“Hey, dumb-ass! Hey, I’m talking to you, you big stupid piece of flesh.”
The big cop turned and eyed him. “Why don’t you just stuff it! I ain’t the one going to no electric chair.”
“Lethal injection, you moron.”
“Right, that’s my point, so who’s the dumb-ass?”
“From where I’m looking you are.” Come on, big guy, just step this way.
“Keep right on talking.”
“What, sticks and stones’ll break your bones, but words will never hurt you? How the hell did somebody like you get to be a cop? But not a real cop, just a country bumpkin.” Come on, you know you want a piece of me. Here, coppie, coppie.
“Us country bumpkins caught you, now, didn’t we?”
“An ex-Secret Service agent did, dumb-shit. Your police chief I could’ve eaten for breakfast any day of the week.” Eddie glanced at the man’s hand and saw the wedding band. “After I screwed your little woman, that is. Damn, she was a tasty thing.”
“Uh-huh.” A bead of sweat broke over the back of the cop’s thick neck. His pistol hand clenched and unclenched.
Almost there.
“Are your kids as ugly as you are, or did you and your fat-ass wife adopt so you wouldn’t have any little freaks running around?”
The cop whirled around and strode toward the cell, his big low-quarter shoes thumping on the painted concrete floor with each step. “All right, you piece of shit, you’re damn lucky you’re in there—”
Eddie kicked the door open, and the heavy metal caught the cop flush in the face. He went down hard. Eddie charged out, the chain binding his hands went around the cop’s neck and Eddie flexed his powerful arms. In thirty seconds there was no more big cop. Eddie searched the body, got the keys to the manacles and was free. He raced over, locked the door to the hallway, pulled the dead officer into the cell, switched clothes and set him on the bunk propped against the wall.
Eddie put on the cop’s sunglasses and broad-brimmed hat, unlocked the door and glanced down the hallway. There were officers stationed along this corridor.
Not a problem, there was always the window. He shut the door, raced over and looked out. Fortunately for him, the police had now herded the crowd to the other side of the building. He glanced down. It wouldn’t be easy, but the alternative was far more unpalatable. And he had a job to finish. He opened the window, climbed out, felt for the ledge below with his feet and hit it squarely. He squatted, gripped the slender edge of brick with his strong fingers, eased his body off but held on, swinging. He glanced to the right and left. He swung out, did it again, a little farther this time, and then once more, until his body was almost parallel with the ledge. On the fourth swing he let go, the man on the flying trapeze. He hit the outcropping of roof on the first floor of the building, caught his balance and then lowered himself to the ground.
Instead of running away, he marched to the other side of the building and right into the middle of the crowd, fighting his way through at the same time he pretended to be helping quell the riot. He reached a number of empty squad cars, looking in one after another until he spotted keys in the ignition of a bulky Ford Mercury. He climbed in, backed it out and drove off. The riot was still going on, the network personnel gleefully filming all of it for the national audience. However, they’d just missed the biggest scoop of alclass="underline" the successful escape of Eddie Lee Battle.
He found a pack of gum in the ashtray, popped a piece of Juicy Fruit in his mouth and turned the police radio on high so he could learn instantly when they discovered he was no longer in custody. He breathed the fresh air and flicked a wave to a kid walking his bike along the side of the road. He slowed the squad car and rolled down the window.
“Hey, you gonna grow up to be a good law-abiding person, son?”
“Yes, sir, mister,” called out the little boy. “I wanna be just like you.”
He tossed the kid a stick of gum. “No, you don’t, son.” You don’t want to be like me. I’m terminal; only got a few days to live.
But he looked on the bright side as he sped up. He was free and he was back in business. And he only had one more to go. One more!
It felt so damn good.
Chapter 90
“So who killed Bobby Battle and Kyle Montgomery?” asked Michelle.
They were sitting on King’s dock catching some sun after returning from a morning ride on their Sea-Doos.
“Nothing’s clicked yet. Maybe I used up all my little gray cells catching Eddie.”
“Well, Dorothea had the best motive to kill Kyle.”
“And she had the opportunity to kill Bobby as well. And maybe the motivation. If he didn’t live up to his part of the bargain and give her a bigger piece of the estate.”
Michelle looked troubled. “I know you concocted all that stuff about Remmy and Harry, but you don’t really think—”
“Harry has an alibi, an ironclad one. At the time of Battle’s death he was giving a speech to the Virginia State Bar in Charlottesville.”
Michelle looked relieved. “And Remmy?”
Now King looked troubled. “I don’t know, Michelle, I just don’t know. She certainly had good reason to want to kill him.”
“Or maybe someone who wanted to be the next lord of the manor did it.”
He looked at her strangely and was about to respond when his cell phone rang.
He answered, listened, and his face turned ashen. He clicked off.
“This is really, really bad, isn’t it?” she said fearfully.
“Eddie’s escaped.”
All the Battles were given round-the-clock security at their home. Harry Carrick, King and Michelle joined them there, since their lives were conceivably in danger too. A massive three-state manhunt jointly conducted by the FBI and area police was begun, but two days later there was no sign of Eddie.
King and Michelle were in the dining room having coffee with Sylvia, Bailey and Williams and talking about the case.
“Eddie’s a very experienced outdoorsman. And he knows this country better than most,” pointed out Bailey. “He’s hunted over it and explored it for most of his life. He can live on next to nothing for weeks.”
“Thanks, Chip, that’s very encouraging,” Williams said sourly. “We’ll find the son of a bitch, but I can’t promise to bring him in alive.”
“I don’t think Eddie will let that happen again,” King said.
“Wouldn’t he have fled the area as fast as possible?” asked Michelle.
King shook his head. “Too many roadblocks and police at all the bus and train stations and the airport. The police car he stole was found abandoned on a back road. I think he took to the hills.”
Williams nodded at this. “His best chance is to lay low around here, change his appearance as much as he can, and when things quiet down a bit, he makes his run.”
King didn’t look convinced.
Williams noted this and said, “You disagree?”
“I think he’s hanging around but not for the purpose you think.”
“What, then?”
“Someone killed his father.”
“So?”
“So I think Eddie wanted that all to himself. I think Bobby was supposed to be the final victim in all this, if the stroke didn’t kill him first.” King glanced at Michelle. “He came to see us, claiming his mother was upset about people thinking she had Junior and her husband killed. He knew she hadn’t done it. He wanted us to find out who had. And you remember when we were having drinks with him at the Sage Gentleman. He said his father just had to live.”