by Steven James
The snake’s body writhed beside my feet.
“It’s a rattlesnake,” Jake replied, as if that explained anything. He was watching the head, which was still hissing, fangs bared. “It’s dangerous.”
Officer Harwood stared at the head. “It’s still alive.”
“Reptilian reflexes,” Vanderveld said. “It can live up to ninety minutes. Careful. That head can still bite. Still release venom.”
Maybe Tessa’s views on animal rights had worn off on me more than I’d realized because, when I saw that none of the CSU members seemed bothered that Vanderveld had just killed that snake for no reason, it irritated me almost as much as what he’d just done.
“Step away, Jake.”
He took one step backward. Stared at me coolly.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw the head of the snake lift on its short stump and bite at the air, and as it did I pictured grabbing Jake and lowering him onto the head. The ambulance is still here. The EMTs could get the poison out. It wouldn’t kill him, just make it too painful to sit for a month or so.
Bad thoughts.
Bad thoughts.
But kind of entertaining, nonetheless.
Finally, Jake just said, in a hey-old-buddy-what’s-the-big-deal voice, “Take it easy, Pat. It’s just a snake. Let’s not lose focus and forget who the bad guy is.”
“I haven’t lost focus.”
He looked like he might reply but remained silent and finally strode toward the house. The snake’s body was still curling and coiling, leaving dark smears on the soil from the end of its severed, bleeding stump. The head, with its unblinking eyes, flicked its tongue out and tasted the air.
I wondered how much snakes can feel pain. The head was obviously still alert. Maybe it was suffering, and if Jake was right about it living for ninety minutes, it might suffer for another hour and a half. I thought of Tessa again and her love for animals, her progressive views about animal rights and the sanctity of all life, what she would say if she knew I’d left the snake here like that…
And finally, even though I didn’t know if the dead snake was still in pain, I picked up the shovel and brought it down four times, ending all doubt.
As I turned away from the snake’s remains, I saw Kurt approaching me. “We located the Infiniti on an old mining road about a mile from here. No sign of John.” His eyes found the bloody blade of the shovel. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing.” I tossed the shovel aside. “Any indication of which direction he might have fled?”
“No.” Kurt was staring at the snake’s flattened remains. We were both quiet for a few seconds, then he said, “Pat, take a break. We’ll find John. We’re scouring this whole mountainside. Get out of here. We’ve got three other choppers up here. Freeman can take you back to Denver. It’s been a long enough day already.” And then he paused as a knot of tension worked its way through his voice. “For both of us.”
I noticed him rubbing his wedding ring stiffly between his fingers. “You doing OK?”
It didn’t look like he was going to answer me, but then he said quietly, “Do you know how many marriages survive the death of a child?”
It was one of those questions you don’t answer with words. I put my hand on his shoulder, but he shook his head and said, “Forget it.” Then he shrugged my hand off and took a moment to bury his emotions. “So, what’d you see in the house?”
“Kurt, we can talk about-”
“The house, Pat.” His voice had become edgy and hard, and I knew I needed to back off.
“OK.” I took a minute to tell him about Taylor’s head and the newspaper articles.
He heard me out and seemed to be more interested in the newspaper clippings than the governor’s severed head. “You mentioned you got the feeling John was a fan of Basque?” His voice still held a trace of the pain that’d accompanied his remarks about his marriage.
I nodded.
“But Grant Sikora tried to kill Basque,” he said. “So if John was involved in any way with coordinating that, he was trying to get rid of Basque, not honor him as his hero.” Kurt shook his head. “I don’t think those articles are a tribute to Basque.”
“What do you think they are?”
“Maybe a scouting report.”
I had to let that settle in.
He circled your picture, Pat. Maybe he’s scouting “Hey.” It was Cheyenne. I hadn’t noticed her coming our way.
“What do we know?”
“John’s still at large,” I said.
A hundred meters away I saw that the EMTs had placed Thomas Bennett on a gurney and were wheeling him toward the ambulance.
“How’s Bennett?” Kurt asked.
“Looks like he’s doing all right,” she said. “But he’s pretty shaken up. They want to keep him at the hospital overnight for observation. We still don’t know what he was drugged with.”
“Did he give you anything else on his abductor?” I asked.
She shook her head. “No. He said the guy talked in a low whisper, he didn’t think he’d be able to recognize his voice if he heard it again.”
Kurt scribbled some reminders on his notepad. “I’ll make sure there’s an officer waiting at the hospital to guard him when he arrives.”
“One more thing,” she said. “The killer told Thomas that he was going after his wife, Marianne. I called it in, and dispatch already sent a car to her place, but I’m wondering if we can assign a female undercover officer to the house and put Marianne in protective custody just in case John decides to go after her.”
“Hmm… a UC might be good,” Kurt muttered. “As long as she doesn’t turn into bait.” He thought for a moment. “Let me make some calls.” He held out his hand to me.
“What?”
“My phone.”
“Oh yeah.” I handed it to him. “There’s video of most of the house. Email it to me.”
