Hour Game

how to write it. After several more minutes of contemplation he began to etch out large block letters. He made it halfway through, balled up the paper and threw it away. He did that twice more before settling on the final wording, chewing down a pencil in the process.

He sat back and read over it three times. It would no doubt get the person's attention; however, his dilemma was he didn't know if he actually possessed any blackmail information. Yet the beauty of it was that if the person were guilty, the wording of the letter would surely do its work. And his next message would carry with it a request for money, to be delivered in a very safe way that he'd think of in the meantime. He wondered how much it would be worth and then ultimately decided he couldn't determine that yet. He looked at his new guitar. One hour's work had brought that to him. One hour! When he slaved during the day for pennies! Well, maybe not too much longer.

He put the letter in an envelope, addressed it and then walked down to the corner mailbox and dropped it in. When the metal door of the postal box clanged shut, Kyle wondered for one terrifying second if he'd just made a huge blunder. However, that dread quickly left him. It was replaced by an even stronger emotion: greed.

They waited for forty-five minutes, and Bailey was just about to leave the room and find one of the household staff when Savannah Battle finally tottered into the library.

Where the mother had been all stone and ice, the daughter looked like a burning photograph a few seconds from curling up and disintegrating.

'Hello, Savannah,' said King. 'We're sorry we have to bother you now.'

If she said something in response, none could hear it. She just stood there dressed in baggy sweatpants and a William and Mary T-shirt with no bra underneath. She was barefoot, her hair a tangled mess. Her nose and cheeks were so reddened it looked like she'd dived headfirst into a bottle of rouge. And she was chewing on her nails.

'Uh, Savannah, you want to take a seat?' asked Bailey.

The woman just stood there staring at the floor, her finger in her mouth. Michelle finally rose, guided her to the couch, poured her a cup of coffee and handed it to her. 'Drink it,' she said firmly.

Savannah cradled the cup in both hands and took a sip.

The ensuing interview was very frustrating. Savannah, when she did answer their questions, mumbled. When asked to repeat, she mumbled again. She'd gone to the hospital around lunchtime to see her father on the day he died. That much they managed to glean after several tedious attempts and misfires. She stayed about thirty minutes, saw no one and left. Her father was not conscious during that time. They didn't bother asking her if she had any reason to believe someone might want to kill her father. That required a level of mental acuity that the girl simply wasn't capable of right now. She'd been home the night of Bobby Battle's death but wasn't sure if anyone saw her.

As she slowly walked out of the room, Michelle touched King on the arm. 'You were right. Daddy's little girl is rocked.'

'But are we sure why?'

Chip Bailey received a phone call that caused him to have to make a hasty departure.

King and Michelle followed him to the front door, where King said, 'We'll just hang here. You know, deputy stuff.'

Bailey didn't look too pleased, but he had no grounds to argue the point.

'You're enjoying baiting him, aren't you?' said Michelle after the man had left.

'I look for the small pleasures of life wherever I can find them.'

King and Michelle returned to the library, where Mason was clearing the tray.

'Here, let me help you.' King reached over and pushed the coffee cups together, spilling the remains from one in the process.

'Sorry,' said King. He dabbed up the spill with a napkin.

'Thanks, Sean,' said Mason as he picked up the tray. They followed him into the enormous kitchen that was outfitted with professional-grade appliances and every gizmo a cook would need to transform food into art.

King whistled. 'I wondered how the Battles could dish up all that wonderful cuisine at those functions I attended.'

Mason smiled. 'First-class. Mrs. Battle wouldn't have it any other way.'

King perched on the edge of a table. 'It's a good thing you were still up when Remmy came home that night. What with everything she's had to go through and all.'

'It's been hard for the whole family,' said Mason.

'I bet it has. So she got here around eleven?'

'Just that. I remember looking at my watch when I heard her drive up.'

Michelle noted this down while King continued. 'Were you still in the house when she got the phone call that Bobby had died?'

He nodded. 'I was just finishing up some things and about to head out when she came running down the stairs. She was frantic, half-dressed, words coming out all jumbled. Took me a full minute to calm her down to where I could even understand her.'

'She said she called Eddie to come get her.'

'Only he wasn't home. I wanted to drive her to the hospital, but she told me to stay here in case anyone called. She left about ten minutes later. When she got back, she looked like a ghost, no light in her eyes at all.'

Mason looked down, apparently embarrassed at his choice of words. 'Anyway, then it turns out he was murdered. Now, Mrs. Battle's a strong person. She can take a shot with the best of them. But two shots and that close together, that's another story.'

'She seemed very composed this morning,' commented Michelle.

'She's resilient,' he said, bristling. 'And she has to be strong for everyone else.'

'Yes, Savannah seemed a little out of it. I guess she and her father were really very close,' said Michelle.

Mason offered no comment.

'Although she hasn't been home that much over the last few years.'

'Hardly at all,' said Mason. 'Whether that's a good or bad thing I'm sure I couldn't say.'

You already have, Mason, thought King. 'Apparently, Savannah was home that night. I'm surprised that she didn't go to the hospital with Remmy.'

'I don't know if she was home or not. If she was, I didn't see her.'

'Can I speak frankly, Mason?' said King.

The man turned to him, looking a little surprised. 'I guess so.'

'Bobby's death might not be connected to the other killings.'

'Okay,' said Mason slowly.

'So if he was killed by someone else, we have to start looking at motivations.'

Mason didn't say anything for a few seconds. 'You mean one of the family?'

'Not necessarily, but that can't be discounted.' He eyed the man keenly. 'You've been with them a long time. It's easy to see you're far more than the hired help.'

'I've been with them through the good and the bad,' Mason said.

'Tell us about the bad,' said King.

'Look, if you're trying to get me to say something that'll hurt Mrs. Battle-'

King interrupted. 'All I'm trying to do is get to the truth, Mason.'

'She would never have done anything like that!' he said sharply. 'She loved Mr. Battle.'

'And yet her wedding ring wasn't on her finger.'

Mason started for a moment and then said, 'I believe it needed repairs. She didn't want to risk further damage. I wouldn't read any more into it.'

Nice comeback, thought King. 'Anyone else you can think of?'

Mason thought about this but then shook his head. 'I really couldn't say. I mean, I don't know anything like that,' he added quickly.

Is it the former or the latter? wondered King. He produced one of his cards. 'If something does occur to you, give us a call. We're far nicer than the FBI,' he added.

As Mason walked them out, King stopped in front of a bookcase containing numerous photos. One in particular