Familiar footsteps came behind him. Hazard spoke without looking over his shoulder. “As soon as they’re done documenting the scene, I want to get in there and look around.”

“Ree, we need to talk.”

“Like most serial killers, his technique is evolving between kills,” Hazard said. “He’s still in the initial phases. He’s still figuring out what works for him—what gets him the high or the release or whatever he needs out of this. The ritual, some of the elements are the same—he’s posed her just as he did Phil. Did he use wires again? Or some kind of fixing agent, maybe some sort of plasticizing compound? Was the cause of death the same? Any word on bees?” Hazard turned his head, moderating his breathing, to listen for buzzing.

“Ree—”

“Be quiet.”

“Ree, for Christ’s sake, you have to go.”

Hazard thought he caught a faint buzzing sound.

A hand on his arm interrupted.

Hazard shook it off.

“Mr. Hazard,” another voice said. Firm. Clipped. “Either you leave this crime scene right now, or I arrest you for interfering and have you taken to the city jail.”

Shaking off another touch from Somers, Hazard turned around. Riggle was taller than Hazard had realized, although still not as tall as Hazard; the new chief had moved into Hazard’s space, crowding him so that Hazard’s first inclination was to retreat.

“How fucking stupid are you?” Hazard said.

“Ok,” Somers said. “This isn’t going to be productive.”

“Is your boyfriend always combative with law enforcement, Detective Somerset?” Riggle asked. “Does he have trouble understanding direct orders?”

“You’re new here,” Hazard said. “So I’ll explain things for you. Simply. I’m a police consultant. I work with John on his cases. I’ve had experience with this killer before, and together, John and I are your best bet of closing this case. So shut the fuck up, get the fuck off me, and let me do my fucking job. Go polish your fucking nameplate until I need you.”

This time, Somers groaned.

“Officer Lansdown,” Riggle said, his face purple under the halogen lamps, “Officer Russell. Mr. Hazard is under arrest.”

“John,” Hazard said, “get this asshole away from me.”

“Ree, you need to go.” Somers fished the keys out of his pocket, the metal jangling and too loud in the stillness. “Take the Mustang; when Dulac gets here, I’ll catch a ride with him. Chief, he’s going. There’s no need for this to escalate.”

Hazard turned his attention back to the Keeper’s tableau. Distance made it impossible to confirm the details, but Hazard could picture it because he had seen what had been done to Phil Camerata: a hole blown in Susan’s head; a queen bee and her attendants in a queen-excluder sack forcibly inserted into the cavity; the swarm of bees drawn by the imprisoned queen. Hazard could hear the low droning, although he knew it was only memory. And, of course, the differences: Susan had been staged outside, in a weedy lot of an industrial park, instead of in the cramped cells of a college sub-basement. The lights were different too. This display had more sense of spectacle; the lights positioned around Susan were intended to draw the eye, control the gaze, direct the attention. If it had been possible, Hazard thought the Keeper might have wanted to shine a spotlight on her; this was the next best thing.