“And if you’re off by one letter or one tick, the whole meaning of the message changes? One tick off?”
“That’s a good way to phrase it. One tick off and the whole thing changes.”
“You just don’t know how unbelievably satisfying that is.” King purchased the cipher disk and left, the curious owner staring after him.
A little later he was speaking with Bobby Battle’s private physician, a prominent doctor in the area and a man he knew well.
He discussed the results of the autopsy with the gentleman, who looked at the report very carefully and then took off his wire-rim glasses and said cautiously, “I’ve only been his doctor the last twenty years, you know.”
“But you’ve noted changes?”
“In his personality, yes, I suppose. But he was getting on in years. Half my patients have personality changes when they get to that age.”
“But in Bobby’s case did you suspect that was the cause?”
“Not necessarily. Usually, it’s a case of mild dementia or the beginnings of Alzheimer’s. Obviously, I didn’t have the benefit of a postmortem exam.”
“Did you run any tests while he was seeing you?”
“The symptoms weren’t extreme, and you know what he was like. If he didn’t want any tests run, none would be. However, these autopsy results could indicate he’d reached an advanced stage. I emphasize the word could.”
“Did you ever talk to Remmy about it?”
“It wasn’t my place and I had no hard proof. I suspected she knew that something was amiss,” he hastily added.
“Yet they had Savannah.”
“Typically, penicillin has been very effective against the disease. And the fact is, Savannah is hale and hearty.”
“If Bobby had it, how long could it have been in his body?”
“Decades. It’s chronic. It can have a long evolution in the body if left untreated.”
“So he might have contracted it after he had Savannah?”
“Or he could have had it before. In the late stage it’s not sexually transmittable, so even if he had it when Savannah was conceived, there would have been no danger for the fetus.”
“Yet Remmy could have contracted it.”
“I don’t know her doctor, but if she had, I’d imagine she would have sought treatment.”
King spoke with the doctor for several more minutes, then thanked the man and left.
He had one more stop to make. He phoned ahead to make sure the shop was open. Two hours later he was pulling into a parking garage in downtown D.C. Minutes after that he was walking into a very special retail store, where he spoke for some time with one of the employees there.
“It’ll do the job?” King asked the employee, holding up the piece of equipment the man had given him in response to his request.
“Without a doubt.”
King drove back to his houseboat, a big smile on his face. As he’d learned over the years, information was king.
He’d just walked into his houseboat when he heard footsteps outside. He looked out the window and saw Michelle hustling toward the dock.
He stepped outside as she ran up to him.
“I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” she said.
“What’s up?”
“They think they found the killer.”
King looked at her in bewilderment. “What? Who?”
“Come on, there’s a lot you need to be filled in on.”
They ran for her truck.
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.”