Hour Game (37 page)

Michelle was ready to fire, but then her finger relaxed against the trigger.

The driver was upside down and bound by his seat belt. When King had opened the car door, he had plunged through the opening.

The head was so bloody and mangled King didn’t bother checking for a pulse.

“Who is it?” she asked.

“I can’t tell; it’s so damn dark out here. Wait a minute.” He ran over and pulled the Lexus up so that its headlights were pointed right at the dead man.

They looked at the body now outlined in bright light.

It was Roger Canney.

A
T TEN O’CLOCK IN THE MORNING THE
D
EAVERS’ DOUBLE-WIDE
trailer was empty. The kids were back in school, and Lulu was at work. Priscilla Oxley had driven off to a mom-and-pop store for cigarettes and some more tonic to wash down her cherished vodka. Meanwhile a truck was parked behind a stand of trees that bordered the paved road leading to the gravel one the trailer was situated on. The man inside the truck had watched as Priscilla sped by in her LTD, a cigarette in one hand and a cell phone in the other as she steered with her dimpled knees.

The man immediately got out and made his way through the woods until he was on the edge of the clearing by the trailer. Luther, the old dog, moseyed out from the rear shed, cocked its head in the man’s direction as it caught his smell, gave a tired bark and then retreated back to the shed. A minute later the man was inside the trailer after picking the simple front-door lock and made his way swiftly to the small bedroom-office that was located at one end.

Junior Deaver had never been much of a businessman and was a worse recordkeeper, but fortunately, his wife was very strong in both those areas. Junior’s construction company files were organized and easily accessible. Keeping one ear attuned for anyone coming, the man went through the files, which were conveniently arranged in chronological order. When he finished, he noted that he’d compiled a fairly lengthy list. One of these people had to be it.

He folded the list and put it away in his pocket and replaced all the files to their proper place. Then he left the way he’d come. As he returned to his truck, Priscilla Oxley drove past on her way back to the trailer with her tobacco and tonic. A lucky woman, he thought. Five minutes earlier and she would have been dead.

He drove off, his precious list in his pocket. He thought about the burglary that had been unjustly blamed on Junior Deaver. He tried to recall every detail he’d heard of the crime. There was something there he was definitely missing. In the same vein he went over and over again the circumstances of Bobby’s death. Who was unaccounted for who might want the bastard dead? There were several possible suspects but no one he truly believed could have killed the old man. It would have taken nerve and knowledge, attributes he possessed in abundance and that he respected in others. He hoped for the day to be able to tell the impostor of his admiration, right before he slit his throat.

Perhaps he should have made Sally talk before he killed her. Yet what could she really have known? She was with Junior, she’d said. They’d had sex. She was a stupid woman who preferred spending her days with four-legged beasts and her nights with two-legged ones. She deserved the quick death she’d gotten.
What’s one less Sally Wainwright on the planet anyway?
he asked himself.

He’d killed six people so far, one of them in error, a mistake he’d made retribution for at least in his way. It wasn’t like he could pull out the rosary for this; no confessional could possibly contain his sins. He’d missed eliminating King and Maxwell, which frustrated him greatly. They were no doubt right now spinning new theories about what was really going on, and one day they might just alight on the right one. As complicated as it all seemed, the pair might figure it all out and ruin everything. It would be risky, but he was going to have to try again to kill them, in a way that wouldn’t fail. It would take time to come up with such a scenario, and in the meantime he’d pay close attention to the intelligence he received from his bugs and try to stay a
step ahead. It would be tight, but if he kept his head and stuck to his plan, it would turn out all right.

He was confident he was going to win. He had the most powerful advantage of all: he wasn’t afraid to die for ultimate victory. He doubted his opponents felt the same.

Yet now he had another component of his plan to put into place.

A successful exit.

“Y
OU CAN’T BELIEVE
R
OGER
C
ANNEY’S THE ONE,” SAID
K
ING
heatedly.

