Hour Game skamm-2

by David Baldacci

  “I said shut up!” Williams moved toward him but Bailey got between them.

  “That’s stupid, Todd, don’t even think it.”

  “Hey, thanks, Chippy. You’ve always been such a good friend,” said Eddie.

  Bailey whipped around, and his hand went toward his gun.

  Now Williams stepped in. “Okay, Chip, we’re not going to let him do this to us.” He bellowed to two of his deputies. “Take him to the holding cage on the second floor. We’ll come get him when the crowd’s under control.”

  “Good luck,” called out Eddie as the deputies led him away. “Don’t let me down now.”

  Chapter 89

  One of the deputies was by the outside door; the other hovered by the window.

  “It looks like a damn riot there,” said the one by the window. He was Eddie’s height, well built, with curly hair. “There goes the tear gas.”

  “Tear gas!” said the other, a short cop with a bulldog chest, wide waist and broad hips that caused all the gear on his belt to stick out sideways. “Wish I were out there shooting some of that stuff at those sumbitches.”

  “Well, go on, I got things here.”

  “No can do. The chief said to stay put.” He glanced in the direction of the holding cell where Eddie Battle sat silently watching them. “This mutha’s killed a bunch of people. Dude’s crazy.”

  “They don’t riot for jaywalkers, boys,” said Eddie.

  They both looked at him. The big cop laughed. “That’s a good one. They don’t riot for jaywalkers.”

  The short cop looked at his partner.

  “Go on,” said the big cop. “This dude’s going nowhere.”

  “Well, look here, if you see the chief coming, radio me. I’ll be back in a flash.”

  “Roger that.”

  The short cop left, and it was just Eddie and the big cop.

  Eddie rose and moved to the door. “You got a cigarette?”

  “Right, like I’m falling for that one. My mother didn’t raise no idiots. You just stay over there and I’ll stay over here.”

  “Come on, they searched every crevice I have and some I didn’t even know I had. I’ve got nothing to hurt you with. I really need a smoke.”

  “Uh-huh.” The big cop kept looking out the window. He glanced back every now and then to check on Eddie but eventually kept his gaze on the goings-on outside.

  Eddie Battle had massive forearms with thick, pronounced veins. One of these veins was bigger and thicker than the others, a fact probably noted by the police who searched him, but not raising any suspicion. It was a vein after all, full of blood. However, to someone as skilled as Eddie Battle, a vein was not always a vein. This vein, in fact, was made of plastic, resin and rubber and was completely hollow. In the course of his reenactment career Eddie had become very adept at makeup, disguises, costuming and creating fake wounds and scars. He sat back down in the shadows for a bit, working on the artificial vein with his fingers. It finally “ruptured,” and he slid out the very slender items that had been hidden there. The risk that he might be caught had been very real, and he’d taken some very real measures to deal with that eventuality. No search of his person, however thorough, would have turned up the pick and tension tool hidden in the hollow vein.

  He kept his eyes on the big cop still looking out the window. He moved forward quietly, draped his manacled hands through the bars of the cell such that they covered the lock. He inserted the instruments in the lock and slowly worked it. He’d practiced this very maneuver for hours at a time on an old cell-door lock he had salvaged from a prison that had been torn down. Finally, through the tension tool and lockpick he could feel the tumblers start to fall into place. There was a loud noise from outside, and he used that moment to cover the sound of the lock clicking open. He held on to the bars and slipped his instruments between his wrist and manacles.

  “Hey, dumb-ass! Hey, I’m talking to you, you big stupid piece of flesh.”

  The big cop turned and eyed him. “Why don’t you just stuff it! I ain’t the one going to no electric chair.”

  “Lethal injection, you moron.”

  “Right, that’s my point, so who’s the dumb-ass?”

  “From where I’m looking you are.” Come on, big guy, just step this way.

  “Keep right on talking.”

  “What, sticks and stones’ll break your bones, but words will never hurt you? How the hell did somebody like you get to be a cop? But not a real cop, just a country bumpkin.” Come on, you know you want a piece of me. Here, coppie, coppie.

