“Let’s look at the scene.” He spreads copies of the photos out across the desk. “Okay, here’s victim placement at death—hanging from the ceiling beam like that. We know it takes nearly seventeen hours for the effects of the ether to fully wear off. He couldn’t have hung them up during that period, or they’d asphyxiate before he could kill them. Which means he’s strong enough to handle them un-sedated, haul them up.”

“We already knew he was strong.”

“Hanging them by the ankles is part of the ritual, though, so it has deeper meaning, apart from just being a convenient position for exsanguination.”

“They stay conscious longer upside down,” Emma says. “Maintain blood pressure in the head, the victim stays awake.”

Does she know this from personal experience? Bell feels oily nausea. “Okay. And we’ve got the ropes and chains he used.”

“Doubt we’ll get any fingerprints off them.”

“He tied them here, at the ankles, and tied their hands in front. But he also tied their arms against their bodies, which is how we get the elbow joint abrasions. I don’t know why he did that.”

“Maybe he’s just got a thing for rope.”

“Lewis.” Bell frowns at her gently, then at the photos. “Why did he leave the scene like this? Why didn’t he clean up and dump the bodies like normal? Did something change?”

“Maybe he felt confident the scene wouldn’t be discovered. He couldn’t have anticipated someone like Cleary stumbling onto it. That was just a fluke.”

“But he’s usually so careful. He’s, like, paranoid careful. Why abandon a scene complete like this, knowing he’d leave so much trace evidence for police to find?”

Emma doesn’t answer. She’s been avoiding looking at the crime scene photos—now she turns her head and really gives them her attention. “This guy… He probably follows the media.”

“Most of them do.” Bell’s jaw clamps. “They’re calling him the Berryville Butcher now.”

“Right. So he must know the authorities are no closer to catching him than they were in March, when he first started.”

“You think it’s a kind of slap in the face to the cops? Like, ‘Here’s more evidence, but you still can’t find me’?”

“It would track with the ‘young arrogant guy’ profile.” Her eyes glaze a little as she scans the pictures. “But it looks more like…”

“What?”

She closes her eyes, as if vision obstructs her thinking. “He takes them, hangs them, cleans them, dumps them.…” Her eyes snap open. “Bell, he’s moving on.”

“I don’t… What?”

“We know he’s been using a variety of locations as kill sites—Berryville is another disposable site. He typically kills the victims, then dumps the bodies in the trash once they’re worthless, right?” Her hands move, sift through the photos. “He throws his used things out. Once he’s done with something, he dumps it. Maybe this is the same—maybe he’s ‘dumping’ this kind of site. Moving on. He’s got another situation, another building, somewhere better—”

“Oh fuck.” Bell sits back in his chair, dazed by the realization. “He’s got another site.”