“You mentioned that before,” said Williams.
“But it wasn’t a literal clue. It made me start thinking about the drug that Eddie was given, or rather self-administered.”
“Morphine sulfate,” said Michelle.
“Right. I spoke with a narcotics expert. He told me that an average dose of the drug will knock you out for eight to nine hours unless the person it’s given to is prone to using heavy-duty narcotics. Then its effects would be diminished. Well, Dorothea was just such a heavy-narcotics user. I believe Eddie slipped her the drug around two o’clock that night after they’d had sex. Yet because she’d built up resistance through her own drug use, the morphine’s effects were reduced. In fact, she’d almost fully recovered less than six hours later—before eight o’clock, in fact, the time Savannah came and told her about Sally’s being killed.”
“But she mentioned she was in a fog,” said Bailey.
“And she was, but coming out of it. We just thought she was lying, trying to cover up. However, Eddie couldn’t give himself the morphine sulfate until after he’d killed Sally, not before, say, six o’clock or so. He started to come out of the effects of it around three in the afternoon, about nine hours after he took it, or the normal length of time the drug would render someone unconscious. That could only be possible if he took it after Sally was killed. The seven-hour reference that kept bugging me came from Sally’s being killed less than seven hours after she told me about Junior. That made me start thinking about how long Eddie was knocked out, and it just didn’t add up. Particularly if you believed Dorothea was drugged too, since they recovered at very different times. Even with her built-up tolerance it was far too much of a discrepancy.”
Williams slapped his leg. “Damn, I never even thought of that.” He pointed a big finger at Bailey. “Neither did you.”
King continued. “Conceivably, if the killer wasn’t Eddie, he might have drugged Eddie, but he would have done it well in advance of killing Sally so Eddie would’ve been safely unconscious. He wouldn’t have waited until after he’d killed Sally. What would have been the point? And typically, a murderer wants to get away, not take time injecting a knockout drug into someone for no reason.”
“That makes sense,” admitted Bailey.
“And the seven hours also made me start thinking about something else. If Sally was killed because of what she told me barely seven hours earlier, then my houseboat had to be bugged. How else could Eddie have known about it so quickly? He might have followed Sally to my place and been listening from his car. Anyway, I had to do something about that, so I got this.”
He held up the small device. “It’s a transmitter detector and frequency grabber with a range of one to three megahertz. It also has a sixteen-section bar graph to indicate RF strength so it’ll home right in on the location of the bug.”
“You found the bug but didn’t remove it?” said Bailey.
“No. So long as Eddie thought the intelligence he gathered on it was valid, then I could use that to set him up.”
“It was brave of Harry and Remmy to play along,” said Michelle.
“Neither one of them knew it was Eddie until he spoke. I regret shocking Remmy like that, but I thought burdening her with the knowledge of her son’s guilt beforehand would have been even worse.”
“I was nervous about it,” said Williams. “I mean, we had the place surrounded, but still he could have shot somebody.”
“I was sure he wouldn’t, not when he realized Harry had nothing to do with Bobby’s death. Eddie played fair, I’ll give him that. He killed, but he did so for specific reasons. But, just in case, I had Harry wear the bulletproof vest. It made his suit a little tight, but it was well worth the inconvenience. And of course, having a dozen armed lawmen in the same room didn’t hurt.” He opened his desk and took out another object.
“What’s that?” asked Sylvia, looking at it curiously.
“It’s a cipher disk, a way of decoding encrypted messages. This version was used by the Confederate army during the Civil War. Eddie has one in his artist’s studio.” He moved the disk around. “If you’re just one tick off, like one minute on a watch face, the entire meaning of what you’re saying changes. One tick, that’s all it takes. I’m sure that’s where Eddie got the idea for altering the watch times, depending on the victim. It would appeal to both his creative side and his love of Civil War history.”
“But what I don’t get is, he had alibis,” protested Bailey. “We checked. For instance, when Canney, Pembroke and Hinson were killed, he was attending Civil War reenactments.”
