David Baldacci - Hour Game

Chief Williams waved to them from the front stoop. They hurried to meet him and then all three went inside.

If possible, Todd Williams looked even more miserable than he had at the morgue. Gravity seemed to be sucking the lawman right into the earth. "Damn," he said. "What I did to deserve this, I don't know."

"There's been a positive ID on Hinson?" asked King.

"Yeah, it's her. Why, do you know the lady?"

"It's a small town, we're both lawyers."

"Did you know her well?"

"Not enough to be any help with the investigation. Who found her?"

"She was supposed to be at work early this morning, preparing for a deposition or something. When she didn't show, people from her firm called her house and cell phones. There was no answer. They sent someone over. Her car was in the garage, but no one answered the door. They got worried and called the police." Williams shook his head. "This is the same guy who did Tyler, Pembroke and Canney, no doubt about it."

Michelle picked up on the confident tone in his voice. "Did you receive a letter about the high school kids?"

Williams nodded, pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and passed it to her. "Here's a photocopy. Damn newspaper sat on it because it was addressed to Virgil and he was out of town. Apparently, not one single person over there thought to open it. And they call themselves reporters! My ass!"

"Was it in code like the first one?" asked King.

"Nope, that's just as we received it. And no symbol on the envelope."

King said, "So there goes the Zodiac theory." He looked at Michelle. "What does it say?"

Michelle scanned the letter and began reading: "Okay, one more down with others to follow. I told you the first time I wasn't the Z-man. But you're probably thinking that kid bit the dust under the Z's hand. Think again. I left the dog collar behind because the dog didn't make me do it. I don't even have a dog. I wanted to do it all by myself. And no, I'm not him either. Until next time, and it won't be long. Not SOS."

She looked up at King with a puzzled expression.

"Dog collar? And the dog made me do it?"

"You're showing your age or lack thereof, Michelle," replied King. "SOS and the dog made me do it. That's Son of Sam, David Berkowitz, the New York City killer in the 1970s. He was dubbed the lovers' lane killer because some of his victims were young dating couples killed in their cars."

"Lovers' lane, like Canney and Pembroke," said Michelle.

Williams nodded. "Berkowitz said his neighbor was some sort of demon who communicated his orders to kill through his pet dog. Crock of shit, of course."

King said, "But our guy knows exactly what he's doing. He said so."

Michelle broke in. "But I'm not getting this. Why commit murders in similar styles to past killers as a copycat would and then write letters making it clear you're not them. I mean, imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, right?"

"Who knows?" said Williams. "But he killed those two kids."

King stared at the chief and then looked at the letter again. "Wait a minute. He didn't say that. He says ‘ one more down.'"

"Don't split grammatical hairs with a psycho," complained Williams. "He just lumped them together is all."

"Look at the letter again; he also uses the singular: ‘kid,' not ‘kids.'"

Williams scratched his cheek. "Well, maybe he just forgot and left off the last letter. It could be as simple as that."

"If it was intentional, which kid is he talking about?" asked Michelle.

Williams sighed deeply and then pointed up the stairs. "Well, come up and see this. I don't think it'll clear anything up, though. And I don't need a damn letter to tell me who he's not trying to impersonate this time."

They made their way up the stairs and entered the bedroom. Diane Hinson remained where she'd been killed. There was a blur of activity in the room as forensic techs, police officers, men in FBI windbreakers and Virginia State Police homicide investigators attended to the business of preserving the crime scene and absorbing every valuable morsel from it. If their hollow looks were any indication, however, helpful clues were apparently very hard to come by.

King observed Sylvia Diaz in one corner in deep conversation with a beefy man in an ill-fitting suit. She looked up, gave him a weary smile and then turned away. When King's gaze caught on the symbol on the wall, he jerked back.

It was a five-pointed star but drawn upside down.

"Yep, same thing I did."

He turned to see Williams staring at him. The police chief bent down and lifted Hinson's shirt. "And it's here too." They all studied the drawing on the woman's belly.

Michelle had seen the symbol on the wall as well. "It's an upside-down pentagram," she said. She drew in a sharp breath and looked at King and Williams. "That one I know. Richard Ramirez, right?"

"The Night Stalker," said King, nodding. "Who, unless I'm mistaken, currently resides on death row almost three thousand miles from here. He drew an upside-down pentagram on some of his victims, and also on walls of at least one of his victims' bedrooms, just like here."

Williams turned Hinson to the side, and they all looked at the multiple bloody stab wounds covering her back.

"Sylvia says it looks like she was held facedown, stabbed in the back and then presumably turned over and her hand wedged against the bureau drawer."

The lawman laid her back down without any indication that he might soon forfeit his breakfast. Williams's resistance to nightmarish sights seemed to be growing stronger.

"Any clues?" asked Michelle.

"The killer used a knife from her kitchen to stab her and telephone cord from one of her phones to bind her. There are marks on her wrists that show that. But he took off the restraints to prop up her arm. There are lots of prints in here, but I'd be real surprised if the bastard wasn't wearing gloves."

"And we're sure it's a man?"

"No sign of a struggle. She was overpowered pretty quickly. And even if a woman did that maybe with a gun in hand, it'd be a little risky to tie her up. Hinson might have been able to get the upper hand. She was in great physical shape."

King looked puzzled. "And no one saw or heard anything? These are attached residential units. Somebody had to have seen or heard something."

"We're looking into that, of course, but it's too early to tell. We do know that the unit to the right of Hinson's was for sale and empty."

"When was she killed?" asked Michelle.

"You'll have to ask Sylvia that, if that FBI fellow will let her go."

King glanced over once more in Sylvia's direction. "Is he with VICAP?"

"To tell you the God's honest truth, I'm not sure. I've had so many people in here I don't know who's coming or going."

"Todd," said King, "make sure you don't say that within earshot of a defense counsel."

Williams looked confused for a moment and then said, "Oh, right, gotcha."

They went and looked at the watch.

"It's set to four o'clock," said Williams miserably.

King bent down and took a closer look. "No, it's not."

"What?" exclaimed Williams.

"It's set to one minute past four."

Williams knelt beside him. "Come on, Sean, I think under the circumstances that's close enough."

"This guy's been pretty precise up to now, Todd."

Williams looked skeptical. "He'd just killed a woman and wanted to get out as fast as possible. He's probably operating in the dark. Unlike with the other crime scenes, he's smack in the middle of lots of potential witnesses. In his rush he probably just didn't notice he was barely one minute off."

"Maybe," said King with equal skepticism. "But a killer who's careful enough not to leave any usable trace behind doesn't strike me as the sort to write ‘kid' when he really meant ‘kids' or set a watch to four-oh-one when he meant four."