The next one probably happened later, as the killer became bolder. Maybe, but no matter why, it was gruesome; as if someone had taken a can opener and just let the life pour out of its head.

But the next one gave up the ghost much differently, she pointed at the next photo.

“Split down the middle. Gutted just like a hunted deer,” the short detective mumbled.

She liked that he could still feel, even after all the detritus he had seen.