“I will.” Then he stepped away from me and Cheyenne but called over his shoulder, “Now, get out of here and get some rest. Both of you look like-” His final word was muffled as he walked away, but I figured I knew what it was.
And then Cheyenne and I were alone.
57
The sun edged over the high mountains that folded back against the sky. The Rockies were stealing minutes from the day.
“He let the snakes loose,” I told her. Then I filled her in about Taylor’s head and the newspaper clippings in the locked room.
She let it all sink in. “We can’t release this information about Taylor’s head to the press,” she said. “If the media jumps on this, it’ll only cause more panic, more roadblocks for this investigation.”
I didn’t have any arguments with that.
We spent a few minutes reviewing all that had happened during the day, talking through the facts, clues, and connections, but I had the feeling both of us were hoping the conversation would turn in a slightly less work-related direction.
As we spoke, I saw that Cliff had found just enough room to land in the field near the house. I didn’t remember hearing him fly in. He stood beside the cockpit, glanced at his watch. I wondered how long he’d been there.
“I’m riding back with Bennett,” Cheyenne said. She gestured toward the ambulance still sitting near the barn. “I think he could use someone with him right now. Maybe once he calms down he’ll be able to give us something more specific.”
“I guess I’ll keep Cliff company on the chopper.” A slight pause. “Good work today, Cheyenne.”
“Thank you.” She brushed aside a stray tress of hair that had fallen in front of her eye.
“So,” I said.
“So.”
Twilight tipped over the mountains. All around us the day was wearing thin. The ambulance began to slowly rumble toward us over the pot-holed road.
“You doing anything else tonight?” she asked.
“I’ll probably work a little on recalculating the geoprofile now that we know the killer used this location.
Maybe follow your suggestion: take a good, cool bath. Break out the aloe vera. All that.”
It seemed like maybe there was more to say, but I didn’t know what it might be. “Well, OK,” I said. “Good night. I’ll see you tomorrow. Thanks again for shooting the chain.”
“My pleasure.”
I headed for the chopper but had only made it a few steps before she called me back. “Wait.”
I turned. “Yes?”
A slight pause, then, “Have dinner with me.”
I felt a sweep of both excitement and apprehension. “I’m not sure I can-”
“Oh. You have plans already.”
“No, I…” Tessa had told me she was hanging out with Dora for supper and a movie tonight so I’d be home alone and would probably just end up throwing in a pizza-not exactly what I imagined Cheyenne meant by the word plans, but still “Oh, I’m sorry.” Cheyenne’s voice flattened. “You’re seeing someone, I-”
“No, no. It’s not that. I’m not seeing anyone, I just-”
“The woman on the phone earlier today?”
Man, she was good. “Lien-hua? No, that’s over.” The words tasted sour in my mouth.
“So then, you’re not seeing anyone.” Cheyenne said it decisively, and I wondered if she were trying to convince me that it was true. “And neither am I, and we’re both hungry and we’re both free for dinner. So, all I’m saying is, eat it with me.”
I noticed Reggie Greer walking toward the snake’s remains, not far from us. “I don’t know, Cheyenne…”
“I’m not asking you to marry me, just to eat food in my general vicinity.”
The ambulance cruised to a stop ten meters away.
Reggie grabbed the shovel and used it to scoop up the snake’s remains. “Agent Bowers,” he called. “Thanks for helping me out back there in the kitchen.” He tossed the dead snake further into the field, out of sight.
“You’re welcome.” As I answered Reggie, I was still trying to think of what to say to Cheyenne.
“Well?” she said.
A different tack. I lowered my voice, hoping Reggie wouldn’t hear. “Maybe I’m old-fashioned, but I’ve always thought it was the guy’s job to ask the girl out.”
And then, before I could say another word, she said, “Well, thank you, Dr. Bowers. I’d be honored to join you for dinner.”
“I wasn’t exactly-”
“Eight, then?”
“Eight-”
“Perfect. I know a great steak place near Union Station that you can take me to.” She put her hand on my arm and gave it a soft squeeze. “This time, you can pick me up.” Then she told me her address and left for the ambulance.
I caught Reggie Greer grinning at me. “What?” I said.
“That was smooth.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Sorry. I couldn’t help but overhear. Getting Detective Warren to ask you out and then switching everything around so she wouldn’t feel awkward about taking the first step-nice. Very nice.”
“Oh yeah, wow,” I mumbled. “Thanks.”
“And you’re a brave man to go on a date with her.”
I wasn’t exactly sure how to take that. “It’s not a date.”
Cheyenne disappeared into the ambulance. I really hoped she wasn’t hearing any of this.
“Oh.” He winked at me. “I get it.” The ambulance doors closed.
I folded my arms. “I’m just eating a meal in her general vicinity.”
“Sure. Gotcha.”
This was going nowhere. “I’m leaving now. Good-bye.”
I headed toward the helicopter as the ambulance pulled away.
And as I thought about the upcoming evening, I remembered how understandably upset Tessa had been about the pot of basil.
I borrowed Cliff’s cell, and when Tessa didn’t pick up, I left a voicemail telling her to have fun at the movie and that I’d just grab supper later and see her when she got home. I explained that my cell was broken, and left Cheyenne’s number and told her to “just call Detective Warren if you need to get in touch with me.”
