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479 pages, Mass Market Paperback
First published July 24, 1989
He was slender and dark-complexioned, with straight black hair going gray at the temples and a long nose over a crooked smile. One of his central upper incisors had been chipped and he never had it capped. He might have been an Indian except for his blue eyes.
His eyes were warm and forgiving.
Though his eyes were warm, his smile betrayed him.
If the chill of his smile sometimes overwhelmed the warmth of his eyes, it didn't happen so frequently as to become a social handicap.
So he was mad.
But not quite the way the police thought.
The maddog waited in the dark.
The maddog was intelligent. He was a member of the bar. He derived rules.
Never kill anyone you know.
Never have a motive.
Never follow a discernible pattern.
Never carry a weapon after it has been used.
Isolate yourself from random discovery.
Beware of leaving physical evidence.
When Clapton started on “Lay Down, Sally� he got up and did a neatly coordinated solo dance around the chair. Then he sat down, worked for fifteen seconds, and was back up with “Willie and the Hand Jive.� He danced in the dark room by himself, watching the song time counting down on the digital CD clock. When “Hand Jive� ended, he sat down again…�
"Never have a motive."
"Never follow a discernible pattern."
"Never carry a weapon after it has been used."
"Beware of leaving physical evidence."