They were at police headquarters, around a long conference table. Williams and Bailey stared back at him doubtfully. Michelle doodled on a pad in front of her while simultaneously watching her partner closely.

“He tried to kill both of you,” pointed out Bailey.

King said, “Because we pretty much accused Canney of blackmailing Bobby Battle. The fact he tried to kill us pretty conclusively proves we were right. And if Canney did kill his wife, he’d probably be terrified we’d uncover that too. He goes on the run, we think. But he’s really still in the area and tries to kill us. That doesn’t mean he committed all those other murders.”

Bailey shook his head. “He’d have to know or at least believe you’d shared your suspicions with us. And his method of trying to kill you was pretty stupid. Someone could have driven by and seen it all. And he used his own vehicle to try and kill you.”

“I didn’t say he was a smart criminal. Frankly, I think he became unhinged. He’d been living on easy street for years thinking he’s safe. And then his son’s murdered and we stumble upon the blackmail. Maybe he just snapped. And if you do paternity testing on both the Canneys and Bobby, I’ll think you’ll find out who Steve Canney’s real father was,” added King.

“Okay, then, maybe Canney killed his son and his girlfriend
and Bobby Battle, and then killed the prostitute and Diane Hinson to muddy the waters.”

“And Junior Deaver?” pointed out King. “How does he fit into it?”

“Canney could have hired him to burglarize the Battles’ house,” said Bailey.

“For what reason?” shot back King.

“Well, if Battle and Mrs. Canney
were
having an affair, maybe Battle had something belonging to his lover that Roger Canney wanted back. Or Canney was afraid Battle had something incriminating on him. But then Junior also steals items from Remmy too, and Canney’s ticked about that or is afraid Junior will give him away. So he kills him. By going after you two he showed he didn’t mind murdering someone who got in his way.”

“And Sally’s death?” asked Michelle. “How does that figure in?”

“From what you’ve told us she was—and not to speak ill of the dead—a gal who’d jump into bed with anything wearing pants. Maybe Junior told her about Canney, and Canney found out and had to kill her too,” said Bailey, who smiled broadly, obviously pleased with himself.

King sat back, shaking his head.

“It does sort of make sense, Sean,” conceded Williams.

“It’s wrong, Todd,” said King very firmly. “All wrong.”

“So give me an alternative theory that fits the facts,” challenged Bailey.

“Right now I can’t, but I’m telling you that if you stop looking for the real killer—or more likely, killers—other people could die.”

“We’re not going to stop, Sean,” said Williams, “but if no more people are killed, it’s pretty good evidence Canney is the one.”

“You don’t believe that, Todd, no matter how much you want to.” King rose. “Come on, Michelle, I need some air.”

Outside the police station, King leaned against Michelle’s
truck, shoved his hands in his pockets and scattered a bunch of gravel with an angry thrust of his foot.

“You know, either Chip Bailey is the biggest idiot I’ve ever met or…”

“Or maybe he’s right, and you can’t bring yourself to admit it,” finished Michelle.

“Oh, you think so? Damn, my own partner conspiring against me,” he said with a resigned grin. “Maybe I am wrong.”

Michelle shrugged. “I think pinning the whole thing on Canney is way too much of a stretch, but like Bailey said, we don’t have much of an alternative theory.”

“There are things we know, things that are dangling right in front of our faces that we’re not even seeing. If I could just grab them and hang on, I know it would lead us where we need to go. But it’s driving me crazy that I can’t see them.”

“I think I know a remedy.”

He looked at her dubiously. “I’m not running in a marathon or going bungee jumping in order to get my brain firing better.”

“What I’m thinking requires no physical exertion at all.”

“An absolutely stunning concept, coming from you.”

Michelle stared at the beautiful blue sky. “I say it’s boating time. Nothing like a spin on the water to get the mental juices flowing again, especially on a day like this.”

“We don’t have time—” King stopped and his expression turned softer. “Okay, after nearly being killed twice, maybe a little break wouldn’t be so bad.”

