Hour Game (18 page)

T
HERE 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 departed.

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?”

She looked disappointed and sat back. “Every man has his enemies. A rich, successful man has more than most.”

“Do you have anyone in particular in mind?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Remmy, we’re just trying to get to the truth.”

“So am I,” she retorted.

King said, “With ‘enemies’ are you referring to business or personal?”

The woman’s gaze swiveled to him now. “I’m sure I couldn’t say. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have funeral arrangements to attend to, now that I’ve finally gotten back my husband’s body from that
place,
” she said, undoubtedly referring to the undignified invasion of her husband’s remains at the morgue.

“Remmy, we have more questions,” said Bailey.

“And you know where to find me when you want to ask them,” she said.

“Okay, we’ll need to talk to Savannah. Is she around?”

Remmy had half risen and now stopped. “Why do you want to talk to her?”

“She was at the hospital on the day Bobby died.”

“So what?”

“So that makes her someone I need to speak to,” said Bailey very firmly. “You know, Remmy, I saved your son’s life. I thought by that you’d realize I know what I’m doing.”

King was waiting for her to erupt at this statement, but all she said was, “It might take a while. My daughter has never been an early riser.” She left the room.

King couldn’t help himself from asking, “So you’re
not
discounting the two-killer angle, Chip?”

“In a murder investigation I don’t discount anything. The fact that nothing was missing from Battle’s room doesn’t jibe with the other killings.” He looked at King and Michelle. “So what do you two think?”

“I think the woman has her own agenda and is trying to get as much information out of us as we’re trying to get out of her,” answered Michelle promptly.

“And I think she won this round handily,” said King with his gaze on Bailey.

O
N THE MORNING THAT THE INTERROGATION OF THE
B
ATTLES
was taking place, Kyle Montgomery sat in his apartment and fingered the new acoustical guitar he’d purchased with his drug profits. He strummed a few chords and sang a few words, his normal procedure when thinking intently. He finally put the guitar aside, slipped gloves on and pulled out a pencil and piece of paper and sat at his kitchen table. He thought about what to write and then how to write it. After several more minutes of contemplation he began to etch out large block letters. He made it halfway through, balled up the paper and threw it away. He did that twice more before settling on the final wording, chewing down a pencil in the process.

He sat back and read over it three times. It would no doubt get the person’s attention; however, his dilemma was he didn’t know if he actually possessed any blackmail information. Yet the beauty of it was that if the person
was
guilty, the wording of the letter would surely do its work. And his next message would carry with it a request for money, to be delivered in a very safe way that he’d think of in the meantime. He wondered how much it would be worth and then ultimately decided he couldn’t determine that yet. He looked at his new guitar. One hour’s work had brought that to him. One hour! When he slaved during the day for pennies! Well, maybe not too much longer.

He put the letter in an envelope, addressed it and then walked down to the corner mailbox and dropped it in. When the metal
door of the postal box clanged shut, Kyle wondered for one terrifying second if he’d just made a huge blunder. However, that dread quickly left him. It was replaced by an even stronger emotion: greed.

They waited for forty-five minutes, and Bailey was just about to leave the room and find one of the household staff when Savannah Battle finally tottered into the library.

Where the mother had been all stone and ice, the daughter looked like a burning photograph a few seconds from curling up and disintegrating.

“Hello, Savannah,” said King. “We’re sorry we have to bother you now.”

If she said something in response, none could hear it. She just stood there dressed in baggy sweatpants and a William and Mary T-shirt with no bra underneath. She was barefoot, her hair a tangled mess. Her nose and cheeks were so reddened it looked like she’d dived headfirst into a bottle of rouge. And she was chewing on her nails.

“Uh, Savannah, you want to take a seat?” asked Bailey.

The woman just stood there staring at the floor, her finger in her mouth. Michelle finally rose, guided her to the couch, poured her a cup of coffee and handed it to her. “Drink it,” she said firmly.

Savannah cradled the cup in both hands and took a sip.

The ensuing interview was very frustrating. Savannah, when she did answer their questions, mumbled. When asked to repeat, she mumbled again. She’d gone to the hospital around lunchtime to see her father on the day he died. That much they managed to glean after several tedious attempts and misfires. She stayed about thirty minutes, saw no one and left. Her father was not conscious during that time. They didn’t bother asking her if she had any reason to believe someone might want to kill her father. That required a level of mental acuity that the girl simply wasn’t capable of right now. She’d been home the night of Bobby Battle’s death but wasn’t sure if anyone saw her.

As she slowly walked out of the room, Michelle touched King on the arm. “You were right. Daddy’s little girl is rocked.”

“But are we sure why?”

Chip Bailey received a phone call that caused him to have to make a hasty departure.

King and Michelle followed him to the front door, where King said, “We’ll just hang here. You know, deputy stuff.”

Bailey didn’t look too pleased, but he had no grounds to argue the point.

“You’re enjoying baiting him, aren’t you?” said Michelle after the man had left.

“I look for the small pleasures of life wherever I can find them.”

King and Michelle returned to the library, where Mason was clearing the tray.

“Here, let me help you.” King reached over and pushed the coffee cups together, spilling the remains from one in the process.

“Sorry,” said King. He dabbed up the spill with a napkin.

“Thanks, Sean,” said Mason as he picked up the tray. They followed him into the enormous kitchen that was outfitted with professional-grade appliances and every gizmo a cook would need to transform food into art.