  “Us country bumpkins caught you, now, didn’t we?”

  “An ex-Secret Service agent did, dumb-shit. Your police chief I could’ve eaten for breakfast any day of the week.” Eddie glanced at the man’s hand and saw the wedding band. “After I screwed your little woman, that is. Damn, she was a tasty thing.”

  “Uh-huh.” A bead of sweat broke over the back of the cop’s thick neck. His pistol hand clenched and unclenched.

  Almost there.

  “Are your kids as ugly as you are, or did you and your fat-ass wife adopt so you wouldn’t have any little freaks running around?”

  The cop whirled around and strode toward the cell, his big low-quarter shoes thumping on the painted concrete floor with each step. “All right, you piece of shit, you’re damn lucky you’re in there—”

  Eddie kicked the door open, and the heavy metal caught the cop flush in the face. He went down hard. Eddie charged out, the chain binding his hands went around the cop’s neck and Eddie flexed his powerful arms. In thirty seconds there was no more big cop. Eddie searched the body, got the keys to the manacles and was free. He raced over, locked the door to the hallway, pulled the dead officer into the cell, switched clothes and set him on the bunk propped against the wall.

  Eddie put on the cop’s sunglasses and broad-brimmed hat, unlocked the door and glanced down the hallway. There were officers stationed along this corridor.

  Not a problem, there was always the window. He shut the door, raced over and looked out. Fortunately for him, the police had now herded the crowd to the other side of the building. He glanced down. It wouldn’t be easy, but the alternative was far more unpalatable. And he had a job to finish. He opened the window, climbed out, felt for the ledge below with his feet and hit it squarely. He squatted, gripped the slender edge of brick with his strong fingers, eased his body off but held on, swinging. He glanced to the right and left. He swung out, did it again, a little farther this time, and then once more, until his body was almost parallel with the ledge. On the fourth swing he let go, the man on the flying trapeze. He hit the outcropping of roof on the first floor of the building, caught his balance and then lowered himself to the ground.

  Instead of running away, he marched to the other side of the building and right into the middle of the crowd, fighting his way through at the same time he pretended to be helping quell the riot. He reached a number of empty squad cars, looking in one after another until he spotted keys in the ignition of a bulky Ford Mercury. He climbed in, backed it out and drove off. The riot was still going on, the network personnel gleefully filming all of it for the national audience. However, they’d just missed the biggest scoop of all: the successful escape of Eddie Lee Battle.

  He found a pack of gum in the ashtray, popped a piece of Juicy Fruit in his mouth and turned the police radio on high so he could learn instantly when they discovered he was no longer in custody. He breathed the fresh air and flicked a wave to a kid walking his bike along the side of the road. He slowed the squad car and rolled down the window.

  “Hey, you gonna grow up to be a good law-abiding person, son?”

  “Yes, sir, mister,” called out the little boy. “I wanna be just like you.”

  He tossed the kid a stick of gum. “No, you don’t, son.” You don’t want to be like me. I’m terminal; only got a few days to live.

  But he looked on the bright side as he sped up. He was free and he was back in business.
And he only had one more to go. One more!

  It felt so damn good.

  Chapter 90

  “So who killed Bobby Battle and Kyle Montgomery?” asked Michelle.

  They were sitting on King’s dock catching some sun after returning from a morning ride on their Sea-Doos.

  “Nothing’s clicked yet. Maybe I used up all my little gray cells catching Eddie.”

  “Well, Dorothea had the best motive to kill Kyle.”

  “And she had the opportunity to kill Bobby as well. And maybe the motivation. If he didn’t live up to his part of the bargain and give her a bigger piece of the estate.”

  Michelle looked troubled. “I know you concocted all that stuff about Remmy and Harry, but you don’t really think—”

  “Harry has an alibi, an ironclad one. At the time of Battle’s death he was giving a speech to the Virginia State Bar in Charlottesville.”

  Michelle looked relieved. “And Remmy?”

