Snippet #2048987

"...congratulations, Detective. Unfortunately, you missed my grand concerto. I admit it was a little bit flat, but no matter. Perhaps you will be able to see the encore. It will be a bit sharp, methinks, but that is again no matter."

The deep chuckle resonated phone, out of context sounding almost like a warm purr. But with this context, it would only send shivers down one's spine...how could a human being sound so warm and happy at such a vile act? Murdering a small girl, desecrating her body, violating the security of her family.

"Hickory-dickory-dock."

The riddle.

"The mouse ran up the clock."

One could almost imagine the sickly sweet smile upon the male's face, amusement running the course of the vile villain's veins.

"The clock did strike, the mouse did fight."

The fear running through the veins of the victims, realizing this was their demise.

"Hickory."

How was this possible?

"Dickory."

The existence of this man?

"Dock."

Who could kill in cold blood, and seemed to have endless resources, every case seeming to end with a

Click.

This would be the last that the Detective would hear of Dialtone for tonight. The only other message would be an electric kitchen timer, found on the Detective's desk, set for seventy-two hours, along with a note stating, "START ME". However, this would not be Dialtone's last call...as he waited...waited...

Click.

Ah. She picked up.

"Hello, is this Miss Rachel Moore?"