King whistled. “I wondered how the Battles could dish up all that wonderful cuisine at those functions I attended.”

Mason smiled. “First-class. Mrs. Battle wouldn’t have it any other way.”

King perched on the edge of a table. “It’s a good thing you were still up when Remmy came home that night. What with everything she’s had to go through and all.”

“It’s been hard for the whole family,” said Mason.

“I bet it has. So she got here around eleven?”

“Just that. I remember looking at my watch when I heard her drive up.”

Michelle noted this down while King continued. “Were you still in the house when she got the phone call that Bobby had died?”

He nodded. “I was just finishing up some things and about to head out when she came running down the stairs. She was frantic, half-dressed, words coming out all jumbled. Took me a full minute to calm her down to where I could even understand her.”

“She said she called Eddie to come get her.”

“Only he wasn’t home. I wanted to drive her to the hospital, but she told me to stay here in case anyone called. She left about ten minutes later. When she got back, she looked like a ghost, no light in her eyes at all.”

Mason looked down, apparently embarrassed at his choice of words. “Anyway, then it turns out he was murdered. Now, Mrs. Battle’s a strong person. She can take a shot with the best of them. But two shots and that close together, that’s another story.”

“She seemed very composed this morning,” commented Michelle.

“She’s resilient,” he said, bristling. “And she has to be strong for everyone else.”

“Yes, Savannah seemed a little out of it. I guess she and her father were really very close,” said Michelle.

Mason offered no comment.

“Although she hasn’t been home that much over the last few years.”

“Hardly at all,” said Mason. “Whether that’s a good or bad thing I’m sure I couldn’t say.”

You already have, Mason,
thought King. “Apparently, Savannah was home that night. I’m surprised that she didn’t go to the hospital with Remmy.”

“I don’t know if she was home or not. If she was, I didn’t see her.”

“Can I speak frankly, Mason?” said King.

The man turned to him, looking a little surprised. “I guess so.”

“Bobby’s death might not be connected to the other killings.”

“Okay,” said Mason slowly.

“So if he was killed by someone else, we have to start looking at motivations.”

Mason didn’t say anything for a few seconds. “You mean one of the
family
?”

“Not necessarily, but that can’t be discounted.” He eyed the man keenly. “You’ve been with them a long time. It’s easy to see you’re far more than the hired help.”

“I’ve been with them through the good and the bad,” Mason said.

“Tell us about the bad,” said King.

“Look, if you’re trying to get me to say something that’ll hurt Mrs. Battle—”

King interrupted. “All I’m trying to do is get to the truth, Mason.”

“She would never have done anything like that!” he said sharply. “She loved Mr. Battle.”

“And yet her wedding ring wasn’t on her finger.”

Mason started for a moment and then said, “I believe it needed repairs. She didn’t want to risk further damage. I wouldn’t read any more into it.”

Nice comeback,
thought King. “Anyone else you can think of?”

Mason thought about this but then shook his head. “I really couldn’t say. I mean, I don’t know anything like that,” he added quickly.

Is it the former or the latter?
wondered King. He produced one of his cards. “If something does occur to you, give us a call. We’re far nicer than the FBI,” he added.

As Mason walked them out, King stopped in front of a bookcase containing numerous photos. One in particular had caught his eye. He showed it to Mason.

“That’s Bobby Jr., Eddie’s twin. He was about fourteen when that picture was taken. He was born first by a few minutes; that’s why he was the junior.”

“You can’t have been with the Battles that long,” said Michelle.

“No. They’d bought this property and were building the house and they had the boys and they needed some help. I answered an ad and I’ve been here ever since. Other staff have
come and gone, but I’ve always been here.” His voice trailed off. He snapped back and looked at King and Michelle staring at him. “They’ve treated me really well. I could retire if I wanted.”

“Any plans to do that?” asked Michelle.

“I can’t exactly abandon Mrs. Battle now, can I?”

“I’m sure your presence here means a lot to her,” said King.

Michelle looked at the young man’s unnatural features in the photo. “What was wrong with Bobby Jr.?”

“He was severely mentally retarded. He was in bad shape when I started working for them. Then he got cancer and died soon after his eighteenth birthday.”

“He was Eddie’s twin but Eddie’s fine,” said King. “Isn’t that unusual?”

“Well, that’s what happened. They were fraternal twins.”

“How did Eddie get along with his brother?”

“Did everything for him. Couldn’t have been nicer. I think Eddie knew it was only by the grace of God that it wasn’t him.”

“And Bobby Sr.?”

“Mr. Battle was really busy back then, traveling all over. He wasn’t even here when Bobby Jr. died.” He added quickly, “I have no doubt he loved the boy, though.”

“It must have been pretty traumatic for Remmy when Eddie was kidnapped.”

“If it hadn’t been for Agent Bailey, she might have lost both her sons.”

“Lucky he’s on the case again,” said King.

They left the house, but when Michelle started to walk over to the car, King took her arm. “It’s a beautiful day. I feel like a stroll,” he said, giving her a look.

“Where?”

“You’ll see.” He took out of his pocket the tissue he had used to clean up the coffee spill and sniffed it. He smiled at the result.

“What is it?” asked Michelle.

“Not a huge surprise, but Remmy enjoys a little bourbon with her coffee.”