Remmy Battle was dressed in a full-length black leather coat with the collar turned up. She had wide sunglasses on. Boots covered her feet and she was wearing gloves, though it wasn’t chilly.
“Mrs. Battle? What are you doing here?”
She stopped about a foot from him. “I wanted to talk to you, Junior, just you and me.”
“How’d you even know I was here?”
“I know a lot, Junior, far more than most people think. That’s why I wanted to talk to you.”
Junior held up his hands. “Look, I got me a lawyer. You better talk to him.”
“I have talked to him. Now I want to talk to you.”
He eyed her warily and then looked around as though he expected to see police officers swooping in to arrest him. His expression turned stubborn. “I don’t see that we got anything to talk about. You already had me put in jail.”
“But you’re out now, aren’t you?”
“Well, yeah, but we had to put up bail. Almost broke us. We ain’t got that kind of money.”
“Come on now, Junior, your wife makes good money over at that club. I know that for a fact. My husband frequented the place. She probably earned a small fortune just off him.”
“I don’t know nothing about that.”
She ignored this. “My dead husband.”
“I heard,” Junior mumbled in reply.
“He was murdered, you know,” she said in an oddly flat tone.
“Heard that too.”
“You get out of jail and then he ends up dead.”
He looked at her wide-eyed. “Look, you ain’t gonna pin that on me, lady.”
“Oh, I’m sure you have an alibi.”
“You bet I do.”
“Good for you, but that’s not why I’m here.” She drew even closer and took off her glasses. Her eyes were red and puffy.
“So why are you here?” he asked.
“I want it back, Junior. I want it back now.”
“Damn it, Mrs. Battle, I didn’t take your wedding ring.”
She suddenly shouted, “I could give a shit about the damn ring. I want the other things. You give them back to me. You give them back to me right now.”
Junior slapped his thigh in frustration. “How many times do I have to say this? I don’t have that stuff because I didn’t break into your house.”
“I’ll pay you whatever you want,” she persisted, ignoring his denial. She looked at the half-built house. “I’ll pay for a first-rate crew to come here and finish this house for you. I’ll double its size; give you a damn swimming pool, whatever you want.” She drew right in front of him, one of her hands seizing his faded jean jacket in a very firm grip. “Whatever you or Lulu want I’ll give you. But in return I want those things back. Just give them to me and all the charges go away, and you have yourself a really nice house. And you can keep the damn ring.”
“Mrs. Battle, I—”
She slapped him across the face, stunning him into silence. He would have killed any man who did that to him. Yet he made no move to retaliate.
“But if you don’t give them to me, I’ll make you wish for twenty hard years in prison. You’ll beg for that after I get through with you. I know people, Junior, don’t think I don’t. They’ll come see you. You’ll never forget their visit.” She let go of his jacket. “I’ll give you a little time to think about it, but not too much.”
She turned to leave but then looked back at him. “One more thing, Junior. If you try to use any of it, in any way at all, or if you show it to another human being, I will come and see you myself. With a twelve-gauge shotgun that my daddy gave me right before he died. And I will blow your big, ugly head off your shoulders. Do you understand me, son?” This was all said in such a calm yet chilling tone that Junior could hear every one of his heartbeats smacking in his ears.
Remmy Battle didn’t seem to think an answer to her question was necessary. She put her glasses back on, turned and left as quietly as she’d come.
Junior just stood there, his big belly heaving, and watched her go. He’d been in many a bar fight in his life against some very large men intent on doing him bodily harm; he’d even been cut up a few times. He’d been scared during those incidents. However, that was nothing compared with the terror he was feeling right now, for he had no doubt the crazy woman meant every word she’d just said.
Chapter 35
Later that week Chip Bailey of the FBI called an early morning meeting of all law enforcement personnel engaged in the search for the murderer or murderers of five people. It was held at the Wrightsburg Police headquarters, which King—who was in attendance along with Michelle, Todd Williams and assorted Virginia State Police and FBI folks—thought made a cheap-shot statement as to who was now running the show. The FBI, after all, was the eight-hundred-pound gorilla. His resulting bad temper exhibited itself rather quickly.
“We have a profile,” said Bailey as his assistant handed out folders to those situated around the table.
“Let me guess,” said King. “Caucasian male in his twenties to thirties, at least a high school education and possibly even some college. I.Q. above average, but has trouble holding a job; firstborn to working-class parents, childhood trauma, dominant mother, possibly illegitimate, who showed interest in law enforcement and is a loner control freak who also expressed early enthusiasm for sadomasochistic pornography, voyeurism and torturing of small animals.”
“Did you already get a copy of the report?” growled Bailey.
“No. But most of them say that or something pretty damn close.”
“That’s because serial killers share those sorts of traits. That’s been clearly established over time,” Bailey fired back. “In fact, everything in this profile has been substantiated over time. Unfortunately, we’ve had lots of experience. Over three-quarters of the serial killers in the world are in this country with well over one thousand murders to their collective credit since 1977, and two-thirds of the victims were women. The only interesting thing about this guy is, he seems to be a mix of organized and disorganized in his approach. Restraints used in one case but not in the others. One victim transported, the others not. One body hidden in the woods, the others left where they fell. Weapon absent in one case, but not in the others. This is based on hard data, Sean.”
