David Baldacci - Hour Game

He drove to another intersection, pulled up to the mailbox and dropped the letter in before speeding off again. When they got his next communication explaining the circumstances of Steve Canney's and Janice Pembroke's deaths, the police would know they were in for the fight of their lives.

King picked up Michelle from the morgue and filled her in on the details about the Zodiac letter. She, in turn, brought him up to speed on the autopsy results for Pembroke and Canney. Unfortunately, reciting the details didn't make the puzzle any less inexplicable.

"So it seems the killer wants to make clear that even though he's somewhat copying the Zodiac crime with Rhonda Tyler, he's not the Zodiac," she said. "What do you make of that?"

King shook his head. "It seems these murders are just the opening salvo."

"Do you think we'll see another letter?"

"Yes, and soon. And though Todd's not convinced of it, I'm sure it'll deal with Canney and Pembroke. He's going to talk to Lulu Oxley and obtain more info on Rhonda Tyler."

Michelle looked out the windshield. "And where are we headed?"

"To the Battles'. I called and set up an appointment." He glanced at her. "We've got a paying job, remember?" He grew silent and then added, "You've already been through a lot today. Are you sure you're up to this?"

"After what we've seen, how bad can the Battles be?"

"You might be surprised."

THE BATTLE ESTATE WAS SET ON top of an imposing hill. It was a sprawling three-story structure of brick, stone and clapboard surrounded by acres of emerald grass and dotted with mature trees. It screamed old money, though the mounds of cash that had built it were only decades old. King and Michelle stopped at a pair of massive wrought-iron gates. There was a call box set on a short black post next to the asphalt drive. King rolled down his window and tapped the white button on the call box. An efficient voice answered, and a minute later the gates swung open and King drove through.

"Welcome to Casa Battle," he said.

"Is that what they call it?"

"No, just my idea of a joke."

"You said you know Remmy Battle?"

"As well as most people do, I guess. I also used to play golf occasionally with Bobby. He's gregarious and dominating, but he has balls of iron and a really nasty temper if you happen to cross him. Now, Remmy's the sort who only lets you see bits and pieces, and strictly on her terms. And if you cross her, you'll need a urologist and a pack of miracles to put you back together."

"Where'd she get a name like Remmy?"

"It's short for Remington. The story I heard was that was her father's favorite brand of shotgun. Everyone who knows her thinks the woman was aptly named."

"Who knew so many interesting people lived in such a small town?" Michelle looked ahead at the imposing home. "Wow, what a fabulous place."

"On the outside yes. I'll let you be the judge of the interior."

When they knocked on the front door, it was opened almost immediately by a large, well-muscled middle-aged man dressed in a yellow cardigan sweater, white shirt, muted tie and black slacks. He introduced himself as Mason. Mrs. Battle was finishing up a few things and would meet them on the rear terrace shortly, he informed them.

As Mason led them through the house, Michelle looked around at an interior that was breathtaking. That the things she was seeing were costly there was no doubt. Yet what was also present was a sense of understatement that for some reason surprised her.

"The interior is beautiful, Sean," she whispered.

"I wasn't talking about that interior," he mumbled back. "I meant the ones who are breathing."

They arrived on the rear terrace to find a table laid out with both hot and cold tea and some finger foods and snacks. Mason poured the beverages of their choice and then left, closing the French doors quietly behind him. The temperature was in the seventies with a warming sun and the air a little muggy from the recent rains.

Michelle sipped her iced tea. "So is Mason a kind of butler?"

"Yes, been with them forever. He's actually more than a butler to them."

"A confidant, then? Perhaps good for our purposes."

"Probably too loyal for that option," King answered. "But then again you never really know where loyalties lie until you ask, preferably with something to give in return."

They heard a splash of water, and both went to the iron railing that partially enclosed the terrace and looked out over the exquisite rear grounds.

The sprawling outdoor entertainment area visible here included a stone pool house, a spa that could easily accommodate a dozen adults, a roofed-in dining area and a massive oval-shaped pool outlined in brick and flagstone.

"I always wondered how the really rich lived," said Michelle.

"They live just like you and me except a whole lot better."

Emerging from the clear blue and obviously heated waters of the pool was a young woman in a very revealing string bikini. She had long blond hair, was about five-seven, and her curves and bosom were solidly in the range of eye-catching. There were defined muscles in her legs, arms and shoulders and a belly ring in the navel of her flat stomach. As she bent over to pick up a towel, they could also see a large tattoo on the back of one of her partially exposed butt cheeks.

"What's that tattooed on her butt?" asked Michelle.

"Her name," answered King. " Savannah." King watched the young woman towel off. "It's amazing what they can write on skin, and in cursive too."

"You can see that from here?" Michelle asked with raised eyebrows.

"No, I've seen it before." He quickly amended this answer. "At a pool party I attended."

"Uh-huh. Her name on her butt, what, so the guys don't forget?"

"I'm trying very hard not to think of the reason."

Savannah looked up, saw them and waved. She wrapped a short see-through robe around her, slipped on some flip-flops and headed up the brick steps toward them.

When she reached them, she gave King a hug that seemed designed to drill her large bosom right into his chest. Up close her facial features were not quite as flawless as her body; her nose, chin and jaw were a bit too sharply outlined and irregular, but that was nit-picking, Michelle decided. Savannah Battle was a very beautiful woman.

Savannah looked King up and down admiringly. "I swear, Sean King, you just get better-looking every time I see you. Now, how's that fair? We women just keep getting older." This came out in a southern drawl that Michelle thought was highly affected.

"Well, you certainly don't have to worry about that," said Michelle, extending her hand. "I'm Michelle Maxwell."

"Oh, aren't you sweet," said Savannah in a tone that wasn't sweet at all.

"Congratulations on your graduation," said King. "William and Mary, right?"

"Daddy always wanted me to go to college, and I did, though I can't say I loved it." She sat down and slowly dried off her shapely legs in what Michelle interpreted as a seductive gesture aimed at King. Then she dug into the tiny sandwiches.

"What'd you major in?" asked Michelle, thinking that the young woman must have gotten her degree in either cheerleading or throwing parties or perhaps both.

"Chemical engineering," was her surprising if mumbled reply. Apparently, no one had taught the girl not to talk with her mouth full. "Daddy made his fortune as an engineer, and I guess I took after him."

"We were sorry to hear about Bobby," said King quietly.

"He's tough; he'll pull through," she said confidently.

"I heard you might be heading out on your own," said King.

Savannah 's expression darkened. "I expect people are having a good time trying to figure out what I'm going to do. Trust-fund Baby Battle," she added bitterly.