“Yes. But at night the reenactors sleep in their vehicles or else in their own tents. Eddie could easily slip out and no one would miss him. I clocked it on the map. At each murder he was only at most a two-hour drive away. He easily could be back in time to fight the next day.”
Bailey said, “Wait a minute. We found people who’d been at those reenactments. They remembered Eddie’s truck being there virtually the whole time. That’s documented.”
King answered, “I’m sure his truck was there. But his truck also has a tow hitch. I checked. At the two reenactments you’re talking about, he didn’t bring his horse trailer. But he could have towed another car close to the reenactment area and hidden it in the woods. Then he uses that vehicle to get to and from the murders, and everyone would believe he’d never left because his truck was still there. In fact, I think we’ll find out that he had another car hidden somewhere that he used.”
“God,” said Sylvia, letting out a long breath. “We’ve all been so blind.”
“Okay, Sean, you’ve told us how you figured it out, now tell us why. Why did Eddie kill all those people?” asked Williams.
“And in stupid-people language, if you can manage it,” said Sylvia with a smile, repeating the phrase King had used at the morgue when she’d been about to explain the cause of Rhonda Tyler’s death.
King didn’t smile back. “Eddie Battle is a very complex man. And this plan has been forming in his mind for a very long time. I think it all started with the death of his twin brother.”
“Bobby Jr., the one who was born severely retarded,” said Bailey.
“No, Bobby Jr. wasn’t born that way; he was born infected with syphilis. The brain damage came later.”
“Syphilis?” exclaimed Bailey.
King picked up two pictures from his desk. “When Michelle and I were in Remmy’s bedroom, Savannah showed us this picture of the twins when they were infants. She couldn’t tell them apart.” He picked up the other photo. “This is a picture of Bobby Jr. shortly before he died, which Mason showed us. The change in his features, the manifestations of the hydrocephalus and the problems with his teeth and eyes are very apparent. It was passed through to him by his mother when he was in the womb.”
“Hutchinson’s teeth, mulberry molars, optic nerve atrophy,” said Sylvia as she stared at the young man’s photo. “Yet how did Remmy contract syphilis?”
“From her husband. He was contagious either when he impregnated Remmy with the twins or had intercourse with her during the first or second trimester of that pregnancy.”
“And syphilis can cross the placenta,” said Sylvia in a hushed tone.
“Exactly. Bobby Jr. eventually became brain-damaged and suffered the other effects because it wasn’t treated. He later died from cancer, but I’m sure the syphilis had severely weakened his body.”
“But why wasn’t it treated?” asked Sylvia.
“I’ve had a very awkward conversation with Remmy about that. She said that when her son started exhibiting strange symptoms, Bobby refused to take the boy to the doctor. He wouldn’t even acknowledge he was ill. He probably wouldn’t even admit to himself he had syphilis, because apparently he never went for treatment either. Anyway, by the time Remmy sought medical help, it was too late. The disease had done irreversible damage. Remember, this was over thirty years ago, and the level of medical knowledge wasn’t nearly as far along as
it is today. She’s lived with that guilt for years.”
“It’s hard to believe a woman like Remmy wouldn’t have taken her son to a doctor immediately,” said Michelle.
“That’s exactly what I was thinking,” said Sylvia.
“I think there’s a lot we don’t know about Remmy and her relationship with her husband,” said King. “A woman who talks with adoration and pride about her husband but doesn’t wear her wedding ring and doesn’t care if she gets it back? Those are some deep waters we’ll never plumb entirely.”
“But they had Savannah years later and she’s okay,” pointed out Bailey.
“Bobby was no longer contagious by then, and Remmy had received treatment for syphilis years before.” King put the photos away and continued. “Now, historically, one major way the disease is spread is through sexual intercourse with prostitutes. As we know, Bobby had the reputation of consorting with such women. He contracted the disease from a prostitute and passed it to Remmy, who unwittingly passed it to Bobby Jr. He and Eddie weren’t identical twins, but fraternal, so they didn’t share the same amniotic fluid. That’s probably why Eddie wasn’t infected.”
