Dulac traced the edge of one photograph. “The lights. That’s new, right? He didn’t do it last time. So he wanted somebody to see her.”

“Definitely. Obviously, part of that was for his own benefit. We were all so busy with Susan that he was able to get Mitchell without risking a surprise check-in from Hazard. Hell, even if his plan had somehow gone wrong and Mitchell had managed to place a call to the police, everybody was at the industrial park. He bought himself a little security policy by making such a show of this killing. Hazard figured it out faster than anybody else, but . . .” Somers didn’t know how to finish that sentence; in his mind, he saw Hazard after they had left Mitchell’s apartment to be processed by the crime scene techs: the ghastly pallor, the black rings under his eyes.

“Dude, he can’t take this personally. If he takes it personally, it’s going to drive him out of his fucking mind.”

“Yeah,” Somers said, and then he had to rub his eyes hard and fast. “Well, you try telling him. Anyway, the lights weren’t the only new addition.” He slid a photograph toward Dulac.

“Is that a snake?”

“Yeah, a rubber one. The kind kids might buy at a zoo gift store, you know? Or maybe you buy it for a prank.”

“He’s got it wrapped around her leg. What the hell is that about?”

“Part of the Orpheus and Eurydice myth. Eurydice is running away from a beekeeper when a snake bites her, and she dies.”

After considering this for a moment, Dulac rocked back in his chair. “That’s some messed-up shit. What about the bees?”

“The same: he had the queen and her attendants trapped, and the swarm was trying to stay near. He also posed her the same way he did Phil: running, but looking back. He used stakes, which we think he must have put in place a day or two before. There’s no reason anybody would have noticed because the industrial park is abandoned, which is why he had to use the lights to draw the security guard’s attention, although I think—”

“Running where?”

“In the story, Eurydice is running away from a beekeeper; I told you—”

“No, bro. Where is Susan running?” Dulac shoved aside more photographs and grabbed the pencil-drawn crime scene layout. “She’s here, facing which direction.”

Somers turned the page in his hand and then tapped one side.

“What’s over there?”

They pulled up Google Maps, did some more twisting and turning of the page, holding up crime scene photos to coordinate.

“Straight at that fucking building, man. She’s running straight at the fucker. What’s in there?”

“No idea,” Somers said. “But remember, she’s looking back, she’s running away—”

“Yeah, I heard you. God, old people are so fucking repetitive. I’m saying, this guy staged everything. Lights, camera, action, you know? And he likes games. So why does he go to so much trouble to make it look like she’s heading here,” Dulac tapped the screen, “when he could have done this somewhere else. Like her house, you know? Why go to all this trouble? He picked the last place because it represented a fuck you to the law. Why this place?”