Hour Game skamm-2

by David Baldacci

  “How could you tell? Wasn’t it dark?” asked King.

  “There’s an automatic trigger on the doors. At night when the doors go up, the lights come on in here.”

  “When you say he looked bad, how do you mean?” asked Michelle. “Sick? Drunk?”

  “No, like he was really upset, worried.”

  “Did you ever find out what about?” asked King.

  “No. Anyway, like I said, he looked bad, but then all of sudden he started smiling and then he started laughing. Laughing! Well, he did, until she showed up.”

  “She who, Remmy?” said King.

  Sally nodded and said in a hushed tone, “If she’d had a gun, I think Mr. Battle would’ve been dead a long time ago.”

  “What happened then?” asked Michelle.

  “They started arguing. Well, at first, she just was screaming at him. Not much of it made sense. But from what I could hear, there was another woman involved.”

  “Did it seem like Remmy knew who?” asked King sharply.

  “If she did, she never mentioned her name, at least not that I heard,” said Sally.

  “What did Bobby do?”

  “He started yelling, told her it was none of her damn business who he slept with.”

  “And to think I was halfway admiring the man,” said Michelle in disgust.

  “Well, he said something else I’ll never forget,” said Sally. She paused, drew a quick breath and looked at them anxiously.

  “Go ahead,” said King. “I don’t think anything will surprise us now.”

  “Mr. Battle said he wasn’t the only one in the family who practiced that philosophy.”

  “Of sleeping around?” said King, and Sally nodded.

  Michelle and King looked at each other. “And you think he was referring to Remmy?” she asked.

  “I just assumed he was. But Mrs. Battle always seemed so proper and…”

  “Supportive of her husband,” suggested King.

  “Yes, exactly.”

  “Public faces can often be deceiving,” he commented.

  “And the Rolls?” asked Michelle.

  “It just disappeared after that night. I don’t know what happened to it. In fact, Billy Edwards—he was the mechanic who used to take care of the cars—he was gone too. That’s when Mr. Battle lost interest in his collection. He never came down after that, as far as I know.”

  “You never saw this Billy Edwards before he left?”

  “No, his place was cleaned out the next day. I don’t know who came and took the car. It must have been at night, or else someone would have seen it driving off.”

  “Thank you, Sally, you’ve been a big help.”

  They left Sally and headed back to the front of the house.

  “So what do you make of that?” asked Michelle.

  “It creates lots of questions. Who was Bobby seeing back then? Was the reference to sleeping around actually directed at Remmy? And why get rid of the car?” King looked pensive. “I wonder if there’s any chance of tracking down this Billy Edwards and asking him about it.”

  “What about going directly to Remmy?”

  “She’d want to know how we found out about it. And Sally’s obviously not good at hiding her feelings. One look from Remmy and she’d crack. We may have to at some point, but for now we’ll look for another way.”

  “We keep uncovering more questions and no answers,” said Michelle.

  “At some point the tide has to turn. We just may not like the answers we find, though.”

  Chapter 39

  Dorothea and Eddie Battle weren’t home, so King and Michelle drove to the Aphrodisiac that afternoon to speak with Lulu Oxley about the murdered exotic dancer, Rhonda Tyler.

  The parking lot was already filling up with the lunch crowd when they arrived. As they walked past one of the bar areas, they caught glimpses of the nearly naked ladies dancing and the men staring and catcalling.

  “I just don’t get the attraction,” said Michelle.

  “The product isn’t exactly directed at someone like you.”

  “Come on, are you saying you find watching something like that enjoyable?”

  “No, but I’m afraid I’m in a minority among my gender.” He smiled and added, “That comes with being intelligent, sophisticated and sensitive.”

  They were directed back to Lulu’s small, cluttered office, where they found her hard at work and not looking happy about being interrupted.

  “I’ve told the FBI and Chief Williams everything,” said Lulu as she snapped her lighter shut and took a drag on a fresh cigarette.