“I knew you’d see my logic. Sea-Doos or jet boat?”

“Jet boat. I’m getting tired of you always wanting to race on the Sea-Doos.”

“That’s just because I always beat you.”

K
ING WAS AT THE WHEEL, AND
M
ICHELLE SAT NEXT TO HIM
in the twenty-foot Bombardier jet boat as they cruised along at thirty knots over the lake’s calm surface. The summer season was still a ways off, so they had the water pretty much to themselves.

“How much of Cardinal Lake have you seen?” asked King.

“A lot. I don’t let the grass grow under my feet.”

King went on in a pedantic tone. “You know, this lake was formed by damming up two rivers and letting the water back up over ten years. The end result was a very deep thirty-mile-long lake with excellent fishing, water sports and about two hundred coves and inlets.”

“Wow, you sound just like the real estate agent who sold me my place. Do you also refinance mortgages?”

They headed toward the hydroelectric dam, which was really two dams, an upper and a lower one. Then they hit the main channel and turned west. Where the two rivers came together, King headed north until they came to a smaller channel that doglegged north and then east. They kept this heading, passing the even-numbered red channel markers that ran upriver, until he pulled back on the throttle and steered straight into a small uninhabited cove. A few minutes later they’d anchored down in about twenty feet of clear water, and King pulled out a basket of food and a cooler with sodas and water he’d put together.

“I’m going to swim before we eat,” said Michelle.

“How’s your arm?”

“Will you stop with the arm? It was only a nick to begin with.”

“Why do I think if you took a thirty-thirty round through your chest, you’d only ask for a Band-Aid, and a small one at that?”

She stripped down to her one-piece swimsuit and dove in.

“God, the water’s great,” she said after coming back up.

King eyed his instrument panel. “Water temp’s seventy-five, still a little cool for me. I’m an eighty-one, eighty-two kind of guy.”

“You mean you’re a wimp.”

“That’s another way of putting it, yes.”

After they’d had their lunch, King pulled up the anchor and they started off again. Michelle pointed to a long, wide point up ahead. It was quite a sight: a six-slip boat dock with a gazebo, bar, dining area and equipment sheds and about six thousand square feet of decking, all encased in cedar siding and shake roofing. It just begged for an
Architectural Digest
spread.

“That’s pretty impressive. Who owns it?”

“What, you lose your sense of direction on the water? That’s Casa Battle.”

“What! I didn’t even know they were on the lake.”

“You don’t put up a mansion in Wrightsburg without lakefront access. They have the whole point plus about twenty more acres. Their dock is a ways from the main house. In fact, you can’t even see the mansion from the lake. I think they designed it that way so there wouldn’t be gawkers coming by on boats all the time. They use golf carts to come and go.”

“What a life.” She squinted against the intense sunlight. “Who’s that out there on the sailboat?”

King grabbed his binoculars and zeroed in on the skipper of the other boat. “Savannah.” He pondered for a moment, then fingered the throttle forward and steered toward the sailboat.

“What are you doing?”

“Going fishing.”

They drew close to the sailboat that was little more than a Sunfish. Savannah had one hand on the tiller and the other on a can of Coke. She waved when she saw who it was.

“Great minds think alike,” called out King.

Savannah had a long tank shirt on over her two-piece bathing suit. Her hair was wet and pulled back in a ponytail, and her shoulders and face had already started to redden from the sun.

“The water’s amazing,” she said.

“Sean won’t go in until it hits bathwater status,” said Michelle.

“Don’t know what you’re missing, Mr. King,” said Savannah.

“Well, I could be tempted if you two were to join me.”

They each took a minute to drop their anchors, and then first Savannah and then Michelle dove in. When they came up, King was still sitting on his boat’s swim platform, his feet dangling in the water.

“What are you doing, Sean?” said Michelle.

“I said I could be
tempted,
not that I’d actually do it.”

