Hour Game

He drove them to the Gazette building and pointed out the word on the wall that Eddie had written there.

TEAT

King looked at the word and then glanced at Williams. "Teat? What, like a cow's teat? You're sure this was Eddie's doing and not some kid's prank?"

"No, I'm not sure. It looks like just that, in fact. But the Gazette isn't that far from the motel where Chip was killed."

King looked around the room. "What would he want from here?"

Michelle pointed to the numerous microfiche files. "Maybe he was looking for something in there."

"That's a lot to look at when you don't know what you're looking for," said King. He turned to Williams with a concerned expression. "You better watch your back, Todd."

"I'm not looking to get a knife in my chest. I've got twenty-four/ seven protection on me. I wish Chip had done the same."

"Maybe he thought it could never happen to him," said Michelle. "Or maybe he was too proud."

"Or maybe he really believed Eddie was his friend," commented Williams.

"Some friend," remarked King. "How's the search coming?"

"Way too many back roads and woods. And apparently, everybody within a four-state area has called in and said they saw Eddie. He's ten feet tall with claws and has body parts dangling out of his blood-encrusted mouth. I swear to holy Jesus I don't know how anybody gets convicted in this country, I really don't."

"It only takes one good lead," Michelle reminded him.

"I might die of old age before that happens," Williams shot back.

Michelle looked at her partner. "What do you think, Sean?"

He shook his head wearily. "I think after all this, Eddie's in the driver's seat and we're back at square one."

CHAPTER 93

KING AND SYLVIA HAD JUST FINISHED di

Sylvia played with the bracelet on her left wrist. "Where do you think he is?"

King shrugged. "Either a thousand miles away or ten feet, it's hard to say."

"He crushed Jean Robinson's skull, you know. And the windpipe of that police officer at the courthouse too. And he stabbed Chip Bailey so hard the knife blade hit the man's spinal cord! Not to mention what he did to Sally Wainwright and all those other peopleand almost killing you."

"And yet he didn't kill Tommy Robinson."

"You think that excuses what he's done?" she said sharply.

He looked at her over the rim of his wineglass. "No." He rose and picked up the bottle of wine he'd brought. "This vintage is best drunk outside." He was tired of talking about Eddie. He was sick of it actually.

They walked down the steps to Sylvia's small dock.

"When did you put up the gazebo?" he asked.

"Last year. I like to sit and just look."

"You've got a nice spot to do it, although you ought to think about putting in a boat slip."

"I get seasick. And I'm not that good a swimmer."

"I'd be proud to teach you."

They sat and drank the wine.

"I'll get you out on my boat. It's actually a very safe lake," King said after a while.

"You're sure about that?"

"Absolutely."

The man alternated between swimming just below the surface for fifty feet and then coming up shallow, only his face out of the water, and taking a breath before heading back under. He came up one last time, treading water and looking around. It was just as he'd thought: they hadn't secured the dock. Why would they think of that? They were only the police.

Eddie swam the short distance to the dock with methodical strokes. In his black wet suit he was pretty much invisible. He reached the swim ladder, eased himself out of the water and then stopped, listening. He made a detailed sweep of the surrounding area before continuing up and onto the dock, then pulling up the watertight pouch that was tied to his foot. He took his gun out of the pouch and checked his watch. He'd have to move fast. It wasn't like he could make a quiet exit, although there were rumbles of thunder in the distance. He'd heard on his radio that a major storm was heading in: high winds, rain and lots of lightning and thunder. He couldn't have asked for a better night. The natural elements were always his friend, it seemed. That was good, because he didn't have any others.

He went to the storage shed, worked the combo on the lock, opened the door and went in. He grabbed the gear he'd need, hit the switch on the electric lift and hurried back out, the lift remote in hand.

The Formula FasTech was lowering into the water. Before he'd been caught, he'd had the foresight to make sure it was completely ready to roll. The dealer who'd sold it to his father had said it was one of the fastest boats-if not the fastest-on the lake. Well, depending on how things went, he might just need every knot it could produce.

He climbed into the cockpit. When the boat was fully in the water, he hit the stop button on the lift remote. All became silent again. He wouldn't turn on his ru

He waited, waited. There it was, the enormous crack of thunder as the storm began its barrage. He fired the twin Mercs almost simultaneously, and a thousand horsepower instantly lit up under him. He hit the captain's switch, which sent most of the engines' noise under the water. He eased back on the throttle, and the boat edged out of its slip. He turned the bow to the cove's opening, nudged the throttle forward and did about ten knots heading away from the house. He felt the hull trembling a bit under him, as though the Mercs were angry he wasn't pushing them harder, getting up on plane, blasting all comers away. He patted the dash. That will come later, I promise.

Once he hit an open cha

He kept his ru

Thank you, Jesus. He'd have the whole show to himself. He changed course when he hit the main cha