She didn’t know that Detective Warren was a woman.
Then Cliff and I climbed aboard the chopper, and a few moments later we were soaring above the darkening mountains, flying east toward Denver, where the moon was already beginning to rise.
Tessa was emotionally fried.
After filing through the memory box all afternoon with Dora and realizing how much of her mom’s life she didn’t know anything about, she’d decided she needed some time to chill before heading out again for the evening.
So after Dora left to take care of a few things at home, she’d started going at the cube again, and finally managed to solve it once, but she still wasn’t even close to doing it with her eyes closed.
She’d been working on it a few minutes ago when the phone started ringing, totally distracting her.
But she’d kept her eyes closed. Tried to concentrate.
Generic ringtone. It kept ringing.
Annoying, annoying, annoying.
Finally it stopped, but by then it was too late. She’d completely lost track of where the colors were. Frustrated, she opened her eyes and went to see if whoever had called had left a message.
And found a voicemail from Patrick.
On the vm he explained that he was twenty-five minutes out and to have a good time at the movie and not to worry about him because he would just eat supper later and that he loved her and to call some detective named Warren if there was a problem.
And when she heard his voice, she remembered their last, less-than- cordial conversation.
OK, so hanging up on him might not have been the best thing to do, especially on a day he was obviously stressed about the trial and the pot of basil-oh, that was just way too disturbing-and breaking up with Agent Jiang. Ending the call like that had probably not helped her case for convincing him to give her the diary.
Hmm. So, OK.
He would grab supper later, huh? So that meant he hadn’t eaten yet.
And come to think of it, except for the chips and salsa she’d had earlier with Dora, she hadn’t eaten either.
And that gave her an idea. Maybe, just maybe, if she stopped acting like a whiny little brat, nagging him to give her the diary, he might change his mind about giving it to her. If she showed him that she really could be mature and responsible…
Dinner.
Yes.
There weren’t too many things that both she and Patrick liked to eat, but spaghetti with meatless sauce was one of them. Perfect.
But, according to his voicemail, she had less than twenty-five minutes to get it ready.
She called Dora and cancelled for the evening, pulled a bag of spaghetti noodles off the shelf, and filled a pot with water. Then she stuck it on the stove and started to prepare a salad while she waited for the water to boil.
58
I smelled the spaghetti sauce as I stepped through the front door.
“Tessa?” I set my computer bag next to the couch.
She appeared in the kitchen doorway holding a ladle dripping with marinara sauce and wearing the barbeque apron Ralph’s wife Brineesha had given me on Father’s Day last year that read “King of the Coals.”
“Welcome home,” she said. “Supper’s on the table.”
“What are you doing?”
“Cooking.”
“Cooking?”
“Yeah,” she said. “C’mon in.”
“You’re cooking?”
“Uh-huh. Do you want a glass of wine or something with your meal?”
I joined her in the kitchen and saw that the table was set for two. Our finest plates. One wine glass, one can of root beer. “Tessa, what’s going on?”
She blinked. “I made supper.”
“You hate cooking.”
“I’m branching out.” She held up two wine bottles. “Red or white?”
I gazed around the kitchen, tried to take everything
in. The salad. The simmering sauce. The bowl of noodles. “I thought you and Dora were going out for supper and then seeing a movie?”
“We cancelled.” She waved the ladle toward the stove, sending drops of red sauce splattering across the tiling. “I kept the sauce simmering to keep it warm.”
I had no idea what to say.
“This is great and everything, but I have dinner plans already.”
“What do you mean?”
“I promised someone I’d meet them for dinner.”
“Oh.” She lowered the ladle. Set it down. “OK.” Slowly, she turned toward the stove and then shut off the burner that was warming the sauce.
“No, listen. I’m impressed, though, that you made dinner. I mean, it looks great, really.”
Her back was to me. “No, it’s no big deal. Seriously.”
Oh boy.
“Hey, look. I’ll cancel. It’s OK. I’ll just call my friend and tell them-”
“Is it a woman?” Tessa still hadn’t turned around.
“That doesn’t… that doesn’t matter. All I’m saying is that I told him-her-whoever it was that I’d eat in their general vicinity.”
Tessa faced me. “Their general vicinity?”
“Yes.”
“You may not have noticed, but you keep switching the case of your personal pronouns from singular to plural, using ‘them’ and ‘their’ to refer to individuals. You wouldn’t bother doing that if you were eating out with one of the guys, so I’m guessing you’re having dinner with a woman.” She folded her arms. “I’m right, aren’t I?”
“It’s a professional acquaintance.”
“A female one.”
“Well, it’s-”
“Is it a date?”
“It’s not a date.”
“What is it?”
“Dinner.”
“A dinner date.”
“No.”
She cocked her head. “You sure?”
“Yes. I’m positive. It’s not a date.”
“Good.” She pulled off the apron and draped it over the top of one of the chairs beside the table. “Then I can come too.”
“Um, maybe it is a date.”
“Too late. I’m coming. Just gimme a sec to grab my purse.”
