Hour Game skamm-2

by David Baldacci

  “I have no doubt he does, but he’s not in her league and never will be, if that’s what you’re implying.”

  King stared at Bailey for a few seconds, then decided to change the subject. He looked over at Williams. “Has Sylvia finished the post on Junior?”

  “Yep,” answered Williams, who’d recovered enough from his misery to devour a chocolate doughnut and two cups of coffee. “He died from ligature strangulation, although he’d been beaten over the head with a shovel and a piece of wood prior to that. Damn lot of blood.”

  “We know,” said King dryly.

  “Right,” said the chief. “Anyway, Sylvia thinks she might have some trace on the guy this time. And the tech team pulled up some fibers that didn’t match anything Junior had on. And we also got a partial tire track nearby. Might be the car he got away in.”

  “Better check those fibers against my clothes,” said King. “I… I had some contact with Junior when the shooting started.”

  “Speaking of shooting, you got the bullets from the tires?” asked Michelle.

  “They were forty-four calibers,” said Williams. “Nothing special. Hope we get a gun to match it against at some point.”

  “The guy had a laser aimer, that’s pretty specialized,” said King.

  “Junior’s belt buckle was also missing,” noted Williams.

  “Another trophy,” said Michelle.

  “Looks like Junior fought hard,” said Bailey. “Lots of defensive wounds on his hands and forearm. And a wall of studs was taken out, probably during the struggle.”

  “The guy’s clearly started to make some mistakes,” said Williams. “You two happening along when you did really put a wrench into the works for him.”

  “I don’t think we accomplished all that much,” said Michelle, “except let him get away.”

  King studied the copy of the letter again. “This is the first time he’s referred to a victim by name,” he said.

  “I noted that,” said Bailey.

  “Now, why would a killer do that?” wondered Williams.

  “He’s playing with us. He wants to jerk us around.”

  “For what purpose?” asked Michelle.

  “Because this is all part of something a lot bigger that we’re not seeing right now,” replied King.

  “And what might that be?” asked Bailey in a skeptical tone.

  “When I figure it out, you’ll be the second to know,” said King, glancing significantly at Williams. “How did Lulu take it, Todd?” asked King in a softer tone.

  Williams leaned back and shrugged his shoulders. “Didn’t cry at all, but then, the kids were around. That mother of hers, though, damn lady went hysterical, screaming about how much she loved Junior, what in the world were they going to do without him. Lulu finally had to take her out of the room. Piece of work she is.”

  King and Michelle looked at each other and just shook their heads.

  “Now we come to an interesting point,” said Williams. “You told us that Remmy threatened Junior. That she wanted some things back and she didn’t want Junior showing them to anyone.”

  King nodded. “At least that’s what Lulu told us that Junior said. But it wasn’t Remmy Battle who beat Junior up before strangling him to death.”

  “But Lulu said Remmy told Junior that she knew people.”

  King shook his head. “I’m not sure why Remmy would want to kill him, at least not now. According to Lulu, she was going to give Junior some time to think it over. If he’s dead, he can’t very well tell her where the stuff is—not that he could anyway, since I don’t believe he took it in the first place.”

  “But if he’s dead,” said Bailey, “then he can’t show the stuff, whatever it is, to someone else.”

  King remained unconvinced. “But Remmy couldn’t be sure of that. He might have made arrangements in case something happened to him.”

  “You’ve got a point there,” said Williams. “But it’s still something we’ll have to check into. Not that I’m looking forward to going down that road with Remmy.”

  “Well,” said King, “we’ve got people to see and places to go.”

  “Where and who?” asked Bailey sharply.

  “Steve Canney’s father and Janice Pembroke’s parents.”

  “We already talked to them. And to everyone connected to Diane Hinson too.”

  “But you don’t mind another set of eyes,” said Michelle.

  “Go ahead,” said Williams. “You have full authority.”

  “Just report back to me if you find anything interesting,” said Bailey.

  “I’ll count the minutes,” muttered King.

  Chapter 44

  King and Michelle drove to their office to do some work before heading out to see Pembroke’s and Canney’s parents. The silver Volvo station wagon and BMW Eight Series were parked in front of their office.

  “Eddie and Dorothea,” said Michelle as she got out of the Whale. As if on cue the doors opened on each of the vehicles and the pair got out.

  “Driving separate cars,” commented Michelle in a low voice.

  “And maybe going in separate directions.”

  Eddie was dressed in gray dress slacks, white shirt and a blue blazer and carried a leather briefcase. With his deep tan and strong, weathered features, plus the nice clothes, he looked very handsome, Michelle noted appreciatively.

  Dorothea was dressed all in black, which seemed appropriate under the circumstances, but King knew it had nothing to do with mourning the loss of the family patriarch: the fishnet stockings, stiletto heels and very visible cleavage were the giveaways.

  King unlocked the door to the office building, and they all went inside.

  When they were all settled, King said, “We’re really sorry about your father, Eddie.” He glanced at Dorothea but said nothing because the woman’s look invited no such condolences.

  “I still can’t believe it,” said Eddie. “Mom was there at ten, and at ten-thirty he’s dead.”