“Most of them probably do fit that profile, but not all. Some don’t fit neatly in any box.”
“And you think this is one of those times?” asked Williams.
“Think about it. None of the victims have been sexually assaulted or mutilated; in serial killings that’s almost always a component. And let’s look at the targets. Most serial killers aren’t exactly brave. They grab for the low-hanging fruit: children, runaways, prostitutes, young homosexual males and the mentally afflicted.”
Bailey shot back, “One of the victims was an exotic dancer and maybe a prostitute at some point. And two others were high school kids. And another was lying in a coma in a hospital bed. That’s pretty easy pickings if you ask me.”
“We don’t know if Rhonda Tyler was a prostitute. And even if she was, was she killed because she was a prostitute or for some other reason? And Canney and Pembroke weren’t runaways. And do you really think a Ted Bundy type killer is going to sneak into a hospital room and shoot stuff into an elderly stroke victim’s IV bag?” He paused to let this all sink in and then added, “And Bobby Battle was a very wealthy man. There might be other people who wanted him dead.”
“Meaning two killers out there?” said Bailey skeptically.
“Meaning we don’t know, but we can’t ignore that possibility,” shot back King.
Bailey was undeterred. “I’ve had a little more experience doing this than you, Sean, and until something else turns up that causes me to change my mind, this is the profile we’re using, and we’re going under the assumption that we only have one killer at work.” He eyed King closely. “I understand that you two have been deputized.” He nodded at Michelle. “I want you t
o know that I have no problem with that. In fact, in my book, having two more seasoned professionals on the case is a good thing.”
But, said King to himself.
“But,” said Bailey, “we have established protocols for how we do things. We need to coordinate and keep each other informed. We all need to be on the same page.”
Williams said through clenched teeth, “And of course the Bureau will be the central clearinghouse for everything.”
“That’s right. If any promising leads come up, I want to know about them pronto. Then we can evaluate who’s best suited to run them down.”
King and Michelle exchanged brief glances. They seemed to be reading each other’s mind. That way Bailey and the Bureau can call all the shots, make the arrest and get all the credit.
“Speaking of leads,” said King, “do you have any?”
Bailey leaned back in his chair. “It’s a little early to tell, but now that we’ve got the manpower out there, something will pop.”
“Anything turn up on the Zodiac watch?” asked Michelle.
“Dead end,” said Bailey. “There was no other trace of any significance at the crime scenes or on the bodies. We canvassed Diane Hinson’s neighborhood. No one saw anything. We’ve talked to the families and schoolmates of Canney and Pembroke. There’s no jealous rival out there with a guilty conscience.”
“And Rhonda Tyler?” asked King. “What’s her backstory?”
Bailey leafed through his notes. “Contrary to what you might think, the FBI does know how to assemble the facts, Sean,” he said. “She was born in Dublin, Ohio. Dropped out of high school and hit the road to L.A. to become an actress. Right! After that dream popped, she developed a drug habit, headed east, did a little time in jail for a couple of misdemeanors and headed south. She’d been an exotic dancer for about four years in a string of clubs from Virginia to Florida. Her contract at the Aphrodisiac was up about two weeks before she was killed.”
“Where was she staying when she disappeared?” asked Michelle.
“Not sure. The club has some rooms that the girls use when they’re performing there. They’re on the house and they come with three squares a day, so they’re pretty popular with the strippers—excuse me, exotic dancers. I spoke with Lulu Oxley, the manager. She said that Tyler had stayed in one of those rooms for a while when she first came there but then found another place.”
“While she was still working at the club?” asked King.
“Right. Why?”
“Well, these dancers can’t make all that much money, so free room and board must be pretty hard to give up. Did she have any friends or family in the area she might have been staying with?”
“No. But we’re trying to find out where she was staying during that time.”
“That really needs to be followed up on, Chip,” said King. “If she found herself a sugar daddy close to when she was murdered, we need to know who he is. It could very well be the guy who put a pistol in her mouth and left her for the wolves.”
“Funny, we had the same thought,” said Bailey, unable to hold back a sneer.
“Did you talk to the Battles yet?” asked Williams.
“I was going over there today,” said the FBI man. “Care to join me?”
“Why don’t you take Sean and Michelle along instead?”
“Fine,” Bailey said, frowning.
After covering other points of the investigation, the meeting was adjourned. While Bailey gave additional orders to his men, Williams buttonholed King and Michelle. “Okay, I was right: the feds call the shots and take the glory.”
“Maybe not, Todd,” said Michelle. “I can’t say they’re being unreasonable. And it’s more important that this psycho be caught, regardless of who does it.”
“True. Still, it’d be a lot better if the people who nabbed him were us.”
“We’ll go to the Battles’ and see what we can find out,” said King. “But don’t expect miracles, Todd. This guy knows what he’s doing.”
