Mich.e.l.le picked up the explanation. "Steve Canney had to die because his mother had an affair with Bobby that produced Steve. His mother was dead, so Steve had to be sacrificed in her place."

"Eddie is devoted to Remmy," said King. "I'm sure he saw the b.a.s.t.a.r.d child as a direct slap against her. Janice Pembroke was simply in the wrong place, wrong time."

"One tick off," said Bailey.

"Right. Same with Diane Hinson. One tick off, to cover his tracks and to further break the connection between the victims."

"And Junior Deaver?"

"Eddie thought he'd stolen from his mother. That was enough. When he found out he'd been wrong, he took it out on Sally. You can see his sense of fair play and justice, however twisted. The mud prints in their foyer should have told me it was him. Savannah said she never moved away from the doorway, but there were muddy prints all over. They were from Eddie's boots, not Savannah's. He was cutting it tight. He had no idea when Dorothea would come out of the drug's effects, and he had to take the morphine too. He probably didn't even notice the mud. As we could tell from the beating he gave Sally, he was slightly crazed."

"Slightly!" exclaimed Williams.

"And then he set up Harold Robinson to take the fall. Why he picked him I don't know."

"Wait a minute. The man the little boy saw was Eddie?" asked Mich.e.l.le.

"Yes."

"Why didn't Eddie just kill him too?"

"He might have thought if the boy believed it was his dad, it would help to seal Robinson's fate further. That actually happened. Or maybe despite all he's done, he couldn't bring himself to kill a child. As I said, Eddie is a very complex man."

"You mean a monster," said Williams.

"Does Dorothea know?" asked Sylvia.

Bailey nodded. "I told her. Remmy and Savannah joined me in giving her the news. That's one stricken family, let me tell you."

"But why did Eddie impersonate famous serial killers?" asked Williams.

King inclined his head at Bailey. "I think that was directed at you, Chip."

"Me?"

"It would make sense if he wanted to flaunt his superiority. Beat you at your own area of expertise."

"But why? We were friends. I saved his life."

"No, you blew his kidnapping scheme out of the water."

Bailey came right out of his chair. "What?"

"I'm convinced he arranged his own kidnapping. He hired the man you killed. He wanted to punish his father for the death of his brother two years before, and the only way the twenty-year-old college student could think to do that was by smashing him in the wallet to the tune of five million dollars. I'm sure he was the one who was burning the money after you killed his partner. He didn't want his father to get it back. But he ran out of time. He had to tie himself back up and play dumb when you got there. I told you he'd been harboring this hatred for his father a long time."

"Unbelievable," said Bailey as he slowly sat back down. "That's unbelievable," he said again. "And all these years he's pretended everything was great and he was really hating my guts?"

"Eddie is a consummate actor and liar. And let's put it this way: consider yourself very fortunate you weren't found with a watch around your wrist."

"Jesus!" the FBI agent said.

"But, Sean," said Williams, "it's been twenty years between the kidnapping and all these murders. What set Eddie off?"

"I believe it was his father's stroke. Perhaps he felt Bobby would die before he could show him his version of justice. I don't know that for sure, but the timing I think is beyond coincidence."

"So what now?" asked Mich.e.l.le.

Williams answered, "Eddie's being arraigned tomorrow at the courthouse."

"No doubt his trial will get a change of venue," said King. "If it goes that far."

"What, you mean insanity?" asked Williams. "No way. The b.a.s.t.a.r.d knew exactly what he was doing."

"In a way he was exorcising demons that have been with him most of his life," said King. "I'm not excusing anything he did, and if he gets the death penalty, so be it. But if he hadn't had Bobby Battle as his father, I don't think any of this would have happened."

They all looked at each other in silence.

"And there but for the grace of G.o.d go I," said Sylvia in a very low voice.

CHAPTER 88.

WHEN EDDIE BATTLE WAS DRIVENover to the courthouse the next morning in a special convoy provided by state police and uniformed FBI agents, the crowd of townspeople and media was so enormous the convoy couldn't get through. Indeed, fueled by the national attention the story had received, seemingly everyone from a five-state area had come to watch. And there was an angry look to the throng.

"s.h.i.t," bellowed Chief Williams as he stared out at the crowds from the lead van. "I was afraid of this. We've been getting death threats against Battle ever since the story broke about his capture." He eyed the mobs in their way. "No telling if somebody out there has a gun either." He scrutinized a group of tough-looking men standing beside pickup trucks with building materials in the beds.

"That's probably a bunch of Junior's good old boys, and they don't look like they're here to pat Eddie on the head."

"Isn't there an underground entrance to the courthouse?" said Bailey, who was in the rear seat behind Williams.

"Don't you think if there were I would have already gone there? Maybe we should take him back to the jail and let it settle down."

"Settle down! It's not going to settle down for months. We might as well get it over with now, while we have the manpower with us."

Williams studied the crowd some more, then barked into his walkie-talkie. "Okay, let's move it right down the middle of the street. Take it slow; I don't want any civil lawsuits because we ran over somebody. We'll pull onto the lawn directly by the front steps. You clear and secure that area. I want a ring of body armor there, you understand? Then we'll open the doors and hustle him through fast for his arraignment. But before he comes back out, we're going to disperse this d.a.m.n crowd and get these media trucks out of here, that's for d.a.m.n sure."

"You're gonna have a big First Amendment problem with that, Todd," said Bailey.

"To h.e.l.l with the First Amendment! I've got a prisoner to keep alive. Even if it's just so they can execute him."