Michelle and Savannah looked at each other, a silent communication passing between the two women. They both went under the water. When they came back up next to where King sat, each had one of his feet in her hands.

“Oh, no, you—” began King. Whatever else he was about to say was lost as he was pulled into the lake and immediately went under. He came up spitting water and cursing loudly.

“These aren’t swim trunks!” he shouted.

“They are now,” replied Savannah smugly.

After a half hour in the water they navigated their boats to the dock and sat in the gazebo drinking beers that Savannah fetched from the bar fridge.

Michelle looked around at the mountain and water vistas. “Quite a view.”

“This is really my favorite part of the whole place,” said Savannah.

King eyed the Battles’ collection of boats. “I’ve been out on
the big Sea Ray cruiser, but I don’t remember that Formula 353 FasTech. It’s a beauty.”

“Daddy had just bought it last winter. The marina folks came and prepped it for summer. We haven’t even put any hours on the engine yet. Eddie’s the real boater in the family. I just like to ride on them and catch some sun and drink beer. Eddie said he’d take it out soon and break it in. I understand it’s really fast, got some monster engines.”

King said, “I’ll say, twin five-hundred-horsepower Merc EFIs; a top speed north of seventy and a cruising speed at right about double nickels. Tell Eddie I’d be glad to help him break it in.”

“My, my,” Savannah said in an exaggerated southern accent, “and here I was having such a dee-lightful time on my little old no-horsepower sailboat.”

“It’s clearly a guy thing, Savannah,” commented Michelle, shooting her partner an amused glance. “I didn’t know you were so into racing boats.”

“It’s easy to be when you can’t afford them.”

There was a bit of silence, and King slowly put down his beer and looked at the youngest Battle with a serious expression.

“You didn’t come here just to admire me in my bikini and lust over our boats, did you?” she asked, returning his gaze with a hopeful look that held out the possibility that that indeed was all he was interested in.

“We do have some questions to ask you.”

Savannah immediately looked away and her expression became pained. “Sally?”

“Among other things.”

“That’s one reason I came down here to go sailing, to get away from it.” She shook her head. “I’ll never get that out of my head. Never. It was so awful, Sean, so awful.”

He put his hand over hers and squeezed for a moment before letting go. “But it only gets worse if we don’t catch the person who did it.”

“I told Todd and Agent Bailey everything I know. I didn’t even know Sally was in the stables until…”

“And then you ran to your brother’s home?” said Michelle. Savannah nodded. “Dorothea answered the door. How did she seem?”

“I don’t really remember. I was hysterical. I remember her going to get Eddie, but then she couldn’t wake him. Then all hell broke loose. I just stood over by the door the whole time. I was afraid to move. When they came and got Eddie, I ran back to my room and pulled the covers over my head.” She put her drink down and went over and sat on the dock, her feet in the water.

King stared at her curiously. What the hell was gnawing at his brain, begging him to decipher it? He finally shook his head in frustration. It just wasn’t coming.

“Is your mother home?” he asked.

“No, she went out. Something to do with the lawyers and probate.”

“Would you mind if we took another look at the closets in your parents’ bedrooms?”

She swiveled around on her bottom to look at him. “I thought you already did that.”

“Never hurts to check a second time. It might help.”

They climbed in the golf cart Savannah had ridden down in and headed up to the house. Savannah led them in through the rear entrance and up the stairs to the third level.

“I keep telling Mama that if she’s going to stay here, she needs to have an elevator put in.”

“Climbing stairs is good exercise,” said Michelle.

“Don’t listen to her,” said King. “Get the elevator.”

Savannah opened the door to her mother’s bedroom and stopped dead. “Oh,” she exclaimed. “What are you doing in here?”

King moved past her and looked at Mason suspiciously.

The butler gazed back at them unperturbed. “Just tidying up your mother’s room, Savannah. The maids rarely do a good
enough job.” Now he looked at King and Michelle with equal suspicion. “Can I help you with something?”

