Hour Game by David Baldacci
for me and Dorothea, and we never had a bit of trouble with him. That’s why I can’t understand the burglary. He was making good money off the family, but maybe not good enough. I understand there’s a lot of evidence tying Junior to the crime.”
“Maybe too much,” answered King.
Eddie looked at him thoughtfully. “I see what you mean. I guess I haven’t given the matter a lot of attention. We’ve been pretty preoccupied with family issues lately.”
“Right. We were sorry to hear about your father.”
“It’s funny. I always thought he’d outlive all of us. Mind you, he still might. The man’s used to getting his way.”
There was a pause before King said, “This question might seem a little awkward, but I have to ask it.”
“Well, I guess the whole situation is a little awkward, so fire away.”
“Apparently, your father had a secret drawer in his closet that things were taken from. Your mother didn’t know about the drawer and thus didn’t know what might have been in it. Did you know about any of that?”
“No. As far as I knew, my parents didn’t have any secrets from each other.”
“Yet they kept separate bedrooms?” said Michelle abruptly.
Eddie’s sunny smile faded. “That’s their business. It didn’t mean they didn’t sleep together or didn’t love each other. Dad smoked cigars and liked his room a certain way. Mom can’t breathe around cigars and she likes her things a certain way. It’s a big house, and they can do anything they damn well please in it.”
King looked apologetic. “I told you it was awkward.”
Eddie looked ready to bark at them again but then seemingly mastered this impulse. “I didn’t know about any secret drawer Dad had. But I’m not his confidant.”
“Does he have a confidant like that? Maybe Savannah?”
“Savannah? No, I’d cross off my little sister as a potential inside information source.”
“I guess she’d been away at college,” prompted Michelle.
“She’s been away all right and it started long before college.”
“I take it you two aren’t that close,” said Michelle.
Eddie shrugged. “It’s no one’s fault, really. I’m nearly twice her age and we have nothing in common. I was in college when she was born.”
“Your mother mentioned to us what happened to you back then,” said King.
Eddie spoke slowly. “I don’t remember much about it, to tell the truth. I’d never even seen the person who kidnapped me until they showed me his body.” He blew out a long breath. “I was really, really lucky. My mother and father were so happy when I got back they conceived Savannah. At least that’s the official family anecdote.”
“Your mother said Chip Bailey became a good friend.”
“He saved my life. How do you ever repay that?”
King glanced at Michelle. “I know what you mean.”
They heard a car driving up, and it screeched to a stop near the front door.
“That would be Dorothea. She doesn’t like to waste time getting places,” said Eddie.
Michelle glanced out the window and saw the big black Beemer. The woman who got out of the car was dressed in a tight, short black skirt with black shoes and black stockings, and her wavy hair color matched that ensemble. She took off her sunglasses, glanced sharply at King’s car and then headed to the door.
Dorothea strode into the room in a pale—if jet-black—imitation of Remmy Battle, it seemed to Michelle. And then she wondered if the younger woman had consciously patterned herself after her mother-in-law in that regard. Fashionably thin with curvy hips, a round firm bottom and slender, sexy legs, the woman possessed a disproportionately large bosom that had doubtless seen professional work. Her mouth was a little too wide for her face and the lipstick a little too red for her pale complexion. The eyes were a dull green but shrewd-looking.
Greetings and introductions were made all around, and then Dorothea drew out a cigarette and lit it while Eddie explained why King and Michelle were there.
She said, “I’m afraid I can’t help you, Sean.” Dorothea kept her focus on him and seemed to make a point of ignoring Michelle. “I was out of town when it happened.”
“Right. Either everyone was gone or no one who was here seemed to notice anything,” said Michelle, baiting the woman on purpose.
The dull green eyes shifted slowly toward her. “I’m sorry if the family and its hired help didn’t work their collective schedules around Junior Deaver’s felonious pursuits,” she said in an icy and condescending tone. If she closed her eyes, Michelle would have sworn it was Remmy Battle speaking. Before Michelle could return fire, Dorothea looked back at King. “I think you’re hunting the wrong fox here.”
“Just trying to make sure an innocent man isn’t sent to prison.”
“Again, I think you’re wasting your time,” she shot back.
King rose. “Well, I certainly won’t waste any more of yours,” he said pleasantly.
As they left, Michelle and King heard raised voices behind them.
Michelle looked at her partner. “I bet Battle holiday get-togethers are just a hoot.”
“I hope I never find out for sure.”
“So now we call it a day?” asked Michelle.
“No, I lied. Next up is Lulu Oxley,” replied King.