The area was secured, the van pulled in front and Eddie Battle was whisked into the courthouse as screams and epithets rained down on the men encircling him, along with bottles, cans, rocks and other thrown items but fortunately no bullets.

Battle's court-appointed lawyers met him outside the courtroom. They spoke briefly and went inside, where Eddie pleaded not guilty. His counsel didn't ask for bail to be set, not that such a request would have been seriously considered. His lawyers might have been terrified that a free Eddie would come and visit them in the middle of the night.

"We'll be in touch," said his lead attorney, a tall, portly woman with a bad haircut.

"I'm sure," said Eddie, his strong body nearly bursting out of the too small orange prison jumpsuit. "You think you can get me off with good behavior?"

Eddie and his bodyguards headed back out but were stopped by Williams and Bailey long before they got to the exit doors.

"We're looking at a near riot out there," said Williams. "Before we can get him out, we have to deal with it. I've ordered pepper spray and tear gas if they won't disperse on their own."

Eddie smiled. "Looks like I really lighted up old Wrightsburg's fire, Todd."

"Shut up!" screamed Williams, but that did nothing to wipe the smile off Eddie's face. It just grew bigger.

"Now, you have to protect me,Todd. You can't let them kill me or the media will be p.i.s.sed. You can't deprive them of the show. Think of the ratings. Think of the ad dollars." You can't let them kill me or the media will be p.i.s.sed. You can't deprive them of the show. Think of the ratings. Think of the ad dollars."

"I said shut up!" Williams moved toward him but Bailey got between them.

"That's stupid, Todd, don't even think it."

"Hey, thanks, Chippy. You've always been such a good friend," said Eddie.

Bailey whipped around, and his hand went toward his gun.

Now Williams stepped in. "Okay, Chip, we're not going to let him do this to us." He bellowed to two of his deputies. "Take him to the holding cage on the second floor. We'll come get him when the crowd's under control."

"Good luck," called out Eddie as the deputies led him away. "Don't let me down now."

CHAPTER 89.

ONE OF THE DEPUTIES WAS BY THEoutside door; the other hovered by the window.

"Itlooks like a d.a.m.n riot there," said the one by the window. He was Eddie's height, well built, with curly hair. "There goes the tear gas." like a d.a.m.n riot there," said the one by the window. He was Eddie's height, well built, with curly hair. "There goes the tear gas."

"Tear gas!" said the other, a short cop with a bulldog chest, wide waist and broad hips that caused all the gear on his belt to stick out sideways. "Wish I were out there shooting some of that stuff at those sumb.i.t.c.hes."

"Well, go on, I got things here."

"No can do. The chief said to stay put." He glanced in the direction of the holding cell where Eddie Battle sat silently watching them. "This m.u.t.h.a's killed a bunch of people. Dude's crazy."

"They don't riot for jaywalkers, boys," said Eddie.

They both looked at him. The big cop laughed. "That's a good one. They don't riot for jaywalkers."

The short cop looked at his partner.

"Go on," said the big cop. "This dude's going nowhere."

"Well, look here, if you see the chief coming, radio me. I'll be back in a flash."

"Roger that."

The short cop left, and it was just Eddie and the big cop.

Eddie rose and moved to the door. "You got a cigarette?"

"Right, like I'm falling for that one. My mother didn't raise no idiots. You just stay over there and I'll stay over here."

"Come on, they searched every crevice I have and some I didn't even know I had. I've got nothing to hurt you with. I really need a smoke."

"Uh-huh." The big cop kept looking out the window. He glanced back every now and then to check on Eddie but eventually kept his gaze on the goings-on outside.

Eddie Battle had ma.s.sive forearms with thick, p.r.o.nounced veins. One of these veins was bigger and thicker than the others, a fact probably noted by the police who searched him, but not raising any suspicion. It was a vein after all, full of blood. However, to someone as skilled as Eddie Battle, a vein was not always a vein. This vein, in fact, was made of plastic, resin and rubber and was completely hollow. In the course of his reenactment career Eddie had become very adept at makeup, disguises, costuming and creating fake wounds and scars. He sat back down in the shadows for a bit, working on the artificial vein with his fingers. It finally "ruptured," and he slid out the very slender items that had been hidden there. The risk that he might be caught had been very real, and he'd taken some very real measures to deal with that eventuality. No search of his person, however thorough, would have turned up the pick and tension tool hidden in the hollow vein.

He kept his eyes on the big cop still looking out the window. He moved forward quietly, draped his manacled hands through the bars of the cell such that they covered the lock. He inserted the instruments in the lock and slowly worked it. He'd practiced this very maneuver for hours at a time on an old cell-door lock he had salvaged from a prison that had been torn down. Finally, through the tension tool and lockpick he could feel the tumblers start to fall into place. There was a loud noise from outside, and he used that moment to cover the sound of the lock clicking open. He held on to the bars and slipped his instruments between his wrist and manacles.

"Hey, dumb-a.s.s! 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-a.s.s?"

"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 h.e.l.l did somebody like you get to be a cop? But not a real cop, just a country b.u.mpkin."Come on, you know you want a piece of me. Here, coppie, coppie.

"Us country b.u.mpkins caught you, now, didn't we?"

"An ex-Secret Service agent did, dumb-s.h.i.t. 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. d.a.m.n, 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-a.s.s 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 s.h.i.t, you're d.a.m.n 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 sungla.s.ses and broad-brimmed hat, unlocked the door and glanced down the hallway. There were officers stationed along this corridor.