Hour Game

He slipped outside; he had one last task to perform. Because he was hiding these bugs at different locations, he wouldn't be able to be present at all of them at the same time. Thus, he'd modified the transmitter such that it would connect wirelessly with a voice-activated digital microrecorder that he was now hiding outside of Michelle's cottage. The transmitter had an open range of a hundred meters inside a building, and the recorder had a hard drive that would allow it to store hundreds of hours of recording. He went back inside the house, spoke and then hurried back out to check the micro recorder. His snatch of conversation had been captured on it. Satisfied, he drove off. He'd already bugged King's houseboat, as well as the private investigators' office and phones. He had quickly discovered that Chief Williams was using King and Maxwell in the investigation. He realized how very helpful that could be to him. So now at least two of the people trying to find him would unwittingly provide him with advance information. As King had predicted, he had been listening to the news. He was well aware that an army of lawmen was being assembled to capture him. Well, he'd die first. And he'd take as many others with him as possible.

CHAPTER 26

LATER THAT NIGHT KYLE MONTGOMERY, Sylvia's assistant and rock star wannabe, parked his Jeep in front of the morgue and got out. He was dressed in a dark hood coat with "UVA" printed across it, rumpled dungaree pants and hiking boots without socks. He noted that Sylvia's navy-blue Audi convertible was also parked in front. He checked his watch. Almost ten o'clock. Pretty late for her to be here, but there was the latest victim to dissect: the lawyer woman, he recalled. His boss had not requested his help on that one, a decision for which he was very appreciative. However, her presence here tonight made what he'd come to do a little dicey because he didn't know which facility she was in. Probably the morgue, yet if she was in the medical office, he could always make up an excuse if she discovered him. He swiped his security card in the slot by the front door, heard the lock click open and went inside Sylvia's medical office.

Only the low-level emergency lights were on. He threaded his way through the familiar surroundings, pausing only when he passed Sylvia's office. The light was on, but there was no one in there.

He slipped into the pharmacy area of the office, used his key to open one of the cabinets and withdrew a number of bottles. He took one pill from each, taking care to segregate them into Baggies which he'd earlier labeled with a black Magic Marker. He'd hack into the practice's computer system later and fudge the inventory numbers to mask his theft. Kyle only took a few pills each time, so it was easy to cover his tracks.

He was about to leave when he remembered he'd left his wallet in his locker at the morgue earlier that day. He put the pills away in his backpack and quietly unlocked the door that separated the two offices. If he ran into her, he could just tell the truth, that he'd left his wallet. He passed Sylvia's office at the morgue. It was unoccupied. He went on to the scrub area. The autopsy room was at the very back of the facility; that's where Sylvia would be attending to her silent companion. He wasn't going anywhere near there. He listened intently for a few seconds, straining to hear the sounds of the Stryker saw, water running or sterilized instruments clattering on metal, but there was only silence. That was a little unnerving, although much of what happened during an autopsy involved such quiet. The dead were not going to complain about all the poking and prodding after all.

There was a sound now, distinctly, he thought, from the rear of the place. His boss might be on the move. He quickly grabbed his wallet and withdrew into the shadows. He was suddenly fearful that if she happened upon him here, she might start asking uncomfortable questions. She could be that way, direct and blunt. What if she asked him to open his bag? He pushed farther back into the recess of the wall, his pulse knocking in his ears. He silently cursed his lack of nerve. Minutes passed. He finally found the courage to come back into the scant light. Thirty seconds later he was out of the building and driving down the road, the stolen prescription drugs safely in his bag.

When he reached the place, the parking lot was full. He wedged his Jeep between a pair of fat SUVs and went inside.