Will was torn between his need to be a gentleman and his need to not throw up. “Do you only have one?”

“I’ll be okay.”

She continued down the hall. Will slipped on the mask. The air got marginally more breathable. Jason Howell’s room was closer to the bathroom than the stairs. Their footsteps echoed around them, bouncing off the walls. The closer they got, the stronger the smell became. Will saw that the students all had bulletin boards on their doors. Papers were pinned on top of photographs and messages. The board on Jason’s door was empty.

Sara put the back of her hand to her nose. “God, that’s bad.”

She took a breath through her mouth before going into the room. Will stood in the doorway. He held his breath as the smell of death washed over him.

The kid was lying on his back, bloodshot eyes staring at the ceiling. His face was swollen, almost crimson. His nose was broken. Dried blood circled his nostrils and mouth. One hand dangled to the floor. The thumb was cut. The tip of the pinky finger hung by a few threads.

“Looks like a match.” Sara had found Jason’s student ID hanging from the closet door. She showed the picture to Will. Even with all the damage, there was no mistaking the resemblance.

Oddly, Jason was clothed in layers—a pair of sweatpants over pajama bottoms; several shirts, a terry cloth housecoat, and a zippered jacket. His body was swollen from the early signs of decomposition. Gases filled his stomach. The skin on his hands was turning green. His shoes were loosely tied but his feet were so swollen that the laces cut into his socks.

Knife wounds punctured his chest. The blood had dried in thick chunks around the material of his jacket. More blood was on the floor, smeared in a streak to the desk opposite the bed. The computer, the notebooks and papers scattered around, were all covered in blood and pieces of brain matter.

Sara put her hand to the boy’s wrist. The check for a pulse was routine, though hardly necessary. “I count eight stab wounds to the chest, three more to the neck. The bacteria from the gut is what’s causing the smell. His bowel was pierced. He’s filled with toxins.”

Will asked, “How long do you think he’s been dead?”

“Judging by the rigor mortis, at least twelve hours.”

“You think we’re looking at the same killer?”

“I think whoever killed Jason knew him. This is hatred.” She pressed her fingers to one of the wounds in Jason’s neck, stretching the skin back into place. “Look at this. There’s the same twist at the bottom that I saw on Allison.” She checked the other wounds on the neck. “All of them are the same. The killer plunged in the blade, then twisted it to make sure he hit the mark. You can see bruising from the hilt. I’d guess the same type of knife was used. I’ll have to get them both on the table, but it’s an educated guess that this is the work of the same killer.”

“Jason was a lot bigger than Allison. He wouldn’t be as easy to overpower.”

Gently, she slid her hand under the back of the head. “The skull is fractured.” When she pulled her hand back, it was sticky with blood.

“Window’s closed,” he pointed out. A sizable puddle covered the floor under the sash. Marty had been in the room after all.

Sara had noticed, too. “He did you a favor. The rain could’ve flooded the floor and washed away the trace.”

“Charlie’s not going to be happy.” Will realized he hadn’t told her that a team was coming. “He’s our forensics guy. He’ll probably want to keep the body here until he’s processed the scene.”

“I’ll let Brock know. Do you want me to do the autopsy?”

He thought he might be stepping on her toes. “If it’s not too much of an imposition.”

“I’ll do whatever you want.”

Will didn’t know what to say. He was used to the women in his life making things more difficult, not easier. “Thank you.”

She asked, “Do you think Jason was Allison’s boyfriend?”

“They’re close in age. They go to the same school. They both ended up dead by the same killer’s hand. I think it’s not a big leap.” Will asked, “Assuming you hate to hypothesize, what do you think happened here?”

Sara changed into fresh gloves, telling him, “I assume Jason was at the computer when he was hit with something. Statistically, we can guess a baseball bat. I’ll know pretty quickly. There will be splinters in his scalp.” She pointed to spatter on the wall that Will hadn’t noticed before. Unlike the oak tree by the lake, the white walls of the dorm showed clear signs of the violence that was done. “Medium velocity. I don’t think the blow was meant to kill him. The killer wanted to stun him.” She pointed to the red streaks on the floor. “He was dragged over to the bed and stabbed, but it doesn’t make sense.”

“Why?”

She looked under the bed. “There should be a lot more blood than this.” She indicated a fleshy chunk on the desk. “Obviously, he bit off his tongue—”

Will gagged. “Sorry. Keep going.”

“Are you sure?”

His voice sounded unnaturally high even to him. “Yes. Please keep going.”

She gave him a careful look before continuing. “It’s not uncommon with blows to the back of the head for the victim to bite their tongue. Usually it doesn’t come clean off, but it explains the volume of blood on the keyboard. His mouth would’ve been engorged with blood.” She indicated the wall above the desk. “The spatter here is what you’d expect from the baseball bat making contact with the head, but over by the bed is a different story.”

“Why?”

“From the position of the wounds, I can tell that major arteries were hit in the chest and neck.” Sara explained, “Think about it this way—Jason’s on the bed. We assume he’s conscious because of the defensive wounds on his hand. He almost lost his finger. He must’ve grabbed the knife by the blade. His heart would’ve been pounding like crazy.” She patted her fist to her chest, mimicking the quick beat. “Spray, spray, spray. All over the wall.”

Will looked at the wall. She was right. Except for two splotchy-looking stains close to the body, the white paint was hardly marked at all.

Sara suggested, “Maybe the killer was wearing something like a clean suit. He could’ve put down plastic. He’d have to cover the room, tape the walls. This was really planned.”

“I think that’s a little complicated.” Will had yet to meet a killer who was that fastidious. “Most killers keep it simple. They’re opportunistic.”

“I wouldn’t call taking a couple of cinder blocks, a padlock, and a chain to the middle of the woods opportunistic.”

“I just think you’re making this too complicated. Couldn’t the killer cover Jason’s body with something and stab him underneath?”

Sara looked at the body. “The stab wounds are closely patterned. I don’t know. What are you talking about? Plastic?” She nodded to herself. “The killer could’ve covered him in plastic. Look at the floor. There’s a drip line here.”

Will saw the line. It was irregular, following the shape of the bed.