“Um,” began Savannah, her upper teeth biting into her lower lip.

“You’re dripping on the rug,” Mason pointed out.

“We were swimming in the lake,” explained Michelle.

“Nice day for it.” He continued to stare at them questioningly.

“We’re here to take another look at Remmy’s closet, Mason,” said King. “As part of the investigation.”

“But I thought because Mr. Deaver is dead that there’s no longer an investigation to pursue.”

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you, but that’s not actually the case,” said King politely.

Mason turned to Savannah. “Have you checked with your mother about this?”

King answered, “She took us through it once before, Mason. I can’t imagine she’d have a problem with a second time.”

“I always like to make sure of these things, Sean.”

“You see, because we know Junior didn’t do it and Remmy is now friends with his widow, it’s up to us to find out who did take those things. It’s in Remmy’s interest of course to see that happens. But if you want to call her and bother her while she’s with the probate lawyers, that’s fine. We’ll just wait right here.”

King could see Mason working through all this in his head. Finally, he shrugged. “I can’t see that it will hurt anything. Just try and keep things neat. Mrs. Battle is very particular.”

“Yes, she is,” said King.

Mason left, and they went immediately into Remmy’s closet and accessed the hidden drawer, examining it minutely but finding nothing.

“Maybe you’ll have better luck in Daddy’s room,” said Savannah.

As they were leaving the closet, King stopped to look at some photos on the shelf across from Remmy’s bed. Savannah stood next to him.

“That’s me when I was twelve, fat and ugly. God, I can still feel those braces on my teeth.”

King held up another photo, an old one, with two babies in it.

Savannah pointed as she spoke. “That’s Eddie and Bobby Jr. I never knew him, of course; he died before I was born. No, I’m sorry, that’s Eddie on the left and Bobby Jr. on the right.” She still looked unsure. “Well, that’s embarrassing, not knowing your own flesh and blood.”

“Well, they were twins,” said King, putting the photo back.

They moved to Bobby’s bedroom but had no success there either, at least not at first. But as King went over the drawer inch by inch, he stiffened. “Can you get me a flashlight?” he asked Savannah.

“Mama keeps one in her nightstand in case the power goes out.” Savannah ran and got it.

King shone it in the drawer. “Look at this.” They all peered in.

“It looks like letters,” observed Michelle.

“That’s definitely a
k,
and either a
c
or an
o.
”

Michelle looked more closely. “Then there’s some space, and that’s a
p
followed by what looks to be either an
a
or an
o.
”

King straightened up, looking thoughtful. “It appears something was lying in this drawer, and those letters somehow stained the wood, imprinting it.”

“It might have gotten wet,” suggested Savannah.

King leaned in and took a long whiff of the drawer. He looked at Savannah. “Did Bobby drink in his room?”

“Daddy drink? He has a whole bar in that piece of furniture that looks like a credenza across from his bed. Why?”

“Because it smells like Scotch in the drawer.”

“That might account for the moisture,” said Michelle, who took a whiff. “He was looking at whatever it was, spilled his drink in the drawer, and the letters got transferred from the paper to the bottom of the drawer.”

King went into the bedroom and came back with a pen and
paper he’d taken from Battle’s desk. He wrote the words down with the approximate spaces in between.

“Kc-pa, Ko-pa, or Ko-po,” he said slowly. “Ring any bells?” Savannah shook her head.

“Obviously, there are letters we’re missing. If we were playing
Wheel of Fortune,
here’s where I’d ask for a couple of vowels,” said Michelle. “What do you think, Sean?”

He took a moment before answering. “Somehow this may be the whole key right here, if I can just think of what it means.”

Michelle had a sudden inspiration. While Savannah was scrutinizing the letters King had written down, Michelle whispered in her partner’s ear, “Maybe it’s from Battle’s holographic will that Harry thought might exist?”

None of them heard the bedroom door close quietly behind the person who’d been listening in. Nor did they hear the sound of soft footfalls moving down the hall to the stairway.