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Stella turned on the bathroom light and closed the door behind her.

The room had an unexpected feminine touch.

The curtains on the window were a shade of peach, and the tiles on the walls were decorated with floral patterns.

A faint scent of pine needles and roses emanated from a bowl of potpourri above the cistern.

Only a tarantula in a frame above the towel rack suggested that this room, too, was part of Dr. Silow’s home.

Stella lowered the toilet lid, sat down, and took out her phone.

Dr. Silow’s placement of his phone on the stack of printed papers had done it. The movement had taken her back to Meyersdale, to the Prairie and its half-drunk patron. To the barn with its disturbed resident ready to blow his brains out.

And to the phone on the pages in the middle of the floor of that barn.

Dr. Silow’s device could tell them whether he was the Administrator.

SAC Tysen answered almost immediately. “What have you got? ”

Stella spoke quietly, one hand shielding her mouth out of an excess of caution to avoid being overheard.

“A question. Who knows about the deaths of Charlie Caine and Brook Irving?”

“Don’t think anyone knows. We’ve kept them out of the press so far.”

“The town knew.”

“That’s small towns for you. Word of mouth is faster than a local newspaper. But I don’t think the news spread beyond the town.”

“What about the Dispatch group?”

“I’ve been looking through the data your colleague downloaded.

Irving told the group he made a sacrifice, but he didn’t give a name or upload a picture.

I suppose the rest of the group might’ve thought he was lying.

Just showing off, you know?” At the end of the line, Tysen exhaled hard.

“Better that way, I think. These murders have received far too much publicity already. We need to keep a lid on things.”

Stella turned the stud in her ear. Her idea was taking shape, hardening. Her excitement grew.

“No, not this time. I think we need to lift the lid a little on these murders. Give me a minute.”

Without waiting for Tysen to protest, Stella hung up and called Mac.

Her friend answered quickly. “Hey, Stella. Can I call you back? I’m in the middle of?—”

“In a rush here, Mac. I need?—”

Mac cut her off. “If you’re asking about the call tracing, I found just a single call between Dr. Silow and Trevor McAuley. It took place when Trevor was in Nashville. There’s nothing else.”

Stella knew about that call. Dr. Silow had told them. She was surprised there hadn’t been any other contact, but she was determined to do one more test .

“Listen, I need you to do something for me in exactly,” she checked her watch, “two minutes. Upload a picture of Charlie Caine’s body. Add a message saying that a sacrifice has just been made, another soul saved, etc. The usual stuff.”

“In two minutes?”

“Exactly.”

Mac was silent for a moment. “What are you up to?”

“Just an idea. Trust me.”

Stella hung up, checked her watch, and flushed the toilet. She knew whenever a murder pic was posted, the group got flooded.

When she returned to the living room, Hagen had hardly moved the conversation on. Instead of talking about the murders, Dr. Silow was telling Hagen about the new snowplow the town had just invested in.

“Much better than the old one. Doesn’t break down like that pile of junk used to, so we’ve been able to keep those mountain roads completely clear now. I think we’ll find this will be the best year for road safety in more than a decade.”

“That’s very good.”

Hagen sounded impressed. He looked up at Stella as she slid past his knees to her seat on the sofa. She lifted her glass. The spider on the coaster was free.

“I’m sorry, Bill. I think I got a little…you know.”

Dr. Silow smiled. His eyes softened. “That’s perfectly fine. I understand how stressful this case has been.”

Stella’s phone vibrated. So did Hagen’s, as he had also been sent a notification from the Dispatch group. And then, the dutiful followers started flooding the message boards.

She waited for Dr. Silow’s phone to sound or vibrate from atop the pile of pages. Nothing happened.

A log cracked in the fireplace. Dr. Silow’s chair creaked. Stella wondered whether he had a burner somewhere in another room, a second phone he used to manage the group .

She reached for her device, which was going off like fireworks on the Fourth.

“Sorry, I just have to?—”

“Of course, of course.” Dr. Silow lifted his hand. “Go ahead.”

Hagen checked his phone too. “Work stuff.” He nodded.

Stella opened the Dispatch group. There was the picture of Charlie Caine hanging upside down with his throat cut and his blood covering the floor.

The picture was familiar now. But seeing it in Claymore Township, where she’d seen Laurence Gill and Mark Tully in the same position, sent a shiver down her spine.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Hagen acknowledge what she’d done ever so slightly.

Message after message, mostly accolades, popped up on the board.

She’d wanted to associate these mountains with the best weeks of her life, those long days and nights in Hagen’s company with nothing to worry about but discovering a new trail the next day. Now, when she thought of this place, she’d always remember these swinging, bloodless corpses.

She hated the Administrator for that act of corruption alone.

Her phone vibrated again. A new message. From the Administrator.

Tomorrow you’ll receive a signal. Then and only then the sacrifices must begin! At the sun’s zenith. So says the tablet.

Dr. Silow sat, rocking gently in the chair in front of her. His hands were still folded neatly in his lap.

He hadn’t sent the message.

He wasn’t the Administrator.