  “Remmy told us she saw no one when she was leaving,” said Michelle.

  “Well, it’s not like the person would’ve been jumping up and down in front of Remmy yelling, ‘I’m going in to kill your husband now,’” said Dorothea irritably.

  Eddie said, “Thanks for pointing that out, Dorothea. If you have nothing helpful to contribute, why don’t you just sit there and continue sulking?”

  Good for you, Eddie Battle, thought Michelle.

  Dorothea looked like she was about to fire back with something suitably nasty, but she managed to restrain herself. She just sat there with her arms folded, scowling at the floor.

  “What can we do for you, Eddie?” asked King.

  Eddie pulled a newspaper out of the briefcase and pointed to a front-page article. King took the paper and scanned the story while Michelle read over his shoulder.

  When he finished, King looked very upset. “How the hell did the account of Remmy’s threatening Junior get leaked to the press?”

  “Maybe Lulu,” suggested Michelle. “Or her mother, Priscilla. Sounds like something she might do.”

  “Regardless,” said Eddie, “now the whole town thinks Mom had Junior killed.”

  “But the Gazette also reported that Junior’s death has been linked to the serial killings,” pointed out Michelle.

  Eddie slumped down in a chair. “That doesn’t matter. People will think she paid someone to make it look that way.”

  “So how’s Remmy taking it?”

  “It’s killing her.”

  “But she’s not denying she threatened Junior?” asked King.

  Eddie now looked wary. “I don’t want to play semantics with you, Sean, but even if she threatened him, she had nothing to do with the man’s death.”

  “I can’t control what people think.”

  “I know that, but I just thought, well…”

  “What do you want us to do, Eddie?” asked Michelle gently.

  “Yes, it would be nice if you came to
the point,” said Dorothea. “I have two homes to show this morning.”

  Eddie ignored her and said, “Can you go and speak to Mom again? I know you came by the other day with Chip, and she sort of cut you off. But if you came by again, I know she’d see you. She needs someone to talk to right now.”

  “What exactly would she tell us?” asked King.

  “I’m not totally sure,” admitted Eddie. “But at least you can get her side of things instead of just this trash in the paper.”

  “I’m sure Chip and his men will do that.”

  “But she’d be more comfortable with you. Between you, me and the wall, Chip and Mom don’t really get along all that well.”

  “Even though he saved your life?”

  “I don’t know how to explain it. I only know it’s true.”

  “He speaks very highly of her.”

  “Maybe I wasn’t clear. Mom doesn’t really care for him all that much.”

  “All right, we’ll speak to her. But, again, that won’t stop people from gossiping.”

  Dorothea broke in. “Since Eddie keeps beating around the bush, let me say it straight out. There’s no way in the world that Remmy had anything to do with that man’s death. But if you find whoever did kill Junior, that would stop all the talk.”

  “Right,” said Eddie. “And then maybe you’ll find who murdered Dad too.”

  “So you think it might be the same person?” asked King.

  “It just seems very coincidental that Junior was charged with burglarizing my parents’ home, and then in quick succession he and my father are killed.”

  “That was actually my idea,” said Dorothea proudly. “And the reason I’m here. I got to thinking about this last night. What if somebody is using this string of murders to hide the killings of Bobby and Junior? And if so, it must be connected to what was stolen.”

  “That’s actually something we’re considering,” admitted King.

  “See!” exclaimed Dorothea, pointing at her husband. “I told you!”

  “All right, Dorothea, all right,” Eddie said. “So you think it’s possible, Sean?”

  “Anything’s possible,” said King vaguely. “Will your mother be home today?”

  “Yes, but the funeral’s tomorrow. A lot of people are coming in for it.”

  “Then we’ll talk to her after that. What time’s the service?”

  “Two o’clock. There’s a service at Christ Church and burial’s at Kensington. You’re welcome to come, of course.”

  Dorothea hunched forward. “So do you have any leads, anyone you suspect so far?”

  “It’s an ongoing investigation, Dorothea. We can’t comment on that,” replied King.

  “I just thought that if we helped you, you might fill us in on things,” she said bluntly.

  “Sorry, it doesn’t work that way. But since you’re here, I have a question to ask you. You visited Bobby in the afternoon on the day he was killed?”

  Dorothea stared at him blankly. “That’s right. So what?”

  “What was the purpose of your visit?”

  “He was my father-in-law. I wanted to see how he was doing. It wasn’t the first time, and I was there long before he was killed.”

  “And that night you went to Richmond. What time did you get there?”

  “I don’t remember. It was late. I went to bed.”

  “What hotel?”

  “The Jefferson. I always stay there.”

  “I’m sure you do. And I’m sure they can give us the exact time you arrived.”

  “What the hell are you getting at? I came here this morning to try and help you, not to be interrogated.”

  “And I’m trying to help you. If you were at a hotel ninety miles away when your father-in-law was being killed, you have an ironclad alibi. I’m sure the FBI has already checked into this as well.”

  Dorothea stared at King for a few more moments, then rose and stalked out. Eddie thanked them both and quickly followed. King and Michelle watched through the window as they went to their cars.

