Hour Game skamm-2

by David Baldacci

  Chapter 73

  Eddie finally started to come to around three o’clock that afternoon.

  Williams, Bailey, King and Michelle had gathered in his hospital room. He looked up at them from his bed, all pale, twitchy and disheveled. Remmy sat next to her son, holding his hand in a firm grip and rubbing his forehead with a wet cloth. “God, Eddie, don’t you scare me like that again.”

  “It wasn’t exactly my idea,” he said in a very tired voice.

  “What do you remember about last night?” asked King.

  “Dorothea and I had dinner, where we talked about, you know, recent events. I’d been at the lawyer’s for a while before that.”

  “Why didn’t she go with you to see the attorney?” asked Michelle sharply.

  “I wanted her to but she didn’t want to go. As crazy as it sounds, I think she believes if she ignores all of this, it’ll go away. Anyway, after dinner I went to my studio, to clear my head of all this stuff.” He glanced sideways at Michelle before continuing. “Around midnight or so I came in and went upstairs to bed. Dorothea was still awake. She was actually very awake, if you know what I mean,” he added, obviously embarrassed.

  Remmy snorted. “Unbelievable to me under the circumstances, but I gave up trying to understand your wife years ago.”

  “It was as much me as her, okay?” he said harshly to his mother. His gaze, however, remained on Michelle. “I guess it was sort of a circle-the-wagon mentality. But I admit the timing was strange.”

  “What happened after that?” prompted King.

  “I went to sleep. I mean, I guess I really went to sleep. The next thing I know I wake up and I’m in the hospital. What the hell was it?”

  “The docs said morphine sulfate, also known as MS Contin,” answered Williams. “Guaranteed to knock you out for eight, nine hours or longer.”

  “But why?” asked Eddie. “What was accomplished by that?”

  King looked at Williams. “You haven’t told him?”

  “Told me what?” demanded Eddie.

  Williams looked down at him. “Sally Wainwright was murdered around five-thirty this morning.”

  Eddie sat up so fast he almost pulled out his IV line. “What!” he yelled. “Sally?”

  “Eddie!” cried out his mother as she pushed him back down. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

  Eddie suddenly got a wild look and shot up again. “My God! Dorothea! Is she okay?”

  “She’s fine,” said Williams quickly. “Absolutely fine.”

  “For now,” muttered Bailey.

  Eddie sank back down but clutched his mother’s arm. “Somebody killed Sally in her sleep?”

  King said, “No, she was killed in the stable.”

  “But why Sally?” Eddie demanded.

  Williams looked at King, who said, “She’d come forward with important information that ruled out Junior’s having committed the burglary at your mother’s home.”

  Now Remmy looked surprised. “I’d already figured he hadn’t done it, but how could Sally possibly have proof of that?”

  “She did, and we’re going to leave it at that for now,” said Williams.

  “Did what she tell you implicate someone else?” asked Eddie.

  “No,” admitted King.

  “Then why kill her?”

  “I don’t have the answer to that. I don’t have the answer to a lot of things.”

  Bailey spoke up. “But what we do know, Eddie, is that you were drugged last night, and while you were out, someone killed Sally. Someone who knew her routine and that she’d be in the stables at that hour of the morning.”

  Everyone remained silent for an uncomfortably long moment until Eddie exclaimed, “Are you suggesting that my wife—”

  Bailey broke in. “I’m not suggesting anything. I’m just stating a plain fact. But Dorothea has come under suspicion.”

  Eddie shook his head. “She’s a respected businesswoman.”

  “With a drug problem, and possibly a murder suspect,” pointed out Remmy in a sharp tone.

  “Shut up, Mother!” yelled Eddie.

  This caught all of them off guard. Remmy slowly let go of her son’s hand.

  Eddie pointed his finger accusingly at Bailey. “If you think for one minute that Dorothea drugged me and then killed Sally, you’re wasting everyone’s time while the real killer is getting away.”

  “It’s our duty to investigate all possible leads,” said Bailey calmly.

