answers were closer than ever before.

  The parents considered the time that had passed since the boys’ disappearance. As long as their sons were missing, as difficult as the past six weeks had been on the families, there was hope that the boys were still alive. But once they were found, if they were indeed dead, then even their hope would have to die. Even that, they agreed, would be better than not knowing.

  And so, since there was nothing any of them could say to lessen any of these emotions, they spent that night each comforted by the presence of the others in virtual silence. Mostly, that evening gave them time to prepare for the worst. Because unless the boys were miraculously alive somewhere, the truth was going to be a severe blow for all of them. Even after weeks of guessing that the boys were dead, none of them were prepared to hear the news spoken as fact.

  CHAPTER 36

  Dick Kane was a bright young attorney with a potentially brilliant future in defense. He was tall and thin with a knack for dressing tastefully. And he had a soothing voice which had a way of convincing juries he was telling the truth. Even if the facts didn’t quite add up. One of the first rules of thumb Kane followed was that when someone was offering his client a deal, it was worth checking into.

  Of course, if his client was not guilty,
they would turn down the deal and fight the charges tooth and nail. But if, as was quite often the case, his client was guilty, then usually a deal would be the best way to go.

  And so when Spider Smith mentioned in the early part of his conversation with the lawyer that the state attorney’s office had offered him a nonspecific deal in exchange for the truth, Kane knew which questions needed to be asked next.

  “Smith, we’re going to have a talk here and it’s going to be strictly confidential,” Kane began. “But you need to tell me the truth. Understand?”

  Spider had swallowed one or two times with some difficulty and then nodded. For the next two hours they discussed what really happened to Jim and Daryl and whether it was necessary for Spider to tell the state what he knew in exchange for some kind of immunity.

  When Spider was finished talking, Kane must have known they were in particularly bad shape. So bad was his client’s situation that if, for instance, the state was willing to bargain, he probably would have been ecstatic if his client received merely a life sentence in prison. Because according to Spider’s version of the story, what he probably deserved was the death penalty.

  So it was that on Tuesday morning, December 12, Kane placed a phone call to State Attorney Watson, who in turn telephoned Ziegler and Brown. The news was, Spider wanted to talk. As soon as possible and in the presence of his attorney.

  In itself, this would have been wonderful news if it hadn’t been for one small detail. By then Cox had entered the picture. Cox—being quite a bit more experienced at criminal activity and quite a bit more intelligent than Spider—had assured his attorney that he, too, wanted to talk about what happened. Whether his attorney was present or not.

  “Okay, then who gets the deal?” Bob asked when he arrived and conferred with Ziegler over the turn of events.

  “Whoever talks first,” Ziegler said.

  “I think Spider wants to wait for his attorney to show up.”

  “Well, Snake doesn’t care about that detail. He wants to talk now.”

  “So you’re saying we give Spider the same chance.”

  “Exactly.”

  “And if he won’t talk because he doesn’t have his attorney present?”

  “Then he can fry.”

  Bob looked confused. “I don’t understand.”

  Ziegler smiled wickedly. “We got both of them here, right?”

  “Right?”

  “Okay. Now I say we put ’em in rooms, side by side. You take Spider and I’ll take Snake. And I bet one thing for sure. I bet before the hour’s through we have the case solved and at least one scumbag headed for the chair. And if that scumbag happens to be Spider, then as far as I’m concerned, he can fry.”

  Bob nodded. Ziegler’s mention of the electric chair reminded him that he must have been crazy to take on this case. He was used to cases involving late alimony payments, not death by the electric chair. He took a deep breath and mentally rehearsed the questions Spider would need to answer. “When do we start?” he asked.

  Ziegler had been busy filling out paperwork and at that moment he set down his pen. “Right now.”

  The sheriff’s deputy summoned two bailiffs and asked them to get Smith and Cox. Then the two detectives walked down the hall toward two adjacent interview rooms.

  “The trick is,” Ziegler said grinning, “to bring them in at the same time so that they see each other.”

  Bob didn’t need an explanation to understand the reasons why. He laughed. Snake and Spider had made his life miserable for six weeks, not to mention what they’d done to the lives of the boys and their families. The idea that now they might have to suffer a bit did not bother Bob at all.

  At that moment, the bailiffs appeared, each at different ends of the hall. Suddenly, Snake and Spider recognized each other, and for the first time they became aware that the other was being questioned. Bob watched the faces of the men and thought that Snake looked far meaner than Spider. He decided if anyone had been the motivating force behind what had happened that August night, it had to have been Snake.

  The men glared at each other and then the bailiffs moved them into the separate interview rooms.

  “Good luck,” Bob said cordially, nodding his head to Ziegler, who laughed out loud.

  “Yeah, you, too. First one to speak is the winner.”

  The men separated and went into their respective interview rooms, Bob with Spider, Ziegler with Snake.

  “Well, Smith,” Bob said, “I guess you’ll want to wait for your attorney.”

  “Darn right, man,” Spider said, “I said I’d talk, but not without the lawyer.”

