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I hated that I noticed things like that while discussing serial killers. My brain had no sense of occasion.

“Bancroft was the first family?” Micah asked.

Riot nodded. “First one they tied to him. That’s where the name came from.”

“Four daughters,” Dad said. “Twelve to seventeen.”

Sunshine made a sound under her breath. “Jesus, Buck.”

“He asked.”

“Micah did not ask their ages.”

Micah raised both hands. “I absolutely did not.”

Dad looked mildly chastened. “Right.”

Ruckus had stopped eating. That was impressive.

“You catch him?” he asked.

“Eventually.” Dad and Riot exchanged a look.

There were entire conversations in those looks. Cop things. Partner things.

Twenty years of seeing horrible shit together things.

“What?” Clayton asked.

“Nothing,” Riot said.

Clayton narrowed his eyes.

Dad took another bite of steak.

Riot was quiet for a moment. “Zarzamora.”

Dad’s fork stopped. His eyes lifted to Riot’s. “Yeah.”

That got Sadie immediately. “What was Zarzamora?”

“Old case,” Dad said. “Dismemberment. Never solved it.”

Sunshine closed her eyes. “Of course.”

“Postmortem disarticulation,” Dad continued. “Shoulders. Hips. Knees. Major joints. Clean enough that whoever did it knew what they were doing.”

“And left everything,” Riot said.

Dad nodded. “That was the part that bothered us. If you’re disposing of a body, you don’t arrange it.”

“Arrange it how?” Sadie asked.

“Pieces through the house,” Riot said.

Sadie’s expression sharpened. “Not dumped?”

“No.” Dad glanced at me. “Placed.”