  Now King looked troubled. “I don’t know, Michelle, I just don’t know. She certainly had good reason to want to kill him.”

  “Or maybe someone who wanted to be the next lord of the manor did it.”

  He looked at her strangely and was about to respond when his cell phone rang.

  He answered, listened, and his face turned ashen. He clicked off.

  “This is really, really bad, isn’t it?” she said fearfully.

  “Eddie’s escaped.”

  All the Battles were given round-the-clock security at their home. Harry Carrick, King and Michelle joined them there, since their lives were conceivably in danger too. A massive three-state manhunt jointly conducted by the FBI and area police was begun, but two days later there was no sign of Eddie.

  King and Michelle were in the dining room having coffee with Sylvia, Bailey and Williams and talking about the case.

  “Eddie’s a very experienced outdoorsman. And he knows this country better than most,” pointed out Bailey. “He’s hunted over it and explored it for most of his life. He can live on next to nothing for weeks.”

  “Thanks, Chip, that’s very encouraging,” Williams said sourly. “We’ll find the son of a bitch, but I can’t promise to bring him in alive.”

  “I don’t think Eddie will let that happen again,” King said.

  “Wouldn’t he have fled the area as fast as possible?” asked Michelle.

  King shook his head. “Too many roadblocks and police at all the bus and train stations and the airport. The police car he stole was found abandoned on a back road. I think he took to the hills.”

  Williams nodded at this. “His best chance is to lay low around here, change his appearance as much as he can, and when things quiet down a bit, he makes his run.”

  King didn’t look convinced.

  Williams noted this and said, “You disagree?”

  “I think he’s hanging around but not for the purpose you think.”

  “What, then?”

  “Someone killed his father.”

  “So?”

  “So I think Eddie wanted that all to himself. I think Bobby was supposed to be the final victim in all this, if the stroke didn’t kill him first.” King glanced at Michelle. “He came to see us, claiming his mother was upset about people thinking she had Junior and her husband killed. He knew she hadn’t done it. He wanted us to find out who had. And you remember when we were having drinks with him at the Sage Gentleman. He said his father just had to live.”

  “So he could kill him,” said Michelle.

  “So what the hell is he going to do, go after the person who killed Bobby?” said Williams. “We don’t even know who that is, Sean.”

  “But if we run that person down, we have a good shot at nailing Eddie.”

  “I’d appreciate it if you would not plot the capture and execution of my only remaining son in my house.”

  They all turned to see Remmy standing there. She’d rarely come into the mansion’s public spaces. When she did, she spoke to no one, not even Harry. Her meals were delivered to her bedroom.

  King rose from his chair. “I’m sorry, Remmy, we didn’t see you standing there.”

  “Why should I be? This is only my house and my dining room, and those cups you’re drinking out of are mine too, in case you’d forgotten.”

  King glanced at Williams. “I know this arrangement is awkward—”

  “To put it mildly,” she interrupted.

  Williams said, “It’s just a lot easier having all of you in the same place, Remmy.”

  “Oh, I’m glad it’s easier for some people; it’s certainly not for me.”

  “We can go to a hotel,” suggested Michelle, but Remmy dismissed this remark with a decisive wave of her hand.

  “Never let it be said I shirked my civic duty, even if it does mean losing my son.” She stalked out of the room.

  They all looked at each other nervously.

  “This really is an impossible situation for her,” said Sylvia.

  “Do you think any of us like it?” rebutted Michelle. “Eddie is a mass murderer. She has to learn to accept that.”

  King took on a thoughtful look as he stirred more sugar into his coffee. “Speaking of which, I hope all of you realize that the case against Eddie isn’t ironclad.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” protested Williams. “He showed up at Harry’s house with a zodiac mask on, ready to kill all of you. And now he’s escaped and killed a deputy in the process.”

  “Right. But not knowing what happened between him and the deputy, there might be a claim for self-defense or manslaughter. The cell door was open, and a defense counsel could make the claim that the deputy was trying to hurry along the process of justice and Eddie just fought back. Now, I’m as certain he’s guilty of all those murders as though I’d seen him commit them. But you don’t have to convince me, you have to convince a neutral jury, maybe one from another part of the state or even a different state. So where’s your direct evidence that he committed the murders?”