  “Well, we’re deputies now, so you can tell us too,” said King pleasantly as he showed her his badge.

  She sighed, took another puff and sat back in her chair.

  “In case you hadn’t heard, the surgeon general has proclaimed cigarette smoking really bad for you,” said Michelle, waving the fumes away from her face.

  “The surgeon general doesn’t run a gentleman’s club,” Lulu shot back.

  “We’ll be happy to breathe the secondhand smoke so long as you tell us about Rhonda Tyler,” said King.

  “Okay, for the third time and counting, Rhonda Tyler aka whatever the hell her stage name was…”

  “Tawny Blaze,” said Michelle helpfully.

  “Right, good memory,” said Lulu, eyeing the woman keenly. “Anyway, she came to work here under contract. She stayed in one of the club’s rooms, but shortly before her stint was up, she told us she had another place to crash. She did her contract time, and that was the last I saw of her. We’d used her before, and she’d always acted like a real professional, never any problem.”

  “Did she mention whether she had friends or family in the area?”

  “Not to me. But with her line of work, family tends to shy away from you.”

  “How about a man she might have met?” prompted Michelle.

  Lulu tapped ash off her cigarette into an empty paper coffee cup on her desk. “Not that I know of.”

  “Anyone else she might have confided in?” asked King.

  “She might have talked to some of the girls.”

  “Can we speak with them?”

  “If you can wake them up. The ones who work nights don’t get out of bed until late in the afternoon. The lunch-shift girls are out onstage now.”

  “We’ll give it our best shot,” said King.

  “You do that,” said Lulu again, watching Michelle closely.

  As they headed to the door, Michelle glanced back and saw Lulu’s hand disappear inside her desk drawer. When Lulu pulled it out, there was nothing in it. Michelle looked away before the other woman could see her staring.

  Lulu said, “By the way, here’s a piece of information you might find interesting: the high-and-mighty Remmy Battle threatened Junior.”

  Both of them stared at her as she summarized the meeting between the two, including Remmy’s offer to pay off Junior if he returned the stolen items.

  “So she wanted something that was in the drawer, but didn’t care about her wedding ring?” asked a confused King.

  “Apparently, the lady has something to hide.”

  “Where will Junior be today?”

  “Working a job in Lynchburg; you won’t be able to see him. But this evening he’ll be at the house he’s building for us.”

  “Let me have the directions. And give me Junior’s cell phone number.” As she did so, King asked one more question. “Did Bobby Battle ever come here?”

  Lulu seemed to be trying hard not to look surprised at the question. “I think I saw him around here a few times.”

  “Recently?”

  “What do you consider recently?”

  “In the last couple of years.”

  “I couldn’t say for sure.”

  I’m sure you couldn’t, thought King. “Well, thanks again for all your help.”

  “I’ll show you where the rooms are,” offered Lulu.

  She led them upstairs and point
ed to the hallway fronted by the red curtain.

  “Good luck,” she said in a tone that didn’t sound like she actually meant it.

  As King and Michelle started off, Lulu touched Michelle on the arm. “Uh, can I ask you a question?” she said.

  “We’ve asked you enough, so go ahead.”

  “You ever consider pole dancing?”

  “Excuse me!” said Michelle, clearly stunned.

  “It’s just that you’ve got the perfect all-American, girl-next-door, come-hither thing going on. That’s pretty rare in this business. You’re leaner than the other gals and a little light in the chest, but I don’t think the guys will mind once they see what you do have.”

  Michelle’s face reddened. “You must be kidding!”

  “The pay’s better than you think, and you keep all the tips you get. And you can pull the night shift and still work your regular job during the day. State law doesn’t allow total nudity in any strip club, so you can keep your G-string on. But the top has to come off, that’s club policy. No boobs, no bucks.”

