The Serpent's Kiss

56

Derek clicked off the phone and sat with it in his hand, frowning. Jill said, “We’re working it from our end, too.”

“That’s good, because I’m out of options.”

Jill studied him. He seemed distracted. He was looking at the house. The fire department had done a decent job of controlling and stopping the blaze. None of the neighbors’ homes had been affected, but Harrington’s house was a mess, just a shell with a partially collapsed roof, no windows, the walls of the second floor charred and skeletal.

She followed his gaze. “You’re lucky to have gotten out of there.”

He didn’t seem to hear her. He was staring at the house, lost in his own thoughts.

A little frustrated, she waved her hand in front of his face. “Let’s think, Stillwater. First a restaurant, then the class. What would your third option be?”

He shrugged. “Could be anything.”

“But it’ll be bigger.”

“It’ll be inside,” he said. “There will be more people than there were in the last attack. My gut tells me it might be someplace public.”

“In the city?”

Derek frowned. “The University’s shut down. He had to know that was likely to happen. The city makes sense just because that’s been the center of the attacks so far.”

His expression went blank again and he turned to stare at the house, now soaked and smoldering.

Warily, Jill crouched down in front of him. “Come on, Stillwater. We’ve lived through two explosions together. What are you thinking?”

Derek scratched his chin, closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. “Let’s head back into the city. I think we’re done here.”

“The Birmingham PD wants statements.”

Derek’s expression was wry. “I bet they do. So it would be better if we got the hell out of here before we spend the rest of the afternoon typing up reports. Save that for when this is done.”

Jill scanned the crowd, saw that Chief D’Agosta appeared to be deep in conversation with the fire chief, and thought Stillwater might be right. If they didn’t get out of here soon, they never would. She crossed around the car, slipped behind the wheel and fired up the engine. “Hang on,” she murmured, and squeezed the car up onto the grass, around the fire truck, scattering a handful of firefighters who were putting away their gear.

Behind her she heard D’Agosta shouting, but decided now was an excellent time to develop hearing problems.

Derek studied the house the entire time, frowning.

Once they were away from the scene, he leaned over, retrieved an MP3 player from his GO Pack, popped on earphones and clicked it on. He leaned back in his seat, crossed his arms over his chest and closed his eyes.

“What’re you listening to?” she asked.

He didn’t move or open his eyes. He said, “J.S. Bach. Mass in B Minor.”

She blinked, surprised.

A moment later, she pulled onto Woodward and headed south, back into the city. Derek had not moved or said a word.

Then, without warning he said, “Kind of strange he was willing to torch his own house.”

She thought about that. “Not if he expected to have several million dollars in a bank somewhere.”

Derek didn’t reply. They passed the Detroit Zoo, its water tower painted with animals. Derek, eyes still closed, finally said, “You said he didn’t say who should pay in his last phone call.”

“That’s what Gray said. He doesn’t think The Serpent’s doing this for money.”

Derek’s expression, eyes closed, was pensive. “Probably not,” he said.

“Then why let his house go up in flames?” she said, almost to herself.

The only sound was the wheels on the road and faintly, violins and a soprano singing in what Jill thought must be German. They were just crossing 8 Mile Road into the city when Derek said, “He didn’t plan on coming back.”

“He has an escape plan,” Jill said.

Derek opened his eyes and turned to her. “Or it’s a suicide run.”