The Serpent's Kiss

29

Derek felt like he had wasted enough time. Despite his trepidation, he had to enter William Harrington’s house. He climbed out of Jill’s car and proceeded up the driveway, jumping when his cell phone buzzed. Relieved to have an excuse to wait, he clicked it on. It was Jill Church.

“Where are you?” she asked.

“Did you find Rebecca Harrington?”

“Yes, Stillwater. I did. And by the way, punching Matt Gray was just about the stupidest thing you could have done.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I’ve done a lot of other stupid things. Why are you calling?”

“Because I have a question I want you to answer.”

Harrington’s driveway was shaded by mature trees — oak, birch, maple and poplar — their leaves beginning the fall color tour. If Harrington’s trees were any indication, it was going to be a good year for it. They were a good sixty percent changed, blazing yellows, reds, and oranges. Derek scanned the street, noticing a blue car that looked like a cop cruiser turning the corner.

“Are you tracing this call?” he asked.

“No, why?”

“Huh,” he said, eyes on the police car. “Are you lying to me?”

“What’s going on, Stillwater?”

“What’s your question?”

“Irina Khournikova.”

Derek’s blood ran cold. “That’s not a question. That’s a name.”

“A Russian national that you reputed to have tortured to death. By suffocation. And now we’ve got somebody else here suffocated to death.”

“Get your facts straight. Irina Khournikova is alive and well and working in Moscow, last we heard. She’s a Russian anti-terrorism expert. What’s your question, Agent Church?”

The Birmingham Police cruiser slowed down as it approached. Derek smiled and waved. Hey, he tried to project. Just some guy coming home for lunch. Hi officers! How are you today?

“Stillwater-”

He sighed. The cruiser stopped and two cops climbed out. The closest one said, “Sir, is there a problem?” He was tall, broad-shouldered, looking trim and fit in his uniform. Probably in his thirties, he had sandy brown hair, clear brown eyes and a square jaw. One hand was on his gun.

“No, no problem,” Derek said. He didn’t like the hand on the gun. The other cop came around the cruiser, keeping Derek in view. They had their procedure down. They didn’t bunch together. They both came at him at angles, able to cover each other and keep an eye on Derek. They had no reason for this, Derek thought. Somebody had sicced the cops on him. Had it been Gray? Or Jill?

“Honey,” Derek said into the phone, voice sweet, almost saccharine. “There are a couple police officers here. Did you call them?”

“Cute,” Jill said. “No, Stillwater. I didn’t. What do they want?”

He clipped the phone to his belt without shutting it off and turned to the cops. “Is there a problem officers?”

“We’d like to see some ID,” the second cop said. He was older than his partner, maybe around fifty. Balding, he had clear blue eyes, a jowly red face and a thick mustache. He wasn’t as fit as his younger partner, but he still looked strong and tough, despite the paunch. It was that kind of “strong fat” look that some big men had.

“Sure,” Derek said. He reached for his back pocket. Both cops tensed. “Hey, easy now. I’m just getting my identification.” He moved slowly and deliberately. “My name is Derek Stillwater. I’m an agent with the Department of Homeland Security. I’m here—”

As soon as he said his name the younger cop pulled his gun. “Hands out. Hands out where I can see them. Get down on your knees, hands on your head.”

“I can’t get down on my knees,” Derek said, which was true. His knee throbbed and wouldn’t bend that much. “Look—”

The second cop moved very fast for his size. He moved in toward Derek’s right. “Get down! Do it—”

Derek was all too aware of the first cop and his gun. He tried to protest, but the bigger cop moved in, a tonfa swinging. The baton struck on the side of Derek’s bad leg. With a scream he collapsed to the ground, hands pressed to his knee. Then the cops flipped him over on his back and secured his wrists with flexi-cuffs. A quick pat-down came up with his gun, his ID, the electric lock pick, and the cell phone. The younger cop said into the phone, “Hello? Who’s this?” He listened, then said, “That may be, ma’am, but we have to take him in. He’ll be at the Birmingham Police Department.” He clicked off. Then the two cops dragged Derek to his feet and before he could protest, flung him into the back of the squad car.

The older cop went through Jill’s vehicle, collected Derek’s bags and put them in the trunk of the squad car. As soon as they had secured Jill’s car, they drove away.