  Michelle smiled tightly. “Let me put it this way: the day you see me pole dancing with only a G-string on in front of a crowd of drunken morons is the day the sky falls and kills all of us.”

  “I don’t know,” said King, who’d listened intently to this exchange. “I’d tip at least twenty bucks to see that.”

  Chapter 40

  King and Michelle walked down the hallway, slipped behind the heavy red curtain and started knocking on doors. Several rooms were unlocked and unoccupied. From the others issued either a string of profanities or sleepy groans. Whenever a door was unlocked and opened—always by a scantily clad young woman with an extremely weary look—Michelle asked the same question while King averted his eyes.

  “Didn’t really know her,” was the constant refrain. However, at the next-to-last room on the hall the voice said, “Come on in.” Michelle did so. When she exited a couple of minutes later, she appeared truly shaken.

  “You okay?” asked King.

  “I was just propositioned by a six-foot-tall naked woman named Heidi.”

  “I can wait out in the car if you want.”

  “Shut up!”

  “Must’ve been the come-hither look.”

  At the last room the door was opened by a young woman wearing a long robe that didn’t entirely hide her heavy curves and inflated bosom. Her dyed-blond hair was in a ponytail, and her feet were bare. She was sipping a cup of black coffee. She introduced herself only as Pam, and after they had told her what they wanted, she actually invited them in.

  They sat at a small table around which were placed four chairs. The room looked comfy enough, although King caught himself staring at the rumpled bed in the corner and the array of lingerie piled there. He turned to find Michelle’s severe gaze on him.

  “So you knew Rhonda?” asked King.

  “Yes, sir.”

  King ran his eye over her. She was so young-looking that had he seen her half-naked rubbing against a pole, he would have probably thrown a blanket over her and called her father to come retrieve her. “Have the police already talked to you?”

  “Yes, sir, the FBI actually. That’s what they said they were anyway.”

  “Can you tell us what you told them?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You don’t have to call me sir, Pam. I’m Sean, this is Michelle.”

  Pam looked at her stubby toes with the cracked polish and crossed one pudgy foot over the other. “Sorry, I guess I’m sorta nervous, Sean.”

  Michelle patted her hand. “There’s nothing to be nervous about.”

  “I mean with Rhonda getting killed and all. I guess it could’ve been any one of us, though Rhonda took chances I never would.”

  “What sort of chances?” asked King.

  “We worked the same clubs together. She’d go off with men she didn’t even know if they were nice to her. I only been doing this a couple of years, and I know better than that. But she always came back.” Pam dabbed at some tears. “Only this time she didn’t.”

  “Do you have any idea whom she went off with this time?” asked Michelle.

  “No. Like I told them others, sometimes she tells me before she goes, other times not. This time she didn’t.” She took a sip of her coffee and wiped her thick lips with the back of a shaky hand. King noted that her red nail polish was chipped.

  “When was the last time you saw her?”

  “Couple of weeks before they found her. Our contracts were up here, but I signed on for another month. I like it here. The pay’s good, and the folks here treat us nice. Not that many places give you a room and meals and all.”

  “And no customers back here to bother you, I take it,” said King.

  “No, sir, none of that,” she said. “They’re real particular about that.”

  “Did you ever see her with anyone, a man you didn’t know? Did she mention anyone she was seeing?”

  “No, nothing like that. Sorry.”

  He handed her one of his cards. “If you remember anything else, give us a call.”

  Both lost in thought, King and Michelle walked outside to her truck.

  King was eyeing the full parking lot. “Hard to believe people find the time in the middle of the day to come here.”

  “It’s pretty sick if you ask me,” said Michelle. She was still frowning as she settled behind the wheel. “Do you know you have to be twenty-one to watch strippers, but you only have to be eighteen to be one? How does that make sense?”

  King lowered himself into the passenger seat. “Granted it’s ridiculous and degrading. Is that why you’re in such a bad mood?”

  “No! The legendary Aphrodisiac was a complete waste of time, that’s why.”