  “Including ludicrous ones?”

  “You better get some rest, Eddie,” said King gently. “You’ve had a hard night.”

  “Fine, I’d really like to be alone right now anyway.”

  Eddie looked away from them all, his forearm over his face.

  Remmy rose and headed to the door. “I’ll come and check on you later, son.”

  “Whatever,” he answered curtly.

  Remmy went to the door, then turned to Williams. “You know, it seems to me that we’re no further along than we were on day one. A lot of people killed and no progress.” She shot Bailey a vicious look. “And that includes the illustrious FBI. Makes me wonder what the hell I pay taxes for.” She left the room.

  The men followed her out.

  Michelle paused at the door and glanced back at Eddie. He still lay there, his face covered. She quietly left.

  Chapter 74

  Two days passed with no sign of Roger Canney despite Chip Bailey and Chief Williams having put in place an area lockdown.

  “It’s like he popped into a damn hole somewhere,” complained the frustrated FBI agent at one meeting of the investigative team.

  With eight murders in total now and the attempted killings of King and Michelle, Wrightsburg was overflowing with law enforcement folks fighting over turf, evidence and the proper way to satiate the horde of media that had invaded the town. Hardly a citizen had not been interviewed by a reporter from some organization. One could not watch the national news or read the Washington Post, New York Times, or USA Today without seeing a story about the Wrightsburg slayings. Pundit after pundit proposed one solution after another, most having nothing to do with the actual facts of the case. People were putting their homes on the market at an alarming clip, business was down across the board; it didn’t seem too far-fetched to think the town might cease to exist if the killer or killers weren’t soon found. Business and political leaders were, not surprisingly, calling for Chief Williams’s head, along with his top—if recently appointed—deputies, King and Maxwell. Bailey too was feeling the heat from his superiors, but he went about his business, methodically running down any lead that looked promising, though most petered out.

  Eddie was released from the hospital about the time Sylvia completed the autopsy on Sally; not that the cause of her death had ever been in doubt. No new leads had materialized, but at least no one else had died either.

  In the midst of all this chaos and scrutiny, when it seemed like the entire town would implode any second, Sean King pulled out two bottles from his portable wine cooler and went to dinner with Michelle at Harry Carrick’s home.

  As she exited her cottage and climbed into the Lexus convertible, King’s eyes had widened at the sight of her. “You look beautiful, Michelle,” he said, scrutinizing the clingy dress that stopped about midthigh and showed off a healthy dose of her Olympian legs. She also sported a stylish blue wrap around her shoulders; she was no longer wearing the sling. She wore makeup, and it appeared she’d even washed her hair, and hardly any of it was dangling in her face. It was a stunning contrast to her usual jeans, windbreakers, sneakers and running suits and flyaway tresses.

  For his part King was dressed in a suit and tie and even had a handkerchief in his coat’s breast pocket.

  “I wanted to make a nice impression on Harry,” she said hastily. “But my, I didn’t expect such accolades from you.”

  “I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about.”

  “I found the breakfast and lunch I made you
in the trash can again. If you don’t like my cooking, just say so. It’s not like it would hurt my feelings.”

  In his best Bogart imitation King said, “Aw, angel, you shouldn’t waste time in the kitchen. Not your style, angel.”

  She smiled and said, “Thank God for small favors.”

  “But with that said, the tuna dish you made the other night was really good.”

  “High praise coming from you.”

  “I tell you what: the next meal we’ll make together. I’ve got a few tricks I can show you.”

  “Okay, that’s a deal.”

  “How’s the arm?”

  “Like I said, just a scratch.”

  As they drove with the top down along the winding country roads on a warm, fine evening covered by a vast sky of stars, Michelle glanced at him admiringly and observed, “You look pretty spiffy yourself.”

  “Like Eddie Battle, I can clean up well on occasion.” He smiled to show he was joking.

  “Are we the only guests?”

  “Yes, since I was the one who suggested we get together.”

  “You? Why?”

