Page 52 of The Chain House

Sam digested this as he ended the call and handed the phone back to the guard, telling him he might need that number later. He shook hands with Agent Givens and did his best not to be starstruck by him. Agent Givens, along with local true crime blogger Ellie Isles, had headed the task force that had finally caught the I-64 killer, a.k.a. The Spider, a year ago. The story launched the popular true crime network now known as The Spider Web, which was where Carl, if he wasn’t working or playing Dungeons & Dragons, spent most of his time. Agent Givens looked put-off at having to wait for Sam, but having already struck out with Batise minutes ago, he looked especially eager now for answers. The guard followed them inside the office, where Batise sat, as before, in his chair in the middle of the room, with two guards positioned in each corner along the back wall overlooking the prison yard below.

Sam sat awkwardly listening as Agent Givens questioned Batise about the disappearance of Joseph Gerrard. When Sal asked who that was, Agent Givens, already with a short fuse, told him that it was the name of a young marketing assistant from his publishing house, Quiver and Bow. Batise swore he knew no one by that name and then swore on his father’s grave that he had nothing to do with any apparent disappearance of Joseph Gerrard. After a few terse questions about the bodies being unearthed across the country from the Mallard Malone books—they were up to four now, according to the latest reports, with a body recently dug up from an old plantation in Charleston, South Carolina—Agent Givens promised Batise he’d be back soon and abruptly left the room, leaving Sam, aside from the guards, alone again with Batise.

Sam said, “I talked to Donna Hanson on the phone.” When Batise acted like he wasn’t sure who that was, which Sam didn’t believe for a second, he said, “Your editor. At Quiver and Bow.”

“Oh,” said Batise. “If you say so.”

Sam checked his watch. “You do know you have less than twelve hours to live?”

“Quite aware, Sam Harper.”

“Then it seems you’d start being more helpful.”

“Is the governor here yet?”

“On his way.”

“Ask me a question, and I’ll see how helpful I can be.”

“This is from your editor,” Sam said. “She wants to know where the final book stands.”

“Stands? What’s that mean?”

“Has it been written, Sal?” Sam nearly shouted.

“That anger,” Batise said, pointing at Sam, his chains rattling as he lowered his hands back to his lap. “Where does that come from?”

“Has the book been written?” Sam asked again, forcing himself to speak calmly.

“Yes.”

“Where is it?”

“In a secret place.”

Sam clenched his jaw, held his anger in check. It would be futile to ask him where that secret place was, because Sal obviously wasn’t finished with being evasive.

Batise leaned forward. “The question you should be asking, Sam Harper, is when. When did I write the book?”

“Okay, Sal. Tell me. When did you write this final book?”

“How old are you, Sam?”

“Twenty-six.”

“You were two years old.”

“Excuse me?”

“When I wrote it,” Batise said. “You were two years old.”

“Are you telling me …”

“Yes. I wrote the book twenty-four years ago,” he said. “And there’s only one copy.”

Sam tried to remain calm. ‘Where is it? Where is the book?”

“It’s buried in the ground,” he said. “With another body.”