  Michelle said, “You don’t think she was at that hotel at ten o’clock, do you?”

  “I think she was somewhere she doesn’t want her husband to know about. And I’m sure Bailey has already found that out but not bothered to tell us. Her answer about seeing Bobby before was total B.S. I checked at the hospital.”

  Michelle watched as Eddie climbed in his car. “I wonder how a nice guy like him ended up with a witch like her?”

  King looked at her and smiled. “Going sweet on Eddie Battle?”

  Michelle’s face flushed. “Get serious, Sean.”

  “Do you have anything planned for tomorrow afternoon?”

  “Maybe a run.”

  “It’s canceled. We’re going to a funeral.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s a little-known fact that killers very often go to their victims’ funerals.”

  “Well, we didn’t go to the other funerals.”

  “There haven’t really been any others. Rhonda Tyler’s parents apparently didn’t want to be bothered, so she was buried in a potter’s field near Lynchburg. I went to the burial. The only other people there were the gravediggers.”

  “I’m surprised no one from the Aphrodisiac went. Like Pam maybe.”

  “I think they just want to forget it even happened.”

  “Talk about hiding your head in the sand.”

  “And Steve Canney was cremated without a service.”

  “That’s a little unusual for a big football star.”

  “His father didn’t see it that way.”

  “How about Pembroke?” asked Michelle.

  “Her parents were so embarrassed by what she was doing with Canney when she died, they buried her at an undisclosed location out of the area.”

  “Hinson?”

  “Her parents took her remains back to New York where she was born.”

  “So what do you make of Eddie and Dorothea’s coming by?” she asked.

  “Eddie I understand. His mother probably put him up to it. Her dutifully loyal son is a perfect tool for her. Dorothea’s presence was far more interesting. She claimed it was to tell us her theory on the killer. I’m surprised she’d given it that much thought actually. I think she came principally to fish for information.”

  “Maybe she’s just bucking for a bigger piece of the estate. Not that she needs it.”

  “No, I think she might,” replied King.

  “What do you mean? She’s the queen of local real estate.”

  “Dorothea’s become involved in some questionable real estate ventures that went south very recently.”

  “You did some checking?”

  “I was getting tired of letting Chip Bailey have all the fun.”

  “And you haven’t told him this?”

  “He’s FBI, he can find out for himself.”

  “So Dorothea needs money, and she’s trying to get in Remmy’s good graces in order to get it.”

  “That could be.” He checked his watch. “I’ve arranged interviews with Roger Canney and Pembroke’s parents starting in about an hour. After we finish with them, you may want to go shopping.”

  “Shopping? For what?”

  He ran his gaze over her. “Jeans and a Secret Service windbreaker just don’t cut it for proper funeral attire.”

  Chapter 45

  Sylvia Diaz was counting pills. She counted them once and then did it again. She went through her prescriptions written for the last three weeks and compared that number with the inventory counts in the pharmacy for that time period. Lastly, she went on the computer and examined the inventory numbers there. The computer records matched the levels in the pharmacy, but they didn’t reconcile with the written prescriptions. Sylvia trusted her written prescriptions. There were clearly drugs unaccounted for. She called her office manager in and spoke at length with her. They went through the records together. She next spoke with her nurse-pharmacist, who filled prescriptions for pa
tients at the office. After finishing that discussion Sylvia was convinced she knew where the problem was.

  She debated what to do about it. She had no actual proof, only a fair amount of circumstantial evidence. She started to wonder when the theft or thefts might have occurred. There was one way to check. The outside door to both the morgue and her medical practice was on a key-card access system for after-hours entry and exit. An electronic log was kept that would tell her who’d entered the premises and when. She called the security company, gave the necessary information and pass code and asked her question. Aside from herself, she was told that there was only one person who’d accessed the medical office after hours in the last month: Kyle Montgomery. In fact, Sylvia discovered that he’d made his last nighttime visit around ten o’clock on the night Bobby Battle was murdered.

  Janice Pembroke’s mother was older than King had expected. Janice was the baby, the youngest of eight, Mrs. Pembroke explained. She’d been forty-one when Janice was born. She and her second husband, Janice’s stepfather, lived in a dilapidated one-story red brick house in a run-down neighborhood. Janice had been the only child left home. Her stepfather was a short, potbellied and sour-faced man with an unlit cigarette over one ear and a Bud in his hand at nine in the morning. He apparently didn’t go to work early, if at all. He smiled lasciviously at Michelle and didn’t take his gaze off her after they had settled in the cluttered living room. Janice’s mother was a tiny thing and exhausted-looking, understandable after raising eight children and then losing one in such a horrific manner. She also had several deep bruises on her arms and face.

  “I fell down the stairs,” she explained when King and Michelle had asked.

  The woman spoke haltingly about her deceased daughter, frequently dabbing her eyes with a tissue. She didn’t even know Janice was seeing Steve Canney, she told them.

  “Different sides of the tracks,” said the stepfather gruffly. “And she slept around, dirty little bitch, and it cost her. Probably thought she could get pregnant and then get herself a rich kid like Canney. I told her she was trash and all trash ever gets is more trash. Well, she got it all right.” He gave King a triumphant look.