  “It’s time we sat down and talked this case through, and I do my best thinking over a good bottle of wine or two.”

  “Are you sure you just didn’t want to escape another meal at my house?”

  “Thought never occurred to me.”

  Harry’s house was large and old and its interior beautifully decorated.

  He met them at the door and led them into the library, where, despite the warmth of the evening, a cozy fire was burning. The old lawyer was wearing a snappy three-piece suit with stylishly muted checks. A carnation was pinned to his jacket lapel. He poured them drinks, and they sat on a soft, cracked leather sofa in front of the fire. The couch looked as though it had carried the posteriors of at least five generations.

  He raised his glass. “A toast to my two good friends.” They drank to that, and then Harry added after eyeing Michelle, “And really, I believe another toast is in order.” He lifted his glass once more. “To one of the most lovely women I’ve ever encountered. Michelle, you look extraordinarily beautiful tonight.”

  Michelle smiled and glanced at King. “Now, if I could only cook.”

  King started to say something but seemed to think better of it and hastily took a sip of his cocktail.

  “What an incredibly interesting place,” said Michelle as she looked around at the built-in, worm-eaten wooden shelves stuffed with what looked to be ancient tomes.

  Harry’s gaze followed hers around the library. “Of course it’s haunted, as it should be for a place that saw the light of the eighteenth century.”

  “Haunted?” said Michelle.

  “Oh, yes. I’ve seen numerous apparitions over the years. Several I consider to be regulars. Since my return here, I’ve felt a real duty to get to know them, considering I’ll be joining them in the not-all-too-distant future.”

  “You’ve got a long time left, Harry,” commented King.

  “What would we do without you?” said Michelle, tapping her whiskey glass against Harry’s tumbler of bourbon.

  “Even before the other branch of the Lee family was building its fortress at Stratford Hall, my line was laying the brick and mortar for this.” Harry checked his pocket watch. “Calpurnia serves promptly at seven-thirty. That gives us a little time to talk before the meal, although I’m sure I can guess our dinner topic.”

  “Calpurnia?” asked Michelle.

  “Calpurnia is my cook and housekeeper; a delightful lady who’s been with me for years. I discovered her when I was serving on the supreme court in Richmond, and she graciously agreed to return with me here. I’d be utterly lost without Calpurnia.”

  He took a sip of his bourbon, set down his glass and put his hands together, his features now very serious.

  “We must solve this thing, and soon, you know. It’s not like people are going to stop being killed simply because we wish it.”

  “I know,” said King. He stood and faced them, his back to the fire. “I’ve been giving this a lot of thought, having had not much else to do while recovering from that deep draft I took of carbon monoxide. Now, there’ve been eight deaths thus far.” He held up the fingers on one of his hands. “But I want to talk about only five, at least at first. And I want to begin with Rhonda Tyler.”

  “The dancer,” said Harry.

  “The prostitute.”

  “You’re sure?” said Michelle.

  “I checked with Lulu. Tyler was one of the ones who opted for the ‘extra pay’ structure.”

  “What’s that?” asked Harry curiously.

  “A little sideline of the Aphrodisiac; it’s since been shut down,” said King vaguely.

  Harry nodded in a knowing way. “I always suspected that was happening. I mean, you can’t let men watch naked girls, ply them with alcohol and not expect some to want more than to merely play voyeur.”

  “Exactly. So Rhonda was a prostitute. Was that why she was killed?”

  Michelle ventured an answer. “Well, prostitutes are probably the number one victim pool of serial killers.”

  “Right again. So are we simply dealing with an ‘ordinary’ serial killer who opted to start with this ‘classic’ victim pool, or is there something else going on?”

  “What do you mean, Sean?” asked Harry.

  “I mean, was Tyler a symbol or was her death more personal?”

  “How can we answer that with the little we know?” said Michelle.

  “Let me answer a question with a question. Could Bobby Battle have enjoyed the services of Rhonda Tyler? She was at the Aphrodisiac before Bobby had his stroke. He was known to frequent the place, although Lulu was pretty vague on the last time she’d seen him there.”

