Hour Game (Sean King & Michelle Maxwell 2)

“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.”

“Well, if he did mean to make it one minute past, why?” asked Michelle.

King had no answer for that. He looked down at the dead woman for a long moment as Williams went off to check something else in the room.

Michelle put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Sean, I forgot you knew her.”

“She was a good person and a fine lawyer. And she sure as hell didn’t deserve this—not that anyone does.”

As they walked past Sylvia on their way out, she stopped them. The man in the suit had joined another group hovering over the body. He was a little shorter than King but thicker and very strongly built; his shoulders seemed to be splitting out of his suit. He had thinning brownish-gray hair, cauliflower ears and a boxer’s flattened nose resting between two intense brown eyes.

Sylvia said, “Well, number four and counting. The Night Stalker. Who would have thought?” She shook her head.

“Who’s the guy you were talking to?” King asked.

“FBI agent. Chip Bailey, from Charlottesville.”

“Chip Bailey?” King said slowly.

“Do you know him?” asked Sylvia.

“No, but I think I’d like to.”

“I can arrange something. Later, of course. People are pretty busy right now.”

“That’s fine.” He paused and then added, “Did you note the time on the watch?”

Sylvia nodded. “One minute past four. Like Pembroke’s.”

“What?” King and Michelle said together.