The color was back in Roger’s face as he spluttered, “I—I really liked that band, okay? So yes, I remember they’d been playing because Bikini Kill had recently split up and I was still smarting over it.” He looked over Larkin’s shoulder, likely studying Doyle, who was still on his call. “The guy, whoever it was trying to make a move on Jessie, he didn’t live there, I don’t think. Andy said something like, the guy had met him and Jessie when they were moving in—I assumed he was hired to move boxes, you know? But honestly, I don’t remember more than that. I really don’t think Andy told me more than that.”

Moving in.

A photo from the days of dusty orange exposures, red eyes, and fingertips over lenses. A shared second captured for posterity, like a timestamp of youth and rebellion, and the past lived, and the dreams of the future. Simple in its framing, innocent in its subjects, evil in the clue it left imprinted on the backdrop.

“Do you know why we take photographs, Mr. Hunt.”

“What’s that?”

“We take photos because we don’t want to forget. Even before the advent of such technology, we’ve always looked for ways to capture our likeness. Not out of egotism—not really. But because we fear being forgotten. We fear forgetting those we loved. But if we have a tangible reminder, a memento mori, there’s a kind of relief. A physical connection that still exists. We all die—that is inevitable. What matters is whether or not someone will want to remember you.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

Larkin lifted one shoulder in a light shrug. “Only two people remembered Andrew Gorman. Jessica Lopez, who’s currently in the hospital, and the man who brutally murdered him.”

In a quiet and somber tone, Roger said, “I didn’t kill Andy.”

“Do you ever construct masks.”

“Masks?” Roger frowned, glanced at Doyle as the other detective ended his call and was approaching them again. Then he said, “No. Rings, necklaces, bracelets—headpieces, even. I’ve never made a mask.”

“Can we take a few of your hammers in for testing.”

“What? No. Absolutely not. You’ll need a warrant and you’ll hear from my lawyer if that’s our next step.”

Doyle reached a hand out, took Larkin’s elbow, and steered him away from Roger. He closed the space between them and lowered his head so that he could whisper, “Bosman says CSU pulled a few long hairs from Ricky’s tub drain. Red.”

“Any with follicles.”

“Yeah. They’re being sent in to test against Danielle Moreno. What do you think?”

“I think you should make nice with Mr. Hunt on my behalf while I make a call, and then we leave.”

Doyle managed to suppress a chuckle, but only barely. He let go of Larkin’s arm and moved to Roger.