Hour Game

question.

'Any idea why Mr. Battle wanted that drawer installed?' asked King.

'Didn't ask because it wasn't my place to,' he said stubbornly.

'Around what time period was that?' Michelle inquired.

The man took a minute to consider this. 'Must've been about five or so years ago. Put Mrs. Battle's drawer in a few years before that.'

King mused for a moment and then said, 'And Mr. Battle knew about his wife's hidden drawer?'

'Don't know if he did or not. Hear he's near death's door.'

'You never know with a man like that,' replied King.

They'd checked out the alibis of all of Junior's friends. The men were either in a bar drinking at the time or sleeping with their wives, girlfriends or mistresses. The ladies could have been lying, of course, but it might be hard to break their testimony without a lot of digging, and in each case King had sensed they were telling the truth. Anyway, none of Junior's friends seemed remotely capable of carrying off such a burglary and setting up Junior so cleverly in the process. Their expertise seemed limited to driving nails, drinking beer and bedding women.

'Are you going to live on this houseboat the whole time while you're rebuilding?' asked Michelle.

'I don't have much choice.'

'My cottage has an extra bedroom.'

'Thanks, but I don't think my neatness gene could survive.'

'I've gotten better.'

'Better! The last time I was there you had everything from water skis to shotguns piled on a card table in your dining room, a stack of dirty laundry in the kitchensink and unwashed dishes on a chair in the living room. You served dinner on paper plates on awakeboard resting on two chairs-a first for me, I assure you.'

'Well,' she said in a hurt tone, 'I thought you'd appreciate that I cooked for you. Do you know how many cans I had to open?'

'I'm sure it was a true ordeal.'

He was about to say something else when his cell phone rang. It was Todd Williams. The conversation was brief, but when King clicked off, he looked badly shaken.

'Another murder?' asked Michelle as she set down her coffee and looked at him.

'Yes.'

'Who was it?'

'Somebody I happened to know,' he said.

CHAPTER 24

THE BRUTAL MURDER OF DIANE Hinson had not set very well in her posh, gated and supposedly safe community. When Michelle and King arrived there, a small yet vocal crowd of angry folks had surrounded several beleaguered men in suits representing the management of the upscale compound. Also in the middle of this siege was an elderly security guard who appeared so distraught he looked ready to cry.

Police cars and other emergency vehicles lined the pipestem road to Hinson's home, and a yellow police tape barrier stretched across the small strip of grass in front of the home, not that many people were inclined to take a peek. Uniformed officers came and went through the front door and garage. King pulled to a stop and he and Michelle got out.

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'renot 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 ‘onemore 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