David Baldacci - Hour Game

"Jeez, Doc, I'm trying to save us some bucks here."

"I appreciate your initiative. I'm just telling you there are certain channels we have to go through."

"Sometimes I wonder why I even bother. Nothing but red tape."

"You think I like dealing with it? Look, just shoot me an e-mail about it, including comparison costs, and I'll put it in the system. If it's that good of a deal, we'll do it, both here and next door."

Kyle brightened. "Okay, Doc. That's cool."

She folded her arms across her chest and stared at him. "You look like you've fully recovered from being sick. Must have been a really fast bug."

"It was. How about you? Feeling better?"

"No," she said bluntly. "But I don't have a choice about showing up."

"Come on, Doc, it's not like dead people are going to know if you're a little late."

"Morgues around the country have bodies stacked up, and every minute that goes by, the victims deteriorate further and further, vital evidence is lost and the chances increase dramatically that a criminal will go free. I refuse to let that happen here."

"I hear you, Doc. You're the best."

"Uh-huh. Finish up there. We need to complete the reports on the Hinson and Battle posts, and we have a full slate of patients scheduled today."

"Right you are."

After Sylvia had left, Kyle quickly completed what he was actually doing: manipulating the pharmacy inventory records to cover up his theft. Finished, Kyle reminded himself that he'd have to find a deal on the Internet for scrubs to present to Sylvia. One thing he'd learned about the woman: she never forgot anything. If he didn't come up with it, she'd ask, and if he didn't have an answer, she'd grow suspicious. He wasn't supposed to have the pass code to get into these files, but he had scammed it from the woman who handled that part of the operation. The woman only came in three days a week, which gave him plenty of opportunity to cover his tracks each time he made a "withdrawal" from the pharmacy.

However, Kyle hadn't given Sylvia Diaz enough credit. She was already suspicious of him. And that suspicion would only deepen as time went on.

As Kyle rose to join her, he glanced at the newspaper lying on the desk next to the computer. The headline was the same one the man in the cave had ranted about: Battle murdered and the serial killer blamed. He quickly read through the accompanying story. It had happened on the same night he'd taken the woman the drugs at the Aphrodisiac. In fact, according to the newspaper account, it had occurred at the same hour Kyle had driven past the hospital on his way to the men's club. He could have passed the killer on the way, a realization that made him squirm in his seat. As his thoughts returned to that night, it suddenly struck him what he'd seen. And as Kyle had been wont to do his whole life, he immediately started to wonder how this knowledge might best serve him.

JUNIOR DEAVER HEAVED A FLAT of asphalt shingles off his pickup truck. They landed with a thump that broke the quiet of the morning. Junior jumped off the truck and took a look at the home he was building for his family. It was all framed, the roof was on and it would soon be under shingle. It had been slow going, though. He'd done most of the work himself, calling in favors from buddies from time to time. It wasn't a large house, but it was far bigger than the double-wide trailer they were currently living in. He pulled his tool belt off the truck, put it on and headed over to fire up the gasoline generator that would power the air gun he'd use to drive the shingle nails.

It was only then that he heard the stealthy footsteps coming toward him. He spun around. He'd expected no visitors at this isolated place. No one knew he was here other than his wife. And he hadn't even heard a car pull up.

The sight of the woman drew the blood from his face.

Remmy Battle was dressed in a full-length black leather coat with the collar turned up. She had wide sunglasses on. Boots covered her feet and she was wearing gloves, though it wasn't chilly.

"Mrs. Battle? What are you doing here?"

She stopped about a foot from him. "I wanted to talk to you, Junior, just you and me."

"How'd you even know I was here?"

"I know a lot, Junior, far more than most people think. That's why I wanted to talk to you."

Junior held up his hands. "Look, I got me a lawyer. You better talk to him."

"I have talked to him. Now I want to talk to you."

He eyed her warily and then looked around as though he expected to see police officers swooping in to arrest him. His expression turned stubborn. "I don't see that we got anything to talk about. You already had me put in jail."

"But you're out now, aren't you?"

"Well, yeah, but we had to put up bail. Almost broke us. We ain't got that kind of money."

"Come on now, Junior, your wife makes good money over at that club. I know that for a fact. My husband frequented the place. She probably earned a small fortune just off him."

"I don't know nothing about that."

She ignored this. "My dead husband."

"I heard," Junior mumbled in reply.

"He was murdered, you know," she said in an oddly flat tone.

"Heard that too."

"You get out of jail and then he ends up dead."

He looked at her wide-eyed. "Look, you ain't gonna pin that on me, lady."

"Oh, I'm sure you have an alibi."

"You bet I do."

"Good for you, but that's not why I'm here." She drew even closer and took off her glasses. Her eyes were red and puffy.

"So why are you here?" he asked.

"I want it back, Junior. I want it back now."

"Damn it, Mrs. Battle, I didn't take your wedding ring."

She suddenly shouted, "I could give a shit about the damn ring. I want the other things. You give them back to me. You give them back to me right now."

Junior slapped his thigh in frustration. "How many times do I have to say this? I don't have that stuff because I didn't break into your house."

"I'll pay you whatever you want," she persisted, ignoring his denial. She looked at the half-built house. "I'll pay for a first-rate crew to come here and finish this house for you. I'll double its size; give you a damn swimming pool, whatever you want." She drew right in front of him, one of her hands seizing his faded jean jacket in a very firm grip. "Whatever you or Lulu want I'll give you. But in return I want those things back. Just give them to me and all the charges go away, and you have yourself a really nice house. And you can keep the damn ring."

"Mrs. Battle, I-"

She slapped him across the face, stunning him into silence. He would have killed any man who did that to him. Yet he made no move to retaliate.

"But if you don't give them to me, I'll make you wish for twenty hard years in prison. You'll beg for that after I get through with you. I know people, Junior, don't think I don't. They'll come see you. You'll never forget their visit." She let go of his jacket. "I'll give you a little time to think about it, but not too much."

She turned to leave but then looked back at him. "One more thing, Junior. If you try to use any of it, in any way at all, or if you show it to another human being, I will come and see you myself. With a twelve-gauge shotgun that my daddy gave me right before he died. And I will blow your big, ugly head off your shoulders. Do you understand me, son?" This was all said in such a calm yet chilling tone that Junior could hear every one of his heartbeats smacking in his ears.

Remmy Battle didn't seem to think an answer to her question was necessary. She put her glasses back on, turned and left as quietly as she'd come.

Junior just stood there, his big belly heaving, and watched her go. He'd been in many a bar fight in his life against some very large men intent on doing him bodily harm; he'd even been cut up a few times. He'd been scared during those incidents. However, that was nothing compared with the terror he was feeling right now, for he had no doubt the crazy woman meant every word she'd just said.