Hour Game (Sean King & Michelle Maxwell 2) - Page 36
He methodically went through the room looking for potential evidence of his presence but found none. Fingerprints and palmprints were out of the question. Not only had he worn gloves but he’d glued felt pads to each of his fingertips and palms. He slipped a small, handheld vacuum out of his coat pocket and ran it over the floor and under the bed where he’d been hiding. He did the same in the coat close
t where he’d initially hidden, and continued that process on the stairs and finally the garage.
After that he took off his hood, slipped on a beard and hat and left out the back door. He made his way to his car, which he’d parked on a side road outside of the fancy gated community with its elderly, weaponless security guard. The VW started up. He drove fast but within the legal speed limit. He had another letter to write. And he knew exactly what he wanted to say.
CHAPTER
23
SEAN KING WOKE EARLY
on the forty-foot houseboat that was parked at his dock. The rented houseboat was home, at least until he could finish building a new house to replace the one that had disappeared into a man-made crater. He donned a wet suit, drew a quick breath and then dove headfirst into the water. After a spirited swim of several hundred yards he returned to the houseboat and embarked on a two-mile trek in his Loon kayak. His partner’s energetic ways were rubbing off on him, he had to grudgingly admit.
As he was paddling through the water thinking this, he looked up and saw her. He wasn’t surprised, even at this hour. He often wondered if she ever slept. Could it be that his partner was really a vampire who happened to have no problem with sunlight?
Michelle was in her scull rowing with a skill, strength and intensity that King could only dream about. She was moving so fast that anyone unacquainted with the woman would have assumed her craft was under motor power.
He called out to her, his words carrying far over the calm waters.
“Time for coffee, or are you heading for the Atlantic this morning?”
She smiled, waved and headed over.
They drew their crafts up to his dock and secured them.
On the houseboat King fixed coffee while Michelle took out an energy bar from her fanny pack and started to devour it. She looked around the well-organized interior.
“You know, this boat’s almost bigger than my cottage,” she observed between bites.
“And it’s far neater, I know,” he said, pouring out juice and coffee.
It had been two days since their interview with Lulu and Junior. They’d reported back to Harry Carrick, who seemed pleased with their progress but had in turn informed them that the grand jury had, not surprisingly, indicted his client. They’d tracked down the man who had installed the secret drawers in the Battles’ closets. He was elderly, retired, and seemed to have no earthly reason to break into his former clients’ home. That had seemed a dead end until King asked him when Robert Battle had asked for his secret drawer to be installed.
The old man had looked a little uncomfortable at that. “Don’t like keeping secrets from folks,” he had said. “Mrs. Battle is a fine lady, none finer in my mind.”
“So Mr. Battle didn’t want her to know about it?” prompted Michelle when the old man seemed disinclined to continue.
“Sneaking in and out when she wasn’t there, didn’t like it, no, sir,” he said, avoiding directly answering her question.
“Any idea why Mr. Battle wanted that drawer installed?” asked King.
“Didn’t ask because it wasn’t my place to,” he said stubbornly.
“Around what time period was that?” Michelle inquired.
The man took a minute to consider this. “Must’ve been about five or so years ago. Put Mrs. Battle’s drawer in a few years before that.”
King mused for a moment and then said, “And Mr. Battle knew about his wife’s hidden drawer?”
“Don’t know if he did or not. Hear he’s near death’s door.”
“You never know with a man like that,” replied King.
They’d checked out the alibis of all of Junior’s friends. The men were either in a bar drinking at the time or sleeping with their wives, girlfriends or mistresses. The ladies could have been lying, of course, but it might be hard to break their testimony without a lot of digging, and in each case King had sensed they were telling the truth. Anyway, none of Junior’s friends seemed remotely capable of carrying off such a burglary and setting up Junior so cleverly in the process. Their expertise seemed limited to driving nails, drinking beer and bedding women.
“Are you going to live on this houseboat the whole time while you’re rebuilding?” asked Michelle.
“I don’t have much choice.”
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