“They’re trophies,” Larkin said. “But not in the way you think. Ricky has hybristophilia. He’s obsessed with, perhaps even sexually aroused by, the individual who committed these crimes. And I think Ricky has successfully established a relationship with this person. Those photographs were given to him, like a gift. He was living in a dumpster, but he made sure those photographs were safe and secure in a place he could be sure to find them. They meant something to him.”

“Meant something because he fucking took them, Grim.”

Larkin was almost shouting. “He didn’t know how those women were killed. He was guessing. Fishing.”

Doyle stood, took a quick sidestep to block Connor, who was seated at his desk, and, looking down at Larkin, said calmly, “Please sit.”

Larkin scrubbed his face while letting out a whoosh of air.

Doyle hovered his hand just below Larkin’s elbow, directing him without actually touching him into the chair he’d abandoned. Once Doyle had returned to his own seat, he picked up Larkin’s train of thought without delay. “The photographs of the three unknown victims don’t show any evidence of a gunshot. There is a great deal of post-mortem bruising around the neck, however, which would have been the same for Andrew. Plus, Ricky’s clearly a hoarder.”

“Clearly,” Connor echoed. His face was still tight with agitation.

“But specifically of newspapers and magazines,” Doyle continued. “Hoarders view their items not as junk, but as a prized collection. And two of those masks were made of papier-mâché.”

“What’s your point?” Connor asked.

“I think it would have been… extremely difficult, if not impossible, for Ricky to destroy something he loved—newspapers—to make those. The thing about hybristophilia is that they get to live vicariously through the killer, right, Larkin?”

Larkin was well aware that Doyle knew the answer. Even if he hadn’t known the psychology prior to their conversation while at Ricky’s apartment, Doyle certainly hadn’t forgotten Larkin’s explanation over the course of a few hours. But it was clear, now that the tension in the room was dissipating, that Doyle was asking a question as a means of returning control to Larkin. He was, after all, the senior detective on the case and the one whose disgruntled lieutenant sat before them.

On a quiet exhale, Larkin said, “The intimacy of the relationship between Ricky and this unknown perpetrator allows him to experience the violence he craves but cannot see to fruition himself. As for the papier-mâché, I do believe these were early attempts at constructing a death mask. Ricky might not be aware that those attempts have since escalated to cast iron. He sees those paper ones and can’t replicate them because he can’t bear to part with anything in his collection. And anyway, he doesn’t need to, because he has those gifted Polaroids to look at.”