Yet now he had another component of his plan to put into place.

A successful exit.

"YOU CAN'T BELIEVE ROGER CANNEY'S the one," said King heatedly.

They were at police headquarters, around a long conference table. Williams and Bailey stared back at him doubtfully. Michelle doodled on a pad in front of her while simultaneously watching her partner closely.

"He tried to kill both of you," pointed out Bailey.

King said, "Because we pretty much accused Canney of blackmailing Bobby Battle. The fact he tried to kill us pretty conclusively proves we were right. And if Canney did kill his wife, he'd probably be terrified we'd uncover that too. He goes on the run, we think. But he's really still in the area and tries to kill us. That doesn't mean he committed all those other murders."

Bailey shook his head. "He'd have to know or at least believe you'd shared your suspicions with us. And his method of trying to kill you was pretty stupid. Someone could have driven by and seen it all. And he used his own vehicle to try and kill you."

"I didn't say he was a smart criminal. Frankly, I think he became unhinged. He'd been living on easy street for years thinking he's safe. And then his son's murdered and we stumble upon the blackmail. Maybe he just snapped. And if you do paternity testing on both the Canneys and Bobby, I'll think you'll find out who Steve Canney's real father was," added King.

"Okay, then, maybe Canney killed his son and his girlfriend and Bobby Battle, and then killed the prostitute and Diane Hinson to muddy the waters."

"And Junior Deaver?" pointed out King. "How does he fit into it?"

"Canney could have hired him to burglarize the Battles' house," said Bailey.

"For what reason?" shot back King.

"Well, if Battle and Mrs. Canney were having an affair, maybe Battle had something belonging to his lover that Roger Canney wanted back. Or Canney was afraid Battle had something incriminating on him. But then Junior also steals items from Remmy too, and Canney's ticked about that or is afraid Junior will give him away. So he kills him. By going after you two he showed he didn't mind murdering someone who got in his way."

"And Sally's death?" asked Michelle. "How does that figure in?"

"From what you've told us she was-and not to speak ill of the dead-a gal who'd jump into bed with anything wearing pants. Maybe Junior told her about Canney, and Canney found out and had to kill her too," said Bailey, who smiled broadly, obviously pleased with himself.

King sat back, shaking his head.

"It does sort of make sense, Sean," conceded Williams.

"It's wrong, Todd," said King very firmly. "All wrong."

"So give me an alternative theory that fits the facts," challenged Bailey.

"Right now I can't, but I'm telling you that if you stop looking for the real killer-or more likely, killers-other people could die."

"We're not going to stop, Sean," said Williams, "but if no more people are killed, it's pretty good evidence Canney is the one."

"You don't believe that, Todd, no matter how much you want to." King rose. "Come on, Michelle, I need some air."

Outside the police station, King leaned against Michelle's truck, shoved his hands in his pockets and scattered a bunch of gravel with an angry thrust of his foot.

"You know, either Chip Bailey is the biggest idiot I've ever met or…"

"Or maybe he's right, and you can't bring yourself to admit it," finished Michelle.

"Oh, you think so? Damn, my own partner conspiring against me," he said with a resigned grin. "Maybe I am wrong."

Michelle shrugged. "I think pinning the whole thing on Canney is way too much of a stretch, but like Bailey said, we don't have much of an alternative theory."

"There are things we know, things that are dangling right in front of our faces that we're not even seeing. If I could just grab them and hang on, I know it would lead us where we need to go. But it's driving me crazy that I can't see them."

"I think I know a remedy."

He looked at her dubiously. "I'm not running in a marathon or going bungee jumping in order to get my brain firing better."

"What I'm thinking requires no physical exertion at all."

"An absolutely stunning concept, coming from you."

Michelle stared at the beautiful blue sky. "I say it's boating time. Nothing like a spin on the water to get the mental juices flowing again, especially on a day like this."

"We don't have time-" King stopped and his expression turned softer. "Okay, after nearly being killed twice, maybe a little break wouldn't be so bad."

"I knew you'd see my logic. Sea-Doos or jet boat?"

"Jet boat. I'm getting tired of you always wanting to race on the Sea-Doos."

"That's just because I always beat you."

KING WAS AT THE WHEEL, AND Michelle sat next to him in the twenty-foot Bombardier jet boat as they cruised along at thirty knots over the lake's calm surface. The summer season was still a ways off, so they had the water pretty much to themselves.

"How much of Cardinal Lake have you seen?" asked King.

"A lot. I don't let the grass grow under my feet."

King went on in a pedantic tone. "You know, this lake was formed by damming up two rivers and letting the water back up over ten years. The end result was a very deep thirty-mile-long lake with excellent fishing, water sports and about two hundred coves and inlets."

"Wow, you sound just like the real estate agent who sold me my place. Do you also refinance mortgages?"

They headed toward the hydroelectric dam, which was really two dams, an upper and a lower one. Then they hit the main channel and turned west. Where the two rivers came together, King headed north until they came to a smaller channel that doglegged north and then east. They kept this heading, passing the even-numbered red channel markers that ran upriver, until he pulled back on the throttle and steered straight into a small uninhabited cove. A few minutes later they'd anchored down in about twenty feet of clear water, and King pulled out a basket of food and a cooler with sodas and water he'd put together.

"I'm going to swim before we eat," said Michelle.

"How's your arm?"

"Will you stop with the arm? It was only a nick to begin with."

"Why do I think if you took a thirty-thirty round through your chest, you'd only ask for a Band-Aid, and a small one at that?"

She stripped down to her one-piece swimsuit and dove in.

"God, the water's great," she said after coming back up.

King eyed his instrument panel. "Water temp's seventy-five, still a little cool for me. I'm an eighty-one, eighty-two kind of guy."

"You mean you're a wimp."

"That's another way of putting it, yes."

After they'd had their lunch, King pulled up the anchor and they started off again. Michelle pointed to a long, wide point up ahead. It was quite a sight: a six-slip boat dock with a gazebo, bar, dining area and equipment sheds and about six thousand square feet of decking, all encased in cedar siding and shake roofing. It just begged for an Architectural Digest spread.

"That's pretty impressive. Who owns it?"

"What, you lose your sense of direction on the water? That's Casa Battle."

"What! I didn't even know they were on the lake."

"You don't put up a mansion in Wrightsburg without lakefront access. They have the whole point plus about twenty more acres. Their dock is a ways from the main house. In fact, you can't even see the mansion from the lake. I think they designed it that way so there wouldn't be gawkers coming by on boats all the time. They use golf carts to come and go."