Dino was on his feet, unlocking the window, shoving it open, grabbing the pistol at his belt. “Don’t you do it, you son of a bitch!” he screamed.
Stone sat, r
iveted to his chair. The man was looking directly at them.
Dino raised his pistol and fired twice. Two holes appeared in the upper left-hand corner of the window.
“You’ve got his attention,” Stone said.
It didn’t seem to matter that he knew he was being watched. The man drew the knife’s blade across the struggling woman’s neck, and blood began to spill down her naked body. She collapsed, but he held her up with the hand under her chin, widening the wound in her neck.
“Let her go, and I’ll shoot you where you stand, you bastard!” Dino screamed.
Instead, the man began to walk backward toward the door, dragging the dying woman, holding her up as a shield. Then he dropped her and left the room.
“Call nine-one-one!” Dino said, grabbing his coat. “I’m going over there; do you know the address?”
“I don’t know the number; you’ll have to guess,” Stone replied, picking up the phone.
“Wait here and make sure he doesn’t leave the house through the garden,” Dino said, running for the door.
“Dino!” Stone shouted, stopping him in his tracks.
“What?”
“I know the guy,” Stone said. “I know the killer.”
“Later,” Dino said, running down the stairs.
Stone reported the homicide, then unlocked a cabinet, took out a pistol, and stood, watching the back of the house. Maybe he could get a shot at the guy. Two minutes passed, then Dino appeared in the woman’s bedroom, followed by a uniformed officer. He gave the uniform some instructions, and the officer left the room. Dino picked up the phone and dialed a number.
Stone saw the light on his phone flash. He picked it up. “Dino?”
“Get over here,” Dino said, then hung up.
Stone stuck the pistol in his belt, grabbed a coat, and ran out of the house.
6
S TONE JOGGED QUICKLY AROUND THE BLOCK, looking at every person he passed, hoping to see the frizzy-haired perpetrator. Finding the house was easy; two black and whites were double-parked outside, their flashers working. A uniformed cop stood guard at the top of the house’s steps. Stone flashed his retired officer’s ID and was admitted to the house.
He could see by the mailboxes that the original town house had been divided into apartments; the door to the ground-floor unit stood open, and he walked in, breathing hard. Two uniformed patrolmen stood in the entrance hall. “Is Lieutenant Bacchetti upstairs?” Stone asked, flashing his ID.
“Yeah,” one of the men said.
Stone ran up the stairs. He was met by another uniform and by the two detectives he had met at Susan Bean’s, Andy Anderson and Michael Kelly.
“What are you doing here?” Kelly demanded.
Stone ignored him and walked toward the rear of the house. He was on the upper floor of a ground-floor duplex, handsomely decorated. He emerged from a hallway toward the woman’s bedroom. Her body lay on the floor in the doorway, uncovered, her skin dead white, her throat gaping.
Dino looked up. “It’s a lot like the way Susan Bean was done,” he said to Stone. “Right-handed perp, knife drawn from left to right, very deep.”
“Any luck on finding him?” Stone asked. “He didn’t come out the back, and I didn’t see him on the street on the way over here.”
“No,” Dino said, picking up the dead woman’s handbag from a chair and stepping over the body into the hallway, taking care not to step on the blood-soaked part of the pale carpet. “Come in here for a minute,” he said, leading the way down the hall and into a study. The room had bookcases on one side and was hung with good pictures on two other walls. An antique desk faced the second-story windows, looking out onto the street. “Sit down,” Dino said, opening the handbag.
Stone took a seat. “What’s her name?” he asked.