  Williams was still bristling. “All the stuff you said. His motivation, the cipher disk, drugging Dorothea.”

  “That’s theorizing and speculation, Todd,” said King firmly. “We need physical evidence tying him to the crimes; do we have it?”

  Sylvia spoke up. “If you’d asked me before the murder of Jean Robinson, I’d probably say no. However, I found a hair follicle with root attached to it on the floor next to her bed. I don’t know how it got there, but the color and texture told me it wasn’t hers or her husband’s. I’ve sent it for typing along with a sample of Eddie’s DNA. If it matches, we have him, at least for that murder.”

  “And hopefully ballistics will match the slugs shot into our car tires when Junior was killed to the gun taken from Eddie,” pointed out Michelle.

  “Just let me get hold of him,” said Williams. “We’ll have a confession in no time.”

  “If we get hold of him,” said Michelle.

  “He can hide for a while, but we’ll eventually catch him,” said the police chief confidently.

  “The person he’s after,” said King. “That’s the key. We find him, we find Eddie.”

  “You really think that?” said Bailey.

  “No,” replied King, “I know it. He’s got one more to go. Just one more. And we have to get there before he does.”

  Chapter 91

  Eddie sat back on the small cot in his cave. He’d rested, eaten and planned. He had a battery-powered TV/radio/police scanner and had kept abreast of the search developments, which was fairly easy since there were none. However, he was limited in his movements. He could only go out at night, and it was a long hike to the battered old truck he’d hidden away in a patch of woods just for this contingency.

  After all these years of bouncing from thing to thing, never really etching an identity anywhere, he’d finally found his niche: fugitive killer. He laughed, rose, stretched, dropped to the ground and did a hundred push-ups and an equal number of sit-
ups. He had wedged a steel bar between two jagged outcroppings of rock farther back in the cave. He did twenty-five quick pull-ups and then five with each arm. He dropped to the ground, breathing hard. He wasn’t twenty anymore, but for his age he wasn’t doing too badly. Big cop would no doubt have attested to that.

  He slid the pistol out of its holster and chambered body-armor-piercing ammo he’d purchased on the black market with as much ease as clicking a mouse key. Hell, you could buy anything on the Net—guns, ammo, women, children, marriage, divorce, happiness, death—if you just knew where to look. But it was only one gun against a thousand, far worse odds than even at the Alamo.

  And yet a man with nothing to live for is a powerful man indeed. Perhaps unbeatable. Had he read that somewhere or just made it up? Whatever, it would become his coda from this point forward.

  They’d eventually hunt him down and kill him. Of that he was certain. But it didn’t matter so long as he got to his father’s killer first. That’s all that really mattered now. Wow, he’d certainly streamlined his life. He laughed again.

  He took the list from his pocket. The names were dwindling, but he wasn’t sure he could manage now to get to them all. However, after much thought he might just have come upon a shortcut. He’d try it out tonight. Two more deaths: his father’s killer and his own. And then Wrightsburg could get back to normal. His family could move forward with fresh lives, finally free of their monster patriarch.

  He lay back down on the cot, listened with one ear to the radio and with the other to any noise coming from outside. The cave’s isolated location and well-hidden entrance made it highly unlikely anyone would come near. However, if they had the misfortune to, he’d give them a proper burial. He was not a monster; in his case the apple had fallen far from the tree.

  I am not my father’s son. And thank you, Jesus, for that. But I’ll be seeing you soon, Pop. Maybe the devil will bunk us together. For all time. We’ll talk.

  He cracked his thick knuckles and dreamed of such an encounter as the afternoon receded into night. The night when he’d be on the move. To his shortcut. To his last target. And then the big curtain would come down on the Eddie Lee Battle Show. There’d be no encore. He was getting tired. Good-bye, everybody, it was cool while it lasted.