Hour Game

Chapter 100

Two days later King pulled up into the parking lot and got out of his car. He went inside the office building, asked for Sylvia and was directed back to her office.

She was at her desk in her medical office, her left arm in a sling. She looked up and smiled, then came around and gave him a hug.

“Do you feel halfway human yet?” she asked.

“I’m getting there,” he said quietly. “How’s the arm?”

“Almost as good as new.”

He sat down across from her while she perched on the edge of her desk.

“I haven’t seen much of you lately.”

“I’ve been kind of busy,” he answered.

“I’ve got tickets to a play in D.C. for next Saturday. Would it be too forward to ask if you’d like to join me? Separate hotel rooms, of course. You’ll be perfectly safe.”

King glanced over at the coatrack. The woman’s coat, sweater and shoes were neatly arranged either on or next to the rack.

“Is something wrong, Sean?”

He looked back at her. “Sylvia, why do you think Eddie came after us?”

Her demeanor instantly changed. “He’s crazy. We helped bring him down. Or at least you did. He hated you for it.”

“But he let me go. And he kept you. He had you bent over a tree stump, about to cut your head off. Like an executioner.”

Her face twisted angrily. “Sean, the man had killed nine people already, most at random.”

He took a piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to her. She sat back behind her desk and slowly read it.

She looked up. “It’s the newspaper article about my husband’s death.”

“He was the victim of a hit-and-run driver, case was never solved.”

“I’m well aware of that,” she said coldly, sliding the paper back across. “So?”

“So the same night George Diaz was killed Bobby Battle’s Rolls-Royce was damaged. The next day the Rolls was gone, and so was the mechanic who looked after Bobby’s collection.”

“Are you saying this mechanic person killed my husband?”

“No, I’m saying Bobby Battle did.”

She looked at him, stunned. “Why in the hell would he do that?”

“Because he was avenging you. He was avenging the woman he loved.”

Sylvia rose, her fingers digging into her desktop. “What the hell are you trying to do here?”

Now King’s demeanor changed. He sat forward. “Sit down, Sylvia, I have a lot more to say.”

“I—”

“Sit!”

She slowly sank back into her chair, without ever taking her gaze off him.

“You told me once that you’d seen Lulu Oxley at the gynecologist you both used. You intimated she’d changed docs. But she didn’t change docs. You did.”

“So is that a crime?”

“I’m getting to that. I got the name of your new ob-gyn from your old doctor, and then I went to see your new gynecologist. She was way up in D.C. Why so far away, Sylvia?”

“That’s none of your damn business.”

“When you had your surgery three and a half years ago, your husband performed it. He was the best, you said. Only he had another agenda when he opened you up. I’ve discovered after talking to a surgeon friend of mine that the procedure to correct a ruptured diverticulum is one of the very few that would allow the surgeon to do something ‘extra’ in the pelvic region that most likely wouldn’t be noticed by anyone assisting him.”

“Would you please get to the point!” she exclaimed.

“I know, Sylvia.”

“You know what?” she said fiercely.

“That a tubal ligation was performed on you without your knowledge that rendered you infertile.”

There was a long silence. “You don’t know what you’re talking—”

King interrupted. “George Diaz corrected your diverticulitis and operated on your colon all right, but at the same time he also stapled your fallopian tubes shut. And he did it on purpose. You couldn’t go to your old ob-gyn with those staples in you: how could you explain them? So you went to a new one, probably with dummy records, and she removed them. I went to see her with a bogus story about my ‘wife’ and her fallopian tube problem. I said you’d recommended her because you said she’d done such a wonderful job on you. Because of confidentiality restrictions she couldn’t tell me much, but it was just enough to confirm my suspicions. And the damage was permanent, wasn’t it? You’d never have children.”

“You bastard, how dare you—”

King interrupted her again. “Your husband found out you and Bobby were lovers. You fell for the old man just like hundreds before you. And George took his revenge for your infidelity. And then you took yours.” He picked up the photo of George Diaz off her desk and laid it facedown. “You don’t have to keep up the facade of the poor, pining widow for me.”

“I was lying flat on my back in the hospital when George was killed!”

“That’s right. But I’m betting your husband told you what he did. He’d want you to know how he’d avenged himself for your betrayal. And you called Bobby and told him all about it. And he took his Rolls-Royce, went over to your house, saw Diaz out walking, and that was that. At first I thought Bobby had run Roger Canney’s wife off the road and killed her, because her death also occurred around the time George was killed. But hers was a simple car accident. Your husband’s death was murder.”

“It’s all conjecture. And even if it happened as you say, I did nothing wrong. Nothing.”

“The wrong comes later. Because you killed Bobby by injecting a lethal dose of potassium chloride into his nutrition bag.”

“Get out of my office.”

“I’ll go when I’ve had my say,” he shot back.

“First you say I’m the man’s lover, and then you say I’m his murderer. What possible motivation would I have for killing him?”

