Hour Game

Chapter 84

“And the little boy’s certain it was his father?” asked King for the third time.

They were at police headquarters going over the events at the Robinson house the night before.

“That’s what he said,” answered Williams. “I don’t know why he’d lie about it.”

“But he told you he was at the top of the stairs looking down into the dark.”

“His father spoke to him. Knew his name, his brother’s name, and that there was a baby upstairs and even the name of Tommy’s stuffed animal. Who else could it be?” King didn’t respond; he sat back and fiddled with a pen he was holding.

Williams continued. “And we found all the items taken from each of the five murder victims in the man’s house.”

“Any prints on them?” asked King sharply.

“None. But that hardly surprises me. We haven’t found fingerprints at any of the other crime scenes either.”

“Pretty convenient, leaving all the evidence at his house.”

“No, we were damn lucky to stumble on it. My deputy only noticed it because the cap was screwed on crooked while the other pipe caps were on straight. He was down there looking for ways the guy got in and spotted it.”

“What’s Robinson’s story?”

“He left the house at midnight and was almost halfway to D.C. when he got the phone call.”

“He didn’t stop anywhere?”

“No. His wife’s cell phone did ring on his at that time. We checked. But he could have been standing right in his house and done that with both phones.”

“Yet he showed up over an hour after you got to the house?” said King stubbornly.

“So he drove around all that time giving himself an alibi. And he really didn’t seem all that choked up that his wife was dead. He took the kids and went to a relative’s house.”

“And his motivation for killing all those people?”

“He’s a serial killer disguised as a dad in the burbs. It wouldn’t be the first time. He picked his victims out and did them.”

“But what about the connection between Deaver, Canney and Battle?”

“Coincidence, or the connection was wrong.”

“And the theory of why he killed his wife?” persisted King.

“Maybe she suspected him,” offered Bailey. “And he had to take her out before those suspicions became dangerous, and he tried to tie it to the serial killings. The guy’s on the road alone a lot at night, perfect for a serial killer. Right now we’re looking into his whereabouts at the time each of the murders took place. It was a risk, killing her in his own home. But he might have felt he had no choice. Had his kid not seen him, we never would have suspected.”

“Yep, my gut tells me he’s our guy,” said Williams.

“Yet his son talks to him and the boy’s still alive?” said King.

Bailey answered, “Maybe even an animal like that has his limits. Or maybe he thought his son was half-asleep and wouldn’t remember the conversation, or that no one would believe him if the boy did tell someone. You’re a lawyer. A defense counsel could have a field day with a kid that young.”

King sat back in exasperation while Bailey eyed him closely. “Your partner said you were out doing some investigating of your own. Find anything?”

There was just enough mirth behind the FBI agent’s question to make King want to strangle the man. As if sensing this, Michelle, for once, put a calming hand on his shoulder.

“Just be cool,” she whispered under her breath.

“Is this where I’m supposed to say, ‘Screw you, Michelle’?” he muttered back.

Instead, he stood and said, “Well, if he is the guy, I congratulate you. Just keep us informed.” He took out his deputy badge. “Do you want this back, Chief?”

“No. It’s not officially over until we get a confession or some more evidence.”

“Good, because I like being a deputy right now. In fact, it might come in handy.”

He walked out.

“Talk about your sour grapes,” said Bailey.

Michelle immediately rose to her partner’s defense. “We don’t know for sure Robinson is the guy.”

“Well, we’re fast approaching that point,” Bailey replied.

Michelle stood to leave.

“Oh, Michelle,” said Bailey, “be sure and keep us informed of any more progress you two make. I’m sure it’ll prove invaluable to the investigation.”

“Chip, that’s the smartest thing you’ve said since I met you.”

She followed King outside.

“So what do you think?” she asked.

“I think we’ll let them keep Robinson locked up. He’ll probably be safer in jail.”

“But you don’t think he did it?”

“No, I know he didn’t do it.”

“But you know who did?”

“I’m getting there. Did you have a chance to talk to the Battles?”

“Not after all this went down. Do you still want me to?”

King thought for a moment, his hand tapping the roof of her truck as he did so.

“No, we’ll just cut to the main course. We’re running out of time.”

“You think he’ll kill again?”

“He’s arranged it so the police think the killer’s locked up in jail. That’s his way out. Even so, odds are Robinson must have an alibi for at least one of the murders. But the longer we wait, the less chance we have of nailing the real murderer.”

“If he won’t strike again, why keep Robinson in jail?”

“Because if he gets out, I’m convinced he’ll be found in some alley with a bullet in his brain and a handy note clutched in his cold, dead hand that reads, ‘I did it.’”

“So what do we do now?”

King opened the door of her truck. “Now it’s time to take our best shot. And hope to God it’s a knockout.”