  Bob shrugged. “Like I said, first one to talk gets the deal. And you saw your good buddy Snake next door. It’s just possible that Mr. Snake isn’t going to wait for his lawyer to arrive before he starts talking. Know what I mean?”

  Spider squirmed in his seat. He was not having a good time with this, having seen for himself that Snake was indeed headed for an interview room much like the one he was now sitting in. And so at about that time, Spider began to cry.

  “Listen, man,” he sobbed. “I’m scared. I don’t know what to do! I need my lawyer or I can’t say nothin’.”

  “Sounds like you rehearsed that line, Smith. That what you’ve been doing in that cell all this time. Rehearsing a bunch of garbage like that.”

  “Stop it, man! That’s what I’m supposed to say if anyone asks me anything before he gets here. So get off my back, man. I’m scared to death, here.”

  Bob thought the sight of Spider Smith blubbering about being afraid was nothing short of pathetic. Especially after he had played a part in killing two people. He wondered how anyone could represent a person like Spider and still sleep at night.

  “Well, suit yourself, Smith,” Bob said.

  Spider twisted and turned in his seat and Bob wondered if he was anticipating how the electric chair might feel.

  “Wait!” he shouted suddenly. “I want the deal! Really, man,” he said. His nose had begun to run and Bob was disgusted by the sight of him.

  “What about your attorney?”

  “Listen, man,” he cried. “I said I’ll talk. Now. Without the attorney.”

  “You sure about this?”

  Spider nodded emphatically. “Yes. Sit down and I’ll tell you everything.”

  At that instant, Ziegler burst through the door and glared at Spider.

  “Forget it, Bob,” he said, turning his attention toward the private investigator. “Cox is telling us everything.”

  Then he looked at Spider, who had straightened up in his seat and was looking absolutely terrified.

  “It’s too late, Spider,” he sneered. “The deal’s off.”

  CHAPTER 37

  By the time Sheriff’s homicide detective Murray Ziegler wound up in an interview room alone with John “Snake” Cox, the prisoner had already given at least one version of what happened to Jim and Daryl that hot August night. In a meeting with his attorney the night of his arrest, he had agreed to tell the truth and to allow his attorney to document the story.

  For the most part, that story went like this:

  On the evening of August 12, 1978, just after dark, Daryl Barber and Jim Boucher and someone known only as Mike came to the McDonald’s restaurant in Daytona Beach, where they met up with Snake. At the time of the meeting, Snake was with another man named Robert MacDonald, but better known as Buford.

  According to Snake, Buford was well known on the beach. Although Snake could not remember Mike’s last name or any other identifying details regarding the man, he did remember that when Mike approached he told Snake that Jim and Daryl were very interested in buying some marijuana. He wondered if Snake might be able to help locate someone who could accommodate the boys.

  Snake, always willing to help a couple of tourists in need, had agreed to work up a deal. So Jim and Daryl, Mike and Snake, had gotten into Daryl’s car and driven around
Daytona Beach looking for a marijuana dealer. Being as how such proprietors do not advertise openly, the foursome spent much of the night and into the early hours of August 13 without ever finding such a dealer. Finally, near daybreak, the group gave up and returned to Snake’s trailer park at 681 North Beach Street in Daytona Beach.

  Snake then exited the car and asked Jim and Daryl and Mike to come back later that afternoon. Certainly by then he could find someone to consummate the deal, and the boys could purchase the marijuana they apparently wanted so badly.

  Then, according to this first version of Snake’s recalling of the events that day, late in the afternoon Jim and Daryl and Mike returned to Snake’s trailer. Snake got into the car and the trio immediately began looking for a place to buy the drugs.

  Finally, at about five o’clock that evening, Jim and Daryl—with Snake’s help—found a dealer named Kenny who agreed to sell Daryl one kilo of marijuana for five hundred and fifty dollars. Jim contributed about two hundred dollars cash to the deal but Kenny would not accept the traveler’s checks. Again, ever willing to assist the beleaguered tourists, Snake offered to pay cash for Jim’s two hundred dollars in traveler’s checks.

  Then, in an even more gracious gesture, Snake agreed to loan the boys one hundred and fifty dollars so that they would have a grand total of five hundred and fifty dollars in cash. Just enough for the drug deal. Of course no one could have expected Snake to merely trust the Michigan teenagers to repay him the one hundred and fifty. So he had worked out a deal with Daryl whereby he would take the Chevy Nova as collateral for his generosity.

  According to Snake, everyone involved agreed on the deal and Kenny produced a brick-size, tightly packed kilo of marijuana in exchange for the boys’ cash. After that, Snake took the boys back to the motel, the name of which Snake had long since forgotten. As the boys climbed out of the car, with Snake at the wheel, Jim and Daryl assured Snake they would return to his trailer within two weeks to repay the loan and repossess Daryl’s car. At that time, Daryl wrote a note—which Snake had by some twist of fate misplaced—giving Snake permission to use the car until the loan was repaid.