Windermere and Stevens circled back to Michael Parkerson’s house in time to meet a cavalry of assorted police vehicles—state patrol cruisers, local radio cars from the Cornelius PD, a couple unmarked sedans and SUVs from the FBI detachment in Charlotte. As they walked up to the house, another FBI agent emerged from the front door.
“Wife doesn’t know shit about any lake house,” he told Windermere. “Claims she has no idea where her husband might have gone.”
Windermere looked down the driveway at the chaos in the street. “I’ll handle the circus,” she told Stevens. “You talk to Parkerson’s wife.”
Stevens watched Windermere wade into the mess of law enforcement, her hands raised, her presence commanding. Watched the cops swarm to her like iron filings to a magnet. Better her than me, he thought, turning toward the house. He walked up to the porch and pushed open the front door.
Rachel Parkerson sat in the kitchen, dinner half-eaten around her. She looked up as he walked into the room. “You catch him?”
Stevens shook his head. “Not yet.”
“I don’t get it,” she said. “Where did he go? The last guy said something about a lake house?”
Stevens sat down opposite Rachel at the kitchen table. A couple kids watched from the doorway, a teenage boy and a young girl. “Right now, we’re not sure where your husband went,” he said. “We’re hoping you can help us.”
Rachel shook her head. “I don’t know anything,” she said. “What’s this about, anyway?”
“We think your husband was using his position at Magnusson to run an online crime website.” Stevens glanced at the kids in the doorway. “Effectively, he killed people for money.”
Rachel Parkerson looked up. “You’re not serious.”
“It’s not the worst of it,” he said. “If our suspicions are correct, he kidnapped two young men—and potentially more—to kill for him. Soldiers, both of them, war veterans with psychological issues. He trained them to carry out his murders.”
“I don’t believe it.” Rachel shook her head. “Are you hearing yourself? Michael is a good husband. A father. He would never do anything like that.”
“Sure,” Stevens said. “You’re as shocked as anyone right now. We’ll figure it out together, okay?”
“There’s nothing to figure out, Officer. You have the wrong guy.”
Stevens glanced at the kids again. They were listening, rapt. He sighed and turned back to Rachel Parkerson. “We put your husband at a contract killing in Miami two Saturdays ago. A witness saw a gray Cadillac at the scene. Was your husband at home that weekend?”
Rachel closed her eyes. Leaned back and didn’t say anything. “He drove to Miami that weekend,” she said finally.
“What about this weekend? Was he in town the whole time?”
Her shoulders slumped. “He had to fly somewhere. For business.”
“On Sunday.”
“Sunday, yeah.”
“He flew to Las Vegas,” Stevens told her. “He brought one of the soldiers he’d kidnapped. Together, they murdered five people at the Rio Casino and ran over an innocent bystander. The bystander lived. He gave us a description that matches your husband.”
Rachel Parkerson stared up at the ceiling. Exhaled, slow.
“Your husband is a very dangerous man,” Stevens said. “We need to know how to find him.”
Rachel stayed silent a beat longer. “I thought he was just stressed from work,” she said finally. “You know, he handles these big defense contracts. I figured it must be the pressure setting him off. I never knew.”
“How could you?” said Stevens.
“He’s my husband.”
“He’s a skilled liar. A manipulator.”
“He’s the man I married,” she said. “He isn’t some psychopath. He’s a nice guy and a good father. He’s a good human being.”
“We need to find him,” said Stevens. “He’s a dangerous man. We think he keeps the men he’s kidnapped in a lake house somewhere, but I checked your family records, and you don’t own any lake property.”
Rachel nodded. “That’s right.”
“He probably purchased it using a shell corporation. Did he ever mention anything like that to you? Ever talk about a lake house anywhere?”
“No.” Rachel rubbed her eyes. “God damn it, yes. I don’t know if he owned anything or not. He was sure obsessed with that lake, though.”
“What lake?” Stevens said. “Lake Norman?”
“He said his family used to have a patch of land somewhere, a trailer. Bought it right after they dammed the river in the sixties. He took us out one time, right to the spot. Said he used to love it out there.”
“You think he might have gone back?”
“How should I know?” Rachel sighed. “You tell me.”
“Sure,” said Stevens. “Fine. You said he took you there once.”
“That’s right. Me and the kids.”
Stevens looked her in the eye. “Can you find your way back?”