“And Eddie found out about this?” asked Bailey.
“Yes, although how I’m not sure. But I think he’s been harboring this knowledge for a long time. A powder keg waiting to blow. I think Eddie too felt enormous guilt. He knew it was only by luck that he escaped that same fate. From all accounts he loved his brother very much.”
“So Rhonda Tyler was—,” began Williams.
“Eddie’s way of symbolically punishing the prostitute who’d infected his father all those years ago and thus doomed his brother. Tyler had the great misfortune to come across Eddie at some point.”
“The unusual wrinkling on Bobby’s aorta and the brain lesions,” said Sylvia. “All that points to syphilis,” she said in a very chagrined tone, putting a hand over her eyes.
“You weren’t really looking for it, Sylvia,” said King kindly. “And those things could be caused by other diseases as well.”
Michelle picked up the explanation. “Steve Canney had to die because his mother had an affair with Bobby that produced Steve. His mother was dead, so Steve had to be sacrificed in her place.”
“Eddie is devoted to Remmy,” said King. “I’m sure he saw the bastard child as a direct slap against her. Janice Pembroke was simply in the wrong place, wrong time.”
“One tick off,” said Bailey.
“Right. Same with Diane Hinson. One tick off, to cover his tracks and to further break the connection between the victims.”
“And Junior Deaver?”
“Eddie thought he’d stolen from his mother. That was enough. When he found out he’d been wrong, he took it out on Sally. You can see his sense of fair play and justice, however twisted. The mud prints in their foyer should have told me it was him. Savannah said she never moved away from the doorway, but there were muddy prints all over. They were from Eddie’s boots, not Savannah’s. He was cutting it tight. He had no idea when Dorothea would come out of the drug’s effects, and he had to take the morphine too. He probably didn’t even notice the mud. As we could tell from the beating he gave Sally, he was slightly crazed.”
“Slightly!” exclaimed Williams.
“And then he set up Harold Robinson to take the fall. Why he picked him I don’t know.”
“Wait a minute. The man the little boy saw was Eddie?” asked Michelle.
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t Eddie just kill him too?”
“He might have thought if the boy believed it was his dad, it would help to seal Robinson’s fate further. That actually happened. Or maybe despite all he’s done, he couldn’t bring himself to kill a child. As I said, Eddie is a very complex man.”
“You mean a monster,” said Williams.
“Does Dorothea know?” asked Sylvia.
Bailey nodded. “I told her. Remmy and Savannah joined me in giving her the news. That’s one stricken family, let me tell you.”
“But why did Eddie impersonate famous serial killers?” asked Williams.
King inclined his head at Bailey. “I think that was directed at you, Chip.”
“Me?”
“It would make sense if he wanted to flaunt his superiority. Beat you at your own area of expertise.”
“But why? We were friends. I saved his life.”
“No, you blew his kidnapping scheme out of the water.”
Bailey came right out of his chair. “What?”
“I’m convinced he arranged his own kidnapping. He hired the man you killed. He wanted to punish his father for the death of his brother two years before, and the only way the twenty-year-old college student could think to do that was by smashing him in the wallet to the tune of five million dollars. I’m sure he was the one who was burning the money after you killed his partner. He didn’t want his father to get it back. But he ran out of time. He had to tie himself back up and play dumb when you got there. I told you he’d been harboring this hatred for his father a long time.”
“Unbelievable,” said Bailey as he slowly sat back down. “That’s unbelievable,” he said again. “And all these years he’s pretended everything was great and he was really hating my guts?”
“Eddie is a consummate actor and liar. And let’s put it this way: consider yourself very fortunate you weren’t found with a watch around your wrist.”
“Jesus!” the FBI agent said.
“But, Sean,” said Williams, “it’s been twenty years between the kidnapping and all these murders. What set Eddie off?”