CHAPTER
19
KING AND MICHELLE
pulled up in front of a double-wide trailer set on a permanent cinder-block foundation at the end of a gravel drive. Electrical and phone lines running to the trailer were the only signs of a connection to the outside world. Scraggly pines and stunted wild mountain laurel formed a weary backdrop to the very modest home of Junior Deaver and Lulu Oxley. An ancient, rusted Ford LTD with a cracked vinyl top, an ashtray full of butts and an empty quart of Beefeater on the front seat and sporting dirty West Virginia plates sat in front of the trailer like a cheap sentinel.
As they climbed out of the Lexus, however, Michelle noted that flower boxes lined the windows of the trailer and more pots covered with brilliant spring blooms sat on the wooden steps leading up to the front door. The trailer itself looked old, but the exterior was clean and in good repair.
King glanced at the sky.
“What are you looking for?”
“Tornadoes. The only time I got caught in one I was in a trailer in Kansas. There wasn’t a single blade of grass disturbed in the whole area, but that twister picked that trailer up and deposited it somewhere in Missouri. Luckily, I got out before the ride started. The guy I had gone to question about a counterfeiting ring chose to stick it out. They found him in a cornfield ten miles away.”
King didn’t head to the front door; instead, he went around to the side of the trailer. Directly behind the double-wide about forty feet back and enclosed on three sides by leafy trees was a large wooden shed. It had no door, and inside they could see walls lined with tools and a large air generator on the floor. As they approached the structure, an unkempt dog, ribs showing, lumbered out of the shed, saw them and commenced barking and baring its yellowed teeth. Luckily, the animal appeared to be chained to a deeply set stake.
“Okay, enough snooping around,” King declared.
As he and Michelle mounted the steps to the trailer, a heavyset woman appeared behind the screened front door.
The woman’s hair was big and black with silver streaks. Her dress resembled a purple sandwich board glued over her immense, square-cut frame, and her face was composed of doughy cheeks, three chins, small lips and closely set eyes. The skin was pale and virtually unwrinkled. Except for the hair color, it would have been difficult to guess her exact age.
“Ms. Oxley?” said King with his hand out in greeting. She didn’t take it.
“Who the hell wants to know?”
“I’m Sean King and this is Michelle Maxwell. We’ve been hired by Harry Carrick to handle an investigation on behalf of your husband.”
??
“I’m sorry, Priscilla,” said King, glancing at Michelle.
“She’s gone to get him. Get Junior, I mean.” She took a sip of something in a Disney World coffee mug she was holding.
“I thought he was in jail,” said Michelle.
The woman’s gaze swiveled to her.
“He was. That’s what bail’s for, shug. I come up from West Virginia to help out with the kids till Junior gets himself outta this mess. If he can.” She shook her large head. “Stealing from rich people. Ain’t nothing dumber, but dumb is what Junior’s been his whole life.”
“Do you know when they’ll be back?” asked King.
“They were picking up the kids from school, so ain’t gonna be too long from now.” Priscilla looked at them in distrust. “So exactly what are you doing here?”
“We’ve been retained by Junior’s attorney to dig up evidence proving his innocence,” explained King.
“Well, you got yourself a long road ahead.”
“So you think he’s guilty?” said Michelle, leaning against the banister.
Priscilla looked at her in unconcealed disgust. “He’s done shit like this before.”
King spoke up. “Well, maybe Junior didn’t do this.”
“Yeah, and maybe I’m a size six and got me my own TV show.”
“If they’re going to be back soon, can we come in and wait?”
Priscilla raised the pistol that she held in her other hand; it had been hidden from their view behind an outcropping of fleshy hip. “Lulu don’t like me letting people in. And I don’t have no way of knowing if you are who you say.” She pointed the gun at King. “Now, I don’t want to shoot you, ’cause you’re kinda cute, but I sure as hell will, and your little skinny plaything there too, if you try anything funny.”
King held up his hands in mock surrender. “No problems, Priscilla.” He paused and added, “That’s a fine pistol you’ve got there. H and K nine-millimeter, isn’t it?”
“Hell if I know, belonged to my husband,” said Priscilla. “But I sure know how to shoot it.”
“We’ll just take a stroll around outside and wait,” said King, backing down the stairs and pulling Michelle with him.
“You do that. Just don’t steal my Mercedes over there,” said Priscilla as she shut the door.
Michelle said, “Skinny plaything? I’d like to stick that pistol right up her—”
King gripped her shoulder and led her away from the trailer. “Let’s just be cool and live to play detective another day.”
As they headed away from the trailer, King bent down, picked up a rock and sent it sailing into a ravine. “Why do you think Remmy Battle left the hole in the secret cupboard in Bobby’s closet? She hired someone to fix the damage in her closet. Why not fix Bobby’s at the same time?”
