He wondered how she would take the news.
Loren Shanahan sucked in his breath and rapped his knuckles against the solid wood of the hospital door. He was convinced early on that Bailey wasn’t responsible for the attack on Sydney Fox. Then this morning, when the young man didn’t put in an appearance at either the hospital or the convention, the detective wondered if he should backpedal and reconsider his earlier assessment.
Finding a dead cop outside the kid’s hotel room, Shanahan figured it would be pretty cut-and-dried. Either he’d find a dead relic hunter inside the colonial door, or Bailey was the killer.
Fifteen years as an investigator normally gave him a decent head start on figuring people out. He couldn’t entirely classify the two relic hunters, though. Sydney Fox was one classy lady. She was self-assured, poised, and brilliant, aside from her renown for the recovery of historic treasures. A brief meeting stuck with Shanahan. She was a sharp cookie. She brooked no nonsense. She was a very put-together woman in one awfully spectacular package.
The assistant was a different matter. The inimitable Professor Fox seemed downright fond of the kid, for some reason. There had to be more to him than met the eye.
Bailey came across as a bit ditzy, sometimes almost clownish. Shanahan believed it was purely a façade, and he set out to prove it. The paths were too similar to be coincidence. Where Sydney Fox went, the Viper put in an appearance. Fox herself was pretty clearly above-board. But the little twit of an Englishman was a bit more enigmatic.
Bailey wasn’t in Bailey’s motel room, though David Samuel Blount was. Or rather, the late David Samuel Blount was.
It took pathologists a few hours to pinpoint the specific poison. The rapidity of death narrowed things down. In its native Africa, the black mamba was known as the bottoms up snake because the victim would have time for one drink before succumbing in death.* One stroke with the hollow-tipped knife administered four times the venom of a single snakebite. A bite in the wild could kill within twenty minutes. This assault probably brought paralysis within seconds and death shortly after.
Straightening his tie, Shanahan pushed the door open and stopped short at the pale, hollow-eyed apparition stretched out on the hospital bed. She was alive and recovering, but she was by no means a healthy woman.
"Miss Fox?"
Her head turned toward him and she frowned. "Do I know you?"
Succinct and to the point, he thought. "I’m Detective Shanahan of the New York City Police Department." Her expression shifted subtly, and he sensed he’d just gained a measure of trust. Encouraged by her reaction, he smiled and strode forward, easing into a gray vinyl chair.
"Shanahan? You spoke to Nigel, then? I understand you’re partly responsible for saving my life. Thank you."
His smile faded instantly. "Miss Fox, about your assistant. How well do you know him?" Oh God, what if she’d started up an affair with the international criminal?
"He’s my assistant and my friend. I’ve known him for a couple of years, during which we’ve worked together pretty closely. Why?" Unease crept into her voice. "Is he all right?" She licked her lips, and the unease approached panic. "Where is he?"
"I know you’ve heard of the Viper. What if I told you that I believe your young assistant may be the Viper."
Clutching her side, Sydney Fox howled with laughter.
"I’m serious," he defended.
"No, you’re insane."
End of Part Nine
*http://www.nwf.org/intlwild/mamba.html
Go to Part Ten.