“Teet Haerm was the medical examiner for the city of Stockholm. It’s said that he even performed the autopsies on some of his victims. Probably the only time that had ever happened. At least until now. Eddie left a clue behind, only he misspelled it on purpose. He wanted to get to you first after all.” He paused and added, “I don’t know if Teet was guilty or not, but I know you are.”
“And you can’t prove one word of anything you’ve said.”
“You’re right, I can’t,” conceded King. “At least not right now. But let me tell you something, lady, I’m not going to stop trying. In the meantime I hope your guilt will ruin your life.”
King walked out the door, shutting it firmly behind him.
CHAPTER
101
KING AND MICHELLE
boarded the small plane and flew down to South Carolina. From there they drove an hour to the maximum security prison Eddie Battle had been transferred to and where he would spend the rest of his life. Michelle chose to wait outside while King went in.
Eddie was brought in wearing shackles and surrounded by four beefy guards who never took their eyes off him. Eddie’s hair was shaved to the scalp, and there were scars and wounds on his face and forearms which King knew had been inflicted since he’d been incarcerated. He wondered how many others were hidden under the jumpsuit. He sat down across from Eddie. They were separated by inch-thick Plexiglas. King had already been instructed on all the visitor’s rules, chief of which was to make no sudden moves and never ever try to have any physical contact with the prisoner.
King knew he’d have no trouble following those procedures.
“I’d ask you how it’s going, but I can see.”
Eddie shrugged. “It’s not that bad. Pretty basic stuff. Kill or be killed and I’m still here.” He eyed King with a curious look. “Didn’t expect to be seeing you again.”
“I had a few questions to ask you. And then I had something to tell you. What do you want first?”
“Give me the questions. The boys in here don’t have many. Spend most of my time in the library. Lifting weights, playing ball, getting some of the boys organized into a team. They won’t let me paint, though. Guess they’re afraid I’ll drown somebody in a bucket. Shoot.”
“First question: Did your father’s stroke start everything in motion?”
Eddie nodded. “I’d been thinking about it for a while. Wasn’t sure if I’d have the balls to actually do it. When the old man went down, it just snapped in my head. Now or never.”
“Second question: Why kill Steve Canney? I thought you did it for your mother, but now I know that wasn’t the case.”
Eddie shifted in his seat, the shackles rattling. One of the guards looked over. Eddie smiled and waved before looking back at King. “My parents let my brother die, and my old man goes off and has another son with some slut. Well, I didn’t want or need another brother. This Canney kid grew up healthy and strong. That should’ve been Bobby, you hear me? It should’ve been Bobby.” His voice rose higher, and now all four guards looked over. King didn’t know if he was more frightened of Eddie or them.
“Third question: What made you kill Junior? At first I thought it was because you believed he’d stolen from your mother. Now I know you wouldn’t have cared about that. So why?”
“There was a drawing of my brother that got busted up during the burglary.”
“Your mother showed me it.”
“It was a drawing of Bobby before he got really sick.” Eddie paused and put his shackled hands on the wood in front of him. “I was the one who drew it. I loved that picture. And I wanted it in Mom’s room so she’d always know what she did. When I saw it smashed up, I knew I’d kill whoever had done it. I thought Junior had broken it. That was his death sentence.”
King suppressed a shudder at Eddie’s reasoning for murder and said, “In case you’re interested, this has all really hit Remmy hard, though she tries not to show it.”
“She’s just lucky I didn’t have the guts to kill her.”
“Did you come up with the plan to impersonate famous serial killers because of Chip Bailey?”
Eddie grinned. “Old Chippy. Bragged all the time about how much smarter he was than everyone else, how much he knew about serial killers, their M.O. He claimed he could run down the smartest of them. Well, I took him up on that challenge. I think the results speak for themselves.”
“If your father hadn’t been murdered, what would you have done?”
“Killed him. But before I did I was going to tell him about all the people I’d killed and why. I wanted him to know what he’d done. For once in his life I wanted him to take responsibility.”
“Last question. Why’d you take something from each of your victims?”
“So I could plant them at Harold Robinson’s, to put the blame on him.” He paused, his brow wrinkled, and he finally said in a low voice, “I guess I’m just like my old man.”