The Serpent's Kiss

47

Once he was certain Jill was out of the house, Derek turned back to the desk. They could go on like this forever, taking precautions for every single aspect of the office, then every other part of the house if they came up dry here. But time was running out. William Harrington was The Serpent, that much seemed clear. And the bastard was playing tricks with everybody, setting up the cops and investigators who might follow up on him.

All Derek wanted was a clue. One clue that would point to the next target, so they could evacuate. So they could save some lives.

Reaching out, he slowly pulled open the top desk drawer.

Nothing. Inside was the usual desk detritus: pens, business cards, a stapler, a pair of scissors, a ruler, miscellaneous bits of paper and notes, officer supply clutter.

Leaving it open, he turned to the other desk drawers. There were three, the bottom being a large drawer that could double as a filing cabinet. He slowly opened the top right drawer, careful to pay attention to any resistance.

Nothing. Inside was a ream of printer paper.

Derek left that open, then pulled open the second drawer. Slowly.

Old diskettes. Frowning, Derek scooped them out and stuffed them into his coat pockets.

The third drawer. He gripped the handle and slowly pulled. Was there resistance? Just the tiniest bit?

Derek hesitated. His pulse pounded in his ears. A bitter, metallic taste filled his mouth. Adrenaline, he knew. Now or never.

He pulled.

There was a hissing sound and suddenly an inflatable serpent popped up, bobbing as it filled.

Derek stepped back, heart in his throat.

The recording started. “Ha ha! Ha ha!”

He relaxed. Just like in the office at the university. A trademark. A joke.

The recording changed. “Better run! Better run! Three. Better run! Two. Better run—”

Derek leapt toward the nearest window, arms over his head.