“I believe it was his father’s stroke. Perhaps he felt Bobby would die before he could show him his version of justice. I don’t know that for sure, but the timing I think is beyond coincidence.”
“So what now?” asked Michelle.
Williams answered, “Eddie’s being arraigned tomorrow at the courthouse.”
“No doubt his trial will get a change of venue,” said King. “If it goes that far.”
“What, you mean insanity?” asked Williams. “No way. The bastard knew exactly what he was doing.”
“In a way he was exorcising demons that have been with him most of his life,” said King. “I’m not excusing anything he did, and if he gets the death penalty, so be it. But if he hadn’t had Bobby Battle as his father, I don’t think any of this would have happened.”
They all looked at each other in silence.
“And there but for the grace of God go I,” said Sylvia in a very low voice.
Chapter 88
When Eddie Battle was driven over to the courthouse the next morning in a special convoy provided by state police and uniformed FBI agents, the crowd of townspeople and media was so enormous the convoy couldn’t get through. Indeed, fueled by the national attention the story had received, seemingly everyone from a five-state area had come to watch. And there was an angry look to the throng.
“Shit,” bellowed Chief Williams as he stared out at the crowds from the lead van. “I was afraid of this. We’ve been getting death threats against Battle ever since the story broke about his capture.” He eyed the mobs in their way. “No telling if somebody out there has a gun either.” He scrutinized a group of tough-looking men standing beside pickup trucks with building materials in the beds.
“That’s probably a bunch of Junior’s good old boys, and they don’t look like they’re here to pat Eddie on the head.”
“Isn’t there an underground entrance to the courthouse?” said Bailey, who was in the rear seat behind Williams.
“Don’t you think if there were I would have already gone there? Maybe we should take him back to the jail and let it settle down.”
“Settle down! It’s not going to settle down for months. We might as well get it over with now, while we have the manpower with us.”
Williams studied the crowd some more, then barked into his walkie-talkie. “Okay, let’s move it right down the middle of the street. Take it
slow; I don’t want any civil lawsuits because we ran over somebody. We’ll pull onto the lawn directly by the front steps. You clear and secure that area. I want a ring of body armor there, you understand? Then we’ll open the doors and hustle him through fast for his arraignment. But before he comes back out, we’re going to disperse this damn crowd and get these media trucks out of here, that’s for damn sure.”
“You’re gonna have a big First Amendment problem with that, Todd,” said Bailey.
“To hell with the First Amendment! I’ve got a prisoner to keep alive. Even if it’s just so they can execute him.”
The area was secured, the van pulled in front and Eddie Battle was whisked into the courthouse as screams and epithets rained down on the men encircling him, along with bottles, cans, rocks and other thrown items but fortunately no bullets.
Battle’s court-appointed lawyers met him outside the courtroom. They spoke briefly and went inside, where Eddie pleaded not guilty. His counsel didn’t ask for bail to be set, not that such a request would have been seriously considered. His lawyers might have been terrified that a free Eddie would come and visit them in the middle of the night.
“We’ll be in touch,” said his lead attorney, a tall, portly woman with a bad haircut.
“I’m sure,” said Eddie, his strong body nearly bursting out of the too small orange prison jumpsuit. “You think you can get me off with good behavior?”
Eddie and his bodyguards headed back out but were stopped by Williams and Bailey long before they got to the exit doors.
“We’re looking at a near riot out there,” said Williams. “Before we can get him out, we have to deal with it. I’ve ordered pepper spray and tear gas if they won’t disperse on their own.”
Eddie smiled. “Looks like I really lighted up old Wrightsburg’s fire, Todd.”
“Shut up!” screamed Williams, but that did nothing to wipe the smile off Eddie’s face. It just grew bigger.
“Now, you have to protect me, Todd. You can’t let them kill me or the media will be pissed. You can’t deprive them of the show. Think of the ratings. Think of the ad dollars.”
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