Her breath whispered out. “He told me once that I was his chance to be better.” She looked down at her hands. “Valentine was a gifted artist. He could paint anything, sculpt anything. He could create so much beauty with his hands, but he seemed to be drawn to death.” Her gaze rose once more. “That’s why the marks with his knife were so precise. Not because he was a surgeon, which is what the cops in Boston first thought when they discovered the bodies, but because he was an artist.”
The dead women might have been his art. His twisted art.
“Valentine was always punctual, never late for a date or a meeting, always well dressed, and he had perfect manners.” Katherine lifted a shoulder in a weak shrug. “Some folks would say he was obsessive-compulsive, but maybe that’s why he did such a good job of cleaning up the crime scenes.”
“Except for the last one.” Mac finally spoke as he stirred from his position near the wall.
“He didn’t have a chance to clean up. I came home early.” Her voice dropped. Dane saw the delicate movement of her throat as she swallowed. “And don’t you know, I’ve asked myself a thousand times, what would have happened if I’d worked later? Would I be married to him?” Her fingers were trembling as she shoved back her hair. “Would he still be killing women who could have been me?”
Yes.
“Serial killers don’t just stop. I learned that.” She waved toward the interrogation mirror. “Agent Wayne, watching in there, he will tell you that. They can have dormant periods, but they never totally stop. They never stop unless they are made to stop.”
Amy Evans was tied to the table. Duct tape covered her mouth. Her eyes were opening.
Her gaze quickly filled with terror. Helplessness. Tears.
The tears fell quickly. Behind the tape, Amy was moaning. Trying to talk. Trying to beg. Trying to plead for mercy.
But there would be no mercy for her.
The tip of the knife slid over her skin. The blade didn’t cut her. Not yet, anyway. There was a pattern to the kills.
A method behind the madness.
The method had to be followed.
Amy had been stripped, and now the knife lifted to the middle of her chest. Carefully, still not breaking the skin, the knife eased over her flesh, creating the sloping pattern of a heart.
Amy thrashed. Struggled to get free. She was fighting more than expected.
“Don’t make me rush.”
The terror deepened in Amy’s eyes.
The tip of the blade moved toward her left arm. Sliced into Amy’s skin. Blood ran down her flesh.
There is a method…
Though not all murders are about madness.
“I know why the killer chose Savannah Slater.”
Dane had left his chair and walked around the table to Katherine’s side. At her quiet words, he tensed, then asked, “Why her?”
Her gaze slanted toward him, then Mac. “I didn’t tell you at first because you both already suspected me.”
Mac’s right eyebrow climbed. Dane knew what the guy was thinking: I still might. That move was one of the guy’s tells. After working together for almost ten years, the two had pretty much worked out the whole silent communication aspect of interrogations.
Katherine rolled her shoulders. “Savannah called me a few weeks ago.”
Sonofabitch.
“She was working on a piece about the Valentine Killer. I don’t know how she found me—I was supposed to be safe with my new identity—but she did. She wanted to interview me. Do some write-up about ‘the other side of the killer.’” Her voice hardened. “I told her I wasn’t interested in talking with her or any reporter. And I said she shouldn’t ever call me again.”
“Did she call you again?” Mac asked her.
Katherine gave a slow nod. “Yes.”
Shit. “When?” Dane demanded.
Her gaze held his. “The day before you found her body.”
Again, all he could think was…sonofabitch.
“I didn’t answer her call. I recognized her number on my caller ID, but I didn’t answer.” Her shoulders straightened. “Do you think he had her then? Was he already killing her? If I’d answered, would I have been able to—”
The peal of a ringing cell phone cut through her words. She jumped. Mac swore.
And Dane got a real damn bad feeling in his gut.
Katherine fumbled and reached into the small purse near her feet. “I don’t recognize the number. Sorry.” She started to shove the phone back into her purse.
Dane took the phone from her and answered it. “This is Detective Dane Black.”
Silence. The bad feeling twisted in his gut.
Then he heard a hiss of breath. A woman’s scream.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. “Who the hell is this?”
Katherine froze.
“Kat—” A woman screamed. “Make him stop!”
Then the line went dead.
Mac hurried to his side. “Dane?”
But Dane was already moving. “We have to trace that call!” He hit the call-back button, but the line just rang, over and over again.
He burst out of the interrogation room. Harley and the FBI agent were rushing toward him.
“Who was on the phone?” the captain demanded.
His fingers were squeezing the phone too tightly. “I think it was Valentine’s latest victim. A woman was screaming.” His jaw locked as he revealed, “She asked Katherine to make him stop.”
Ross followed behind the other men. “Savannah Slater was just found yesterday,” he said. “There’s no way—”
“Valentine waited months between kills,” Wayne cut in. “He wouldn’t attack like this, not so soon…unless something set him off.”
“We’ve got to get a trace,” Dane said. “Get the techs up here, get a track on the other phone’s signal.” The woman was screaming…that means she’s still alive.
But she wouldn’t be for long, unless they hauled ass much faster than this.
The phone was placed gently on the cement. “There, that wasn’t so hard, was it? And you did so well.”
Amy wasn’t talking anymore. Tears had dried on her cheeks. Slices lined her arms. Eleven on the left. Ten on the right.
There was no hope in Amy’s eyes. There’d been hope before, just a few minutes ago. Until they called Katherine together.
The tip of the knife slid over her chest. Amy’s eyes were open. No hope.
“It’s over now.” The blade sank into Amy’s heart. “At least, it is for you.”