“Maybe she’s pissed at him and didn’t want to deal with it.”
“And you think she’s upset because she didn’t know there was a secret drawer in his closet or what was in it?”
“While we’re at it, there’s something bugging me too,” she said. “Why was her wedding ring in that drawer? She tells us what a great man her husband is, so why wasn’t she wearing her ring? It couldn’t be because of the secret drawer. She didn’t find out about that until after her ring and the other things were stolen.”
“She might have suspected Bobby was hiding something from her, or maybe they were having problems. Like Harry said, Bobby slept around. Or she could’ve been lying to us.”
Michelle had a sudden thought. “Do you think Junior was hired by someone to break into the house and steal what was in Bobby’s secret drawer?”
“Who would know about it other than Bobby?”
“The person who built it.”
King nodded. “And that person could presume that valuables would be kept in there. In fact, it might be the same person who built Remmy’s. Bobby might have hired him to do his without bothering to tell his wife.”
Michelle said, “Well, I guess we can rule out Remmy’s hiring Junior to break into the house and steal what was in her husband’s drawer. If she knew where it was, she could’ve done it herself.”
“If she knew where it was. Maybe she didn’t or couldn’t find it on her own, and hired Junior to find it for her and make it look like a burglary.”
“But if she had hired him, she never would have called the police.”
King shook his head. “Not true if Junior double-crossed her and stole her things while he was looking for Bobby’s secret cache. And maybe Junior’s not telling everything just yet because he wants to see how the cards fall.”
“Why am I suddenly thinking this case is far more complicated than people think it is?” said Michelle wearily.
“I never thought it was simple.”
They both turned in the direction of the van pulling up to the trailer.
King glanced at the occupants of the vehicle and then looked at Michelle. “Lulu must have scored the bail. That’s Junior Deaver in the passenger seat. Let’s see if we can get the truth out of him.”
“With the way things have been going so far, don’t hold your breath on that. Straight answers seem to be in short supply.”
CHAPTER
20
JUNIOR DEAVER LOOKED
like a man who made his living with his hands. His jeans and T-shirt were streaked with paint smears and seemed permanently coated with drywall dust. He was over six feet four, and his arms were thick and powerful, deeply bronzed by the sun, and bore numerous scars, scabs and at least five tattoos, by Michelle’s count, covering a variety of subject matter from mothers to Lulu to Harley-Davidson. His hair was brown and thinning, and he wore it long and pulled back in a ponytail that unfortunately emphasized his graying and receding hairline. A small, bristly goatee covered his chin, and his bushy sideburns had been grown down past his Santa Claus cheeks. He lifted his smallest child, a six-year-old girl with beautifully soft brown eyes and slender pigtails, out of the van with a tenderness that Michelle would hardly have given him credit for.
Lulu Oxley was thin and wore a crisp-looking black business suit and low heels. Her brown hair was done up professionally in a complicated braid and bun, and she wore chic eyeglasses with slender gold frames. She held a briefcase in one hand and in the other the small hand of what looked to be an eight-year-old boy. The third child, a girl of about twelve, followed behind carrying a large school bag. All the children wore the uniform of one of the local Catholic schools.
King stepped forward and extended his hand to Junior.
“Junior, I’m Sean King. Harry Carrick hired us to work on your behalf.”
Junior eyed Lulu, who nodded, and then he very grudgingly took King’s hand and squeezed. Michelle saw her partner wince before the big man let go.
“This is my partner, Michelle Maxwell.”
Lulu studied both of them very closely. “Harry said you’d be coming by. I just got Junior out, and I don’t want him to go back in.”
“I ain’t going back in,” growled Junior. “ ’Cause I ain’t done nothing wrong.”
As he said this, the little girl in his arms began to quietly cry.
“Oh, dang,” he said, “Mary Margaret, now don’t you cry no more. Daddy ain’t going no place ’cept home.” The little girl continued to sob.
“Mama,” called out Lulu, “come and get the children, will you?”
Priscilla appeared at the door, minus the gun, and shooed the older children inside before holding out her arms for Mary Margaret and taking the sobbing girl.
She glared at Junior. “Well, I see they let anybody out of jail these days.”
“Mama,” exclaimed Lulu sharply, “just go inside and see to the children.”
Priscilla put down Mary Margaret, and the little girl fled into the trailer. Priscilla nodded at King an
At the “chickie” slur King automatically grabbed Michelle’s arm to hold her back from throttling the older woman. “Ms. Oxley,” he said. “Like I said, we’re here on Junior’s behalf. We’ve already been to see Remmy Battle.”
“Well, la-di-da,” said Priscilla Oxley, who finished this statement with a snort. “And how’s the queen today?”
“Do you know her?” asked King.