“You were afraid of being exposed,” King said simply. “On the very day he was killed we saw you at Diane Hinson’s home. Michelle told you Bobby was conscious, but that he was just rambling, calling out people’s names, saying stuff, totally incoherent. You were terrified he’d say your name, talk about your relationship. Then everything might come out. Maybe he’d already thrown you aside by then. So maybe you owed him nothing. I don’t know that for sure, but I do know that you went and killed him. For a doctor it would be easy. You knew the hospital routine. You put the poison in the bag and not the tube, and you left the feather and watch because you wanted the murder attributed to the other killer. You were very quick to support my theory of a family member having killed Bobby. But you made a mistake. You didn’t take anything from his hospital room. Those thefts from the other victims, the St. Christopher’s medal and the like, weren’t revealed to the public or to you. So you didn’t know to copy that detail.”

Sylvia shook her head. “You’re crazy. You’re as crazy as Eddie, you know that? And to think I was looking forward to rekindling what we had.”

“Right, me too. Guess I’m really lucky.”

Her face twisted hideously. “All right, you’ve had your say, now get out. And if you repeat one word of it, I’ll sue you for slander.”

“I’m not finished yet, Sylvia.”

“Oh, there’s more insane talk to come?”

“A lot more. You were also the one who burglarized the Battles’ home.”

“You just don’t stop, do you?”

“Bobby had probably given you the access code and a key. Junior had done work for you, you told us that. You got the stuff to frame him easily enough, and who better to forge a print than a medical examiner? I’m not sure how you did that, but I know with a very experienced person that it’s possible.”

“Why would I burglarize their home? What would I want with Remmy’s wedding ring?”

“You didn’t care about the ring! There was something else you were after. Battle was in a coma in the hospital. You weren’t sure if Remmy knew about Bobby’s secret cache. You weren’t even sure what you wanted was in there, but you had to look. In Bobby’s closet you knew where the secret drawer was, but you didn’t know how to open it and had to break in. Someone would obviously see that, so you broke into Remmy’s closet to make it look like a burglary and framed Junior for it. You’d probably heard from Bobby that Remmy had a secret cupboard in her closet, but he didn’t know its exact location. That’s why you had to bust everything up, looking for it.”

“And what exactly was I supposed to have stolen?”

“A picture of you and Bobby together. Some of the lettering from the back of the Kodak paper had stained the drawer. He might have told you he kept it there. Either way, you had to get it back. Because if he died and the photo was discovered, people might start putting the pieces together about your husband’s death. And even if you weren’t to blame for that, no one would believe you. And maybe it seemed pretty ironic your ending up with Remmy’s wedding ring. Did you ever wear it in the privacy of your home?”

“Okay, that’s it! Get out! Now!”

King didn’t budge. “And did you really have to kill Kyle? What, was he trying to blackmail you?”

“I didn’t kill him. He was stealing from me!”

King glanced over at the coatrack. “You were doing Hinson’s post the night Battle was killed. You said Kyle came to the morgue that night, but you didn’t mention that you’d seen or spoken to him, only that he’d accessed the door, and that was recorded on the security log.”

“I never saw him. I was in the back working on Hinson.”

“Not around ten o’clock you weren’t. And that’s probably what Kyle saw, or, more to the point, didn’t see.” He pointed at the neatly arranged things by the coatrack. “Your jacket, shoes and such you always place there when you’re here working. And it’s also pretty strange to perform an autopsy at night and without assistance or a witness, as you did with Hinson. You gave Todd such a hard time about him ducking the other autopsies, but you didn’t want him at Hinson’s, because you had someplace else to be. Namely, killing Bobby during the nurse changeover. You feigned illness when Todd called you later that night about Battle’s death because you had to complete Hinson’s post, or else you couldn’t bring yourself to see Battle’s body so soon after you’d killed him.”

“That’s crazy. And I wanted to perform the autopsy as quickly as possible. The body will only give clues for a certain period of—”

“Save the lecture for somebody who cares,” said King. “I’m betting Kyle put all this together and tried to blackmail you. So you came to me with the perfectly true fact that he was stealing drugs and selling them, and I told you I’d have Todd see Kyle the next day. Only by then you’d killed him. Maybe you went right after we finished dinner. And during the post you conveniently found enough evidence to make it look like murder. And of course there was Dorothea ready to take the blame, which I’m certain was your intent. In fact, I bet you recognized her at the Aphrodisiac and knew she was Kyle’s drug client.”

He looked over at her. She was simply staring blankly at him now. “But was it all worth it for a monster like Battle? Was it, Sylvia? You were just one in a hundred. He didn’t love you. He didn’t love anyone.”

She picked up the phone. “Unless you leave right now I’m calling the police.”

King rose. “Oh, just so you know, Eddie put me onto this. He knew you’d killed his father; that’s why he was going to kill you.”

“So now you’re listening to convicted murderers?”

“Ever heard of a guy named Teet Haerm?”

“No.”

“He lived in Sweden. Maybe still does. He was accused of killing some people back in the eighties. He was arrested and convicted, but it was later overturned and he was set free.”

“And what exactly does that have to do with me?” she said icily.

“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.