A storage unit could work. Maybe.

Aden and Max drive out to the storage unit, nothing but silence as the car slides through traffic like salmon swimming upstream. Aden watches the buildings pass by, urban center turning to shopping and business districts, then suburban sprawl. Lights go from elegant globes to utilitarian lamps, and then back to the fancy stuff. People fly by, blips of white and black and yellow and red, tanned, pale, blonde, brunette, balding, young, old. He loses himself for a while in the flow of faces, lives he will never know sliding by, a cold and angry feeling in the pit of his stomach. The monster is fully awake, and mad as Hell; it wants feeding.

As if reading his mind, Max breaks the quiet. "You like her?"

Aden looks at Max, frowns. "Who? Your sister? Why would you even ask?"

"No," Max snaps, obviously annoyed. "Miss Ryder. I am right in assuming it's Miss, correct?"

"It's Miss." Aden pauses, considers his next words. "I love her, and I'm planning on spending the rest of my life with her." He looks out the window again, sighs. "How ever short that may be."

Max lets the last part slide. "Is she...transitioning?" The tone makes it plain the detective feels uncomfortable with the question.

"We haven't talked about it."

"Why not?" Max's tone sounds accusatory.

"Hasn't come up, detective." Max turns the wheel, pulling the car into the entryway to the storage facility where Bryson has a unit. They park near the office, and brace the young guy standing the midnight watch at the front desk. The kid's not wise enough to ask for a warrant to search, and when Max badges the boy, he opens the front gate and lets them back. Max makes it plain he's not to discuss anything about their visit; the kid beams compliance and fear out of every pore.

They move up on the unit, last one at the end of the row, a double-wide with a sturdy industrial pick-proof lock Max finishes off in about ten seconds. The cop stands back, and Aden swings the sliding door up, pistol out and ready. It's dark inside, the unit packed with boxes and furniture. There's a strong scent of antiseptics, and a familiar fresh bread smell they both recognize all too well.

"Decomp," Max curses.

Aden nods, gun up to point, moving in fast and low, sweeping through the neat lines of personal property, scanning, looking for anyone or anything dangerous. Max steps in far enough to pull the door back closed so they can toss the place in peace. By the time Aden reaches the back of the place, Max is already headed back, eyes flicking back and forth, a snake scenting for prey.

"Place is clear," Aden confirms, then pauses, watching Max work. The detective bends down, brushes long immaculate fingers against the concrete floor, which is way too spotless for any storage unit Aden's ever seen. A couple of shuffled steps forward, and Max pokes at a bundle of rags and several jugs of bleach sitting under a tub full of girls' clothes. There are slight stains, and one sniff confirms the dead body smell is coming from them. He sees Max's face darken with anger, and follows the detective's pointing finger to the back right corner of the unit. There's a large plastic tarp pulled tight over some sort of machinery, a couple of large plastic tubs, a fifty-gallon container of industrial solvent. A table nearby has rows of tools neatly laid out in order, drills, pliers, a pair of rotary saws, picks and knives, and one large pearl-handled boning knife wrapped lovingly in a black silk kimono. Aden moves over, lifts the tarp, reveals a heavy duty band saw, the kind butchers use to chop up joints of meat.

"He's escalating," Max mutters, disturbed. "I messed up again. He hasn't brought the girls here yet; he's been a body dumper so far."

"This is his new office," Aden sighs. "He's decided to have more fun with them than he can have in other places. He's got her somewhere else."

"He's got her somewhere else." Max shrugs, pulls a cell phone out. "We head back out; I'll call in an anonymous tip, let the beat cops investigate. If nothing else, it'll shake Bryson up, maybe interrupt his schedule."

"Or make him kill the girl he already has to cover his tracks," Aden points out.

"So we better find her tonight, then."