Steven James - The Knight

I started toward him, but before I could stop him, he raised the shovel and brought it down decisively, driving the blade through the snake’s neck and into the dirt. The head, along with about eight centimeters of neck, flopped onto the ground near the rattler’s body, which twisted and curled in the dirt.

“Hey!” I closed the space between us and snatched the shovel from his hand. “What are you doing?”

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.

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.”