  “How can you say that? Not only did you get a job offer as a pole dancer, which could actually come in handy when our firm’s going through the inevitable lean times, but you also might have a real friend in Heidi.”

  A second later King was rubbing his arm where she’d slugged him. “Damn, that really hurt, Michelle,” he complained.

  “And it’ll hurt even more if you keep it up.”

  Chapter 41

  Junior Deaver stepped outside his half-built house and looked at the dark sky. The man was tired, having worked all day on other people’s jobs before heading here to drive nails into shingles and plywood. He’d finished right before the light was gone, and then worked some on the inside. They were all looking forward to getting out of the cramped trailer.

  However, the upcoming criminal trial was weighing heavily on his mind. Lulu never stopped talking about it. Could be the ruin of all our dreams, she kept saying. What if Mrs. Battle sued them? It would all be over. Then his mother-in-law would start in, and once started, Priscilla Oxley never shut up. Junior had experienced many lows in life. This one ranked right up there with the worst.

  He thought about Remmy Battle’s offer. If only he had something to give her. It pissed him off that no one seemed to believe him. Yet with all the evidence stacked against him he could understand how the woman thought he was guilty.

  As he munched on a sandwich and sipped a beer he’d pulled from his cooler, he mulled over some things in his head. He could end this thing right now if he wanted—just tell the truth of what he’d been doing that night—but he’d rather go to jail. He just couldn’t do that to Lulu. It’d been stupid, really stupid. But he couldn’t take it back now.

  He finished his sandwich. His cell phone was vibrating with a box full of messages. He hated the damn thing; everybody wanted something right now. He checked the list of calls. One had him puzzled: Sean King. Wonder what he wants, Junior thought. Well, it would have to wait.

  He went back inside. It was almost eight o’clock, definitely time to call it a day. He’d been up since four in the morning. His back was killing him from climbing up and down the ladder with the shingles. He was getting too old for this kind of labor. Yet he expected to be doing it until he drop
ped. What else was there for a guy like him?

  The blow came from directly behind him, actually cracking his skull and staggering the big man. Junior clutched his head and in the same motion wheeled around. Through the blood pouring down his face he saw the black hood coming at him, shovel upraised. He managed to block the blow with his forearm, though it shattered it. He fell back, yelling from the pain. As he lay on the cold wooden floor, he saw the shovel coming at him again. He managed to swing out his right leg and knocked the person’s feet out from under him.

  The man landed hard but sprang back up. Junior sat back on his butt, holding his broken arm. His big belly heaving, he kept kicking at his attacker, trying to keep him back as he scuffled away. His sandwich and beer came back up on him, covering the wooden subfloor with vomit. He managed to half raise himself, but another blow caught him across the back, and he went down again.

  Junior Deaver was over six-four and weighed about 270 pounds. If he could just get in one shot on his smaller opponent, he knew things could change quickly. He’d kill the son of a bitch. Considering how badly he was already injured, Junior figured he had only one chance at this. Having been in his share of bar fights, he had some experience to draw on. He plotted to sucker his attacker in.

  He knelt down, his head almost touching the floor, as though helpless. When he saw the shovel rise, he shot forward and hit his attacker directly in the gut, carrying them both across the room, where they crashed through a wall of studs.

  They both hit the floor and sprawled away from each other. Junior tried to hold on to the smaller man, but the pains in his arm and shoulder were too intense. And blood was leaching through the fissure in his skull, putting pressure on his brain and causing his motor skills to rapidly deteriorate. Junior struggled to reach his feet, but the other man was quicker. He rolled away, picked up a piece of one of the broken studs and repeatedly beat Junior over the head with it, his blows becoming harder and more savage; the two-by-four splintered, popping out bent nails, and finally split in half. Junior moaned, went down, rolled over and didn’t get back up. His belly heaving, blood flowing from multiple head wounds, he just lay there, his eyes closed.