"Right, right," said Michelle impatiently. "But why did you think Battle was going to get rid of the car?"

"Because when I was covering it back up, I noticed that the left front fender was dented and one of the headlights had been cracked. It had to have happened the night before because I'd just checked the car that afternoon and it was fine. It wasn't all that much damage really, but a car like that you're talking thousands of dollars in repairs. And you can't get parts for a vehicle like that anymore. It was a real shame. I guess Battle hit something and was pissed off. The guy hated anything to be out of sync. He used to come down to the barn and ream me if he found oil on the floor or a license plate hung crooked. It probably made him sick to see the damage on that Rolls. If he couldn't fix it just right, he'd get rid of it. Just the way the man was."

"Did you ever tell anyone the Rolls-Royce had been damaged?"

"No. It was his car; he could do what he wanted with it."

"Do you remember the exact date it was damaged?"

"Well, it must've happened the night before I got fired. Like I said, I'd checked it that afternoon and there was no damage."

"I understand that. But what date was that?"

Edwards was silent for a bit. "It was over three years ago, I know that. In the fall or thereabouts. I did some work for a company down in North Carolina until the job in Ohio came through. Maybe September. No, I think it was October or maybe November. At least I think," he said with less confidence.

"You can't be any more specific?"

"Look, I have a hard time remembering where I was last week, much less three years ago. I've moved around quite a bit since then."

"Could you look up your payment stubs from when you worked at the Battles'? Or from the jobs in North Carolina or Ohio? That would narrow it down."

"Lady, I live in a one-bedroom apartment in West Hollywood. I don't have room to keep stuff like that. I barely have space for clothes."

"Well, if you remember, will you please call me back?"

"Sure, if it's important."

"It's very important."

Michelle put down the phone and sat at her desk. Over three years ago in the fall. Yet if it had been the fall, it would be about three and a half years ago, since it was springtime right now. She sat bolt upright. Wait a minute, she said to herself. Sally Wainwright would probably remember the exact date. She checked her watch. It was too late to call her. They could do it in the morning. Right now, though, she wanted to get ahold of King and tell him what she'd learned.

She called his cell phone but there was no answer. She left a message. He didn't have a hard-line number at his houseboat. He was probably asleep. She stared at her phone, mulling over what to do. Part of her said to call it a night and go home, yet as she looked down at her phone, she started to get a very strange feeling. Sean was a light sleeper. Why hadn't he answered? His caller ID would have shown it was her. Unless he couldn't answer the phone! She grabbed her keys and raced to her truck.

CHAPTER 68

SEAN KING MOVED AROUND UNCOMFORTABLY in his bed. As the boat rocked, a small moan escaped from his lips as a fire raged in his brain. He didn't awaken, though. It was no nightmare that was assaulting him. His body was being drained of the ability to absorb oxygen. He was being slowly and quietly put to death.

Headlights cut through the darkness as Michelle pulled up in the Whale and climbed out. She made her way quickly down the stairway to the houseboat.

"Sean?" Michelle called out as she banged on the houseboat door. "Sean?" She looked around. His car was parked up there. He had to be here. "Sean?"

She tried the door latch. It was locked. She went around the walkway and peered in one of the side windows. She could see nothing. She pounded on the window of what she knew was the bedroom he slept in.

"Sean?" She thought she heard a sound. She listened more intently. It was a moan.

She raced back to the front door and put her shoulder against it, but it didn't budge. She stepped back and then sprang forward with a powerful, thudding side kick and broke open the door where the lock met the doorjamb. She raced inside, her pistol out. She felt an immediate heaviness in her lungs, which increased her level of panic. There was a humming coming from somewhere, and even as she raced forward through the houseboat's darkened interior, she felt cold tendrils of something clutching at her. She stumbled over things before hitting the light switch, and the darkened room became bright.

"Sean? Sean?" she screamed.