“The killer or Bailey?” he said irritably.
They drove over to the Battles’ in separate cars, King and Michelle in the Whale and Bailey in his big sedan provided by the Bureau.
“The FBI always had better cars than the Secret Service,” said King, eyeing Bailey’s vehicle.
“Yeah, but we have better boats.”
“That’s because we snatched them from DEA, which confiscated them from South American drug lords.”
“Hey, you do what you have to.” She glanced at him. “By the way, what bee got into your bonnet at the meeting? Bailey had been pretty cooperative up until this morning. It was like you deliberately tried to piss him off.”
“Sometimes that’s the only way you find out what someone’s really like.”
As the large gates to the Battles’ estate clanged shut behind them, King said, “The one I’m worried about is Savannah.”
“Savannah? Ms. Party Girl? What makes you say that?”
“Were you Daddy’s little girl?”
“Well, yeah, I guess I still am.”
“Well, once Daddy’s little girl, always Daddy’s little girl. And Savannah’s daddy’s gone.”
Chapter 36
There were several cars parked in the motor court when they pulled up. Mason answered the door. Both King and Michelle detected it at the same time. As they followed the man in, she turned to King and whispered, “Does Mason look happier?”
“No,” King whispered back. “More like he’s gloating.”
Remmy received them in the large library. They sat on big leather couches and watched as the lady of the house assembled herself in front of them, a queen before her court. She didn’t look like a woman who had just lost her husband to murder, thought King. Yet Remmy rarely did things the way others would.
“A sad day for you, Remmy, I know,” began Chip Bailey in a suitably sympathetic tone.
“I’m getting used to them,” answered Remmy.
“We won’t take too much of your time. I think you know Sean and Michelle.”
“Yes, their last visit here was quite memorable.”
King caught the edge to the woman’s voice. What exactly was memorable about it?
Bailey cleared his throat. “You understand that Bobby’s death was not from natural causes?”
“You’re sure about that? It wasn’t some medication foul-up?”
King briefly wondered if she’d asked because she was contemplating a lawsuit against the hospital but quickly decided she was after something else. If he could just figure out what.
“No, it was a deliberate overdose. The interaction would have been pretty quick. In fact, whoever did it probably entered your husband’s room shortly after you left.”
“Very shortly,” added King. “Remmy, did you see anyone on your way out?”
“I left by the rear door as always. I saw some people when I got to the parking lot, but that’s all. No one suspicious-looking or anything, if that’s what you mean.”
“How about anyone you recognized?” asked Michelle.
“No.”
“And you arrived back here around what time?” asked Bailey.
Remmy looked at him pointedly. “Chip, should I take that question as meaning I’m under suspicion in my husband’s death?”
There was an awkward silence until King broke it. “Remmy, this is an investigation. Agent Bailey here is only doing his job.”
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to handle this,” said Bailey firmly.
Okay, thought King, I tried to be your friend. You’re on your own now, buckaroo.
“Remmy, I have to establish where everyone was when Bobby was killed. Just answer my question and we can move on.”
At that moment Mason came in carrying a tray of coffee.
King noted that he’d already poured one for Remmy and now handed the cup to her.
Remmy said, “Thank you so much, Mason.”
Mason smiled, did a half-bow to the lady and d
eparted.
Remmy said, “I left the hospital around ten and drove home.”
“Okay,” said Bailey as he noted this down. “What time did you get here?”
“Around eleven or so.”
“But the hospital’s no more than thirty minutes from your house,” King pointed out.
“I took a back road. I needed air; I drove slow, needed time to think.”
“Can anyone verify when you got home?” asked Bailey.
Remmy seemed to bristle a bit but said, “Mason was still up and opened the door for me.” She took a long sip of coffee. “Before I could even get my clothes off and get into bed, the phone rang and my husband was dead.” She paused for a moment, seemingly studying the depths of her drink. “I called Eddie but he wasn’t home.”
“He was actually with us at the Sage Gentleman until a little after eleven,” said King. “He was having dinner there and we joined him for a drink.”
Remmy’s left eyebrow hiked at this information. “Where was Dorothea?”
“At some function in Richmond, Eddie said.”
Remmy snorted. “Function? She sure as hell goes to lots of those.” She paused and said in a calmer tone, “I went right back to the hospital and saw my dead husband.” She looked at all of them, one by one, as though daring them to challenge one word of what she was saying. “That ended the longest day of my life.”
“Was there anything missing from Bobby’s personal effects in the hospital?”
“No. I’m particular about that, even made the hospital put together an inventory list.”
Bailey cleared his throat. “Remmy, this is going to be a difficult question to answer, but I want you to try.”
Remmy seemed to stiffen. “What is it?” she said imperiously.
Bailey shot King a sideways glance before he spoke. “The other murders that seem connected to Bobby’s death may not be. It’s just possible that someone else killed him.”
She put her cup down, sat forward and placed her hands on her knees. “What exactly is your question?”
“Just this: do you know anyone who’d want to hurt Bobby?”
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