away.' She grew silent, staring at the ground before glancing over at her partner. 'Okay, talk to me, what are you thinking?'
He didn't answer right away. When he spoke, his voice quivered slightly. 'I'm thinking that tonight three little kids lost their father and a wife her husband. And I'm just wondering when it's going to stop.'
'Not until someone stops him.'
King never took his eyes off the unfinished house. 'Well, starting right now, that's our full-time job.'
CHAPTER 43
AS KING HAD PREDICTED, THE police arrived too late to catch Junior's killer. When news of yet another murder became public, the entire area fell into a complete frenzy. The mayor of Wrightsburg, in a stunning show of no confidence in either Todd Williams or the FBI, demanded that the National Guard be called out and martial law declared. Fortunately, no one granted that request. The national news machine had descended on Wrightsburg and its environs with an enormous appetite for detail, no matter how trivial or irrelevant to the investigation. The large media trucks and their sky antennae and news jockeys with wireless mikes in hand became as ubiquitous as the sprouting spring buds. The only people happy about this situation were the local restaurateurs, innkeepers and conspiracy buffs, who could be heard spouting endless theories. Nearly everyone was grabbing for their fifteen minutes of fame.
Todd Williams was inundated by the journalistic deluge, as was Chip Bailey. Even King and Michelle failed to entirely escape the flood, watching in dismay as details of their previous high-profile investigative exploits were dredged up and made part of the current story.
More law enforcement resources were called in, both federal and state, and King wondered if the additional manpower was helping or hurting the investigation. The latter seemed to be the case as everyone jockeyed for position.
The letter finally came. It proclaimed that the killer of Junior Deaver was now imitating the clown prince of darkness, at least in serial killer circles: John Wayne Gacy.
They were all at another early morning task force meeting at the police station. The large conference room had been turned into a war room of sorts with banks of computers and telephones manned twenty-four/ seven, charts, maps, stacks of files, highly specialized personnel running down all leads, tons of coffee and doughnuts and not one viable suspect anywhere in sight.
'Gacy strangled many of his victims using that ligature technique,' explained Chip Bailey.
'You certainly know your serial killers,' said Michelle.
'I should. I've spent years tracking them down.'
'And in prison the big, jolly fellow started doing paintings of clowns,' added King, 'which accounts for the mask, just in case we couldn't figure it out solely from the hangman's tourniquet.'
'And Junior's watch was definitely set to five o'clock,' said Michelle. 'So either our serial murderer can't count or whoever killed Bobby Battle was a copycat.'
'I think we can assume there are two killers out there,' conceded Bailey. 'Although there's an outside possibility that there's only one killer and he's messing with the numbers for some reason.'
'What, he's angling to be charged with five killings instead of six?' asked King. 'I don't know about other places, but in Virginia they only execute murderers
Williams groaned and reached for the Advil. 'Damn, my head's starting to hurt again.'
'Have you seen Bobby Battle's will?' asked Michelle.
Williams swallowed the pills and nodded. 'The vast bulk of his estate was left to Remmy.'
'Did they hold the property by joint tenancy?' asked King.
'No. A lot was in Bobby's name only, including all his patents. The house went to Remmy automatically, and she had substantial property of her own.'
'You said the vast bulk. Where did the remainder go?'
'Some charities. A little bit to Eddie and Dorothea. Not nearly enough to kill for, though.'
'How about Savannah?' asked King.
'No, she got nothing. But she already had a big trust fund.'
'But still, not to leave her anything, that was pretty callous.'
'Maybe they weren't all that close,' said Bailey.
King looked at him. 'How well do you know the family?'
'Eddie and I see each other pretty regularly. We hunt together, and I've gone to some of his reenactments. He's come down to Quantico and toured the FBI Academy. In fact, Remmy and Bobby came down for that, and Mason, the butler, too. I own a couple pieces of Eddie's artwork. Dorothea helped me find my house in Charlottesville. I spent an afternoon with them after his father was killed. It shook him, I can tell you that. I actually think he was more concerned about the effect it had on his mother.'
King nodded. 'Well, he couldn't have killed his father. He was with us.'
'And he was away fighting at reenactments when Rhonda Tyler and Canney and Pembroke were killed,' said Bailey.
'How about Dorothea?' asked Michelle.
'We checked. She's clean too.'
'At the time Bobby Battle died too?' asked King.
'Well, she said she was driving to Richmond for a meeting the next morning.'
'Alone?'
'Yes.'
King said, 'So she really doesn't have an alibi either. Speaking of Dorothea, do you know her well?'
'Like I said, she was my Realtor. But I don't think she's crying herself to sleep because Bobby's dead.'
'Happy marriage?' asked Michelle.
'Eddie loves her, I know that. I'm not sure how much that's reciprocated. Actually, between you and me, it wouldn't surprise me if she was catching some action on the side.'
'And Savannah said she was home when her father died. Was she?'
'I asked the hired help about that, but they'd all gone to their house by that time, except for Mason, and he doesn't remember seeing her. And she wasn't exactly hitting on all cylinders when we talked to her. I'm going to have to question her again.'
'So she's still a suspect too. What about Bobby and Remmy?' asked King.
'What about them?'
'If I told you we had information they'd had a knock-down-drag-out three or four years ago over Bobby's sleeping around, would that surprise you?'
'No. He had that reputation. Some people thought he was over it, but old dogs rarely change their spots.'
'Which might be an awfully good motive for killing her husband,' said Michelle.
'Possibly,' said Bailey.
'How about Remmy?' asked King
'What, that she slept around?' King nodded. 'No, never,' said Bailey emphatically.
'Mason seems to really think a lot of Remmy,' King said.
'I have no doubt he does, but he's not in her league and never will be, if that's what you're implying.'
King stared at Bailey for a few seconds, then decided to change the subject. He looked over at Williams. 'Has Sylvia finished the post on Junior?'
'Yep,' answered Williams, who'd recovered enough from his misery to devour a chocolate doughnut and two cups of coffee. 'He died from ligature strangulation, although he'd been beaten over the head with a shovel and a piece of wood prior to that. Damn lot of blood.'
'We know,' said King dryly.
'Right,' said the chief. 'Anyway, Sylvia thinks she might have some trace on the guy this time. And the tech
