The photos are xeroxed copies of the originals, and some of the finer details are blurred. The graininess makes the images just a little more unreal. But what is actually unreal is that there’s a person in the world who could do this. And not just do it once, but do it again and again and again—

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Bell whispers.

Emma is reminded that he puts up a good appearance of being in law enforcement already, but Bell has only ever been in training. She herself has viewed this kind of thing before.

It’s different, though. Not just in execution but in tone. The girl from Crozet lies abandoned in a puddle of oily-looking gray water, surrounded by garbage: household waste and metal parts, old diapers, smashed bottles. The Luray boy, dumped carelessly, his limbs collapsed at awkward angles, part of him obscured by a ripped tarpaulin. Then, Pennsylvania—two bodies thrown out together, sprawled on top of each other, undignified, their semi-nakedness making a gruesome parody of intimate relations.

I didn’t use my models and then throw them out with the trash. Emma bats at the thought.

Her voice comes out low and rough. “He doesn’t value them at all, once he’s done with them. He’s taken their blood and now they’re just… empty.”

Bell also sounds muted. “Why does he take the blood?”

“It’s part of his process, or he’s using it for something.…” She clears her throat, tries to steady. “Blood has lots of meanings—the color, the way it shines, as essence. It’s the red of love hearts, of virgins. It’s used in religious rituals.”

“The care with the body is kind of ritualized. It says here the bodies have been washed.” Bell taps another sheet from the forensic report. “No sexual assault, though. That’s unusual, isn’t it?”

“Yes. But just because he didn’t molest the victims doesn’t mean the murders aren’t part of a sexualized fantasy. Think of McMurtry.”

“He’s very careful. I think the washing is about getting rid of trace evidence.”

“But he goes to a lot of trouble to invert them, when he could just cut them in any position. That’s ritual.”

“Does he cut them when they’re still conscious?” Bell squints at the page. “Does it say that somewhere?”

“Check the histamine results. Higher levels will indicate they were stressed at the time of death.” It sickens Emma that she knows this.

Bell runs a finger down the columns of pathology results. “I can’t interpret these numbers. Can you make any sense of this?”

Emma shakes her head, wordless.

“Let’s come back to these when we know more.” Bell gathers the crime scene photos and puts them aside, goes to the victim profiles. “Okay. None of the victims knew each other. No correlations in terms of places they frequented, activities, hobbies, et cetera. There’s no connection between them that we can see, except for the age range.”

“They must have something in common. He chose them for a reason.”

“Cooper made a note about it here. Killers usually hunt within their own age demographic—he thinks we’re looking for a younger suspect.”