"It's sloppier, definitely." Toro sticks out his finger to keep a glob of mayonnaise and celery from landing on a glossy photo and sucks it off speculatively. "Maybe rushed. Maybe angry?"

Bryar leans in, tracing the knife wounds with a finger and nodding. "I see that. He's always been neat, clean cuts. This is a little closer to the hackjob we usually get from these types."