Unslinging the camera from around his neck, Gross passed it to Somers. Somers activated the digital display on the back of the camera and clicked through the stills. Looking at the images wasn’t any easier today; the damage to Susan’s face had been horrendous, and taken at night, even with the dramatic lighting that the Keeper had installed, the errant bees became specks of light and shadow that, on another occasion, Somers might have dismissed as the grainy byproduct of a cheap camera.

When he found an image with the right angle, Somers held it up, rotated, and tapped Gross. “Is that right?”

After studying the photograph for a moment, Gross said, “More or less. You’re standing a lot farther away, though.”

“But that’s the building?”

“Sexten Motors,” Gross said.

Norman bellowed, “Russell, get the lead out of your fucking ass, you lazy piece of shit!”

“These guys shouldn’t have made it past the paper application,” Gross said, accepting the camera back from Somers. “You’ve talked to Riggle more than most of us. Is he some kind of retard?”

“Can’t say retard anymore,” Somers said. “The chief is the chief; you know how the job is.”

“Yeah,” Norman said, “we know.”

“Cluster fuck,” Gross said, “we know.”

Somers thought of his father, the tenuous position as a new mayor, and Riggle’s veiled threats. “Give him a chance. He didn’t exactly come in at an easy time.”

“He hired these ass clowns in a day, Somers,” Norman said. Then, screaming, “Yarmark, if you stop to scratch your balls one more time, I will take them off with nail clippers. Get the fuck to work.” To Somers, “In a day. All of them. Like he had them coming off the conveyor.”

“More like he swept them up out of the loony bin,” Gross said.

“Hey,” Somers said. “Let’s give him a chance.”

“You ought to say something to your dad,” Gross said.

“Here we go,” Norman said.

“You ought to tell him how fucking bad it’s getting.”

“My father picked Riggle for a reason,” Somers said. “For now, I’ve got to trust that.”

Norman looked at Gross. Gross looked at Norman.

“Huh,” Norman said.

Gross spat into the weeds.

“Come on,” Somers said.

“You should have said something,” Norman said. “If you were in Riggle’s pocket this whole time, you should have said something.”

“You’re making us look like assholes,” Gross said. “You should have said you were playing pocket pool for Riggle.”

“That’s not how it is,” Somers said. “I’m just saying we should give him a chance.”

Gross took a pack of Juicy Fruit out of his pocket, unwrapped a piece of gum, and worked it into his mouth in two bites.

Holding back a sigh, Somers said, “Can you push the grid all the way up to Sexten Motors? The killer might have wanted to make it look like she was running towards the building. He has a whole fantasy behind this that he’s acting out, and that might be part of it.”