Hour Game (Sean King & Michelle Maxwell 2)

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.”