  “I hadn’t considered that angle,” said Harry quietly. “But let’s say he did sleep with her. Why would that make her a target for our killer along with at least four other people who seem to have no connection?”

  “What if some of the other victims did have connections to Battle?”

  “Such as?”

  Michelle answered, “Sean thinks Steve Canney was Bobby’s illegitimate son. His mother had worked for Battle and probably gotten pregnant by him, and we think Roger Canney was blackmailing Bobby. We also think Bobby may have been involved in Mrs. Canney’s death three and a half years ago, and that’s when the blackmail started.”

  “My God!” exclaimed Harry.

  “But, Sean,” said Michelle, “I’ve been thinking about this too. Bobby openly had affairs with women, slept with prostitutes. If what you say is true, why would he care if the truth came out about an illegitimate son? Why would he allow himself to be blackmailed over a sexual encounter?”

  “I think I can answer that,” said Harry. “Just about the time period you’re talking about Bobby was in the middle of selling his company. Many local lawyers I knew were working on the deal on Battle’s behalf, so I heard all the war stories about the negotiations. The buyer was a large multinational corporation with a sterling reputation. And Bobby was the very public face of his company.”

  “So news of an illegitimate son wouldn’t have helped the negotiations,” said King.

  “Precisely. As a matter of fact, the deal did go through and made Bobby more money than he could possibly have spent in several lifetimes. It was probably a good thing.”

  “Why do you say that?” asked King.

  “Battle had always been eccentric, but for some years he was growing more and more bizarre in his behavior. Violent mood swings, bouts of depression followed by times of unrealistic euphoria. And his mind wasn’t what it was. One of the most brilliant engineers and businessmen of his day, he was forgetting names and important items. I really wasn’t surprised about the stroke. In fact, I suspected he suffered numerous minor ones previously that had affected his mind. But we’re getting far afield from the topic of blackmail.” Harry turned to King. “Sorry for the detour.”

  �
�No, we need all the information we can get. The timing of the sale of Bobby’s company makes me believe it was only Roger Canney who had the blackmail plan. One would think that Mrs. Canney would know who the father of her son was, or at least that Bobby could have been the father. Steven Canney was seventeen when he died. If she’d wanted to come forward and make a claim, she wouldn’t have waited all those years. It’s not like Bobby wasn’t rich seventeen years ago too.”

  Harry picked up this line of reasoning. “But Roger Canney might have known Steve wasn’t his biological son and been waiting for his wife to die before putting the screws to Bobby. Perhaps he waited because his wife wouldn’t have gone along. He certainly would have known of the potential sale of the man’s company. That was publicly disclosed.”

  “Or maybe,” said Michelle, “Roger Canney didn’t want to wait for his wife to die ‘naturally,’ so he sped up the process by running her off the road, freeing him to begin his blackmail scheme.”

  “But it was Bobby’s car that was damaged right around the time of her death,” King said. “So it seems far more likely that Bobby killed her.”

  “I’m just pointing out that Roger Canney might’ve had a motive to kill her too,” Michelle replied.

  King looked at her admiringly. “That’s a good point, Michelle. I hadn’t really considered that.”

  “So where does that leave us?” she wanted to know.

  The bell for dinner interrupted them.

  “I’ve told Calpurnia that a dinner bell is quite old-fashioned, but she claims my hearing’s not what it was, and it’s the only way she can get my attention without trudging all over the house to find me. Shall we?”

  Chapter 75

  Sean had uncorked both bottles of wine upon his arrival so that they could properly breathe before dinner. At the table he poured out the first one. “This is a La Croix de Peyrolie out of Lussac-St-Emilion.”

  “And I’m sure it has some wonderfully nifty history,” said Michelle as she smelled it.

  “It’s made by the appropriately named Carole Bouquet, who used to be a famous model and was a James Bond girl in one of the films—For Your Eyes Only, I believe. The other bottle is a Ma Vérité de Gérard Depardieu, Haut-Médoc.”