‘And will you come by again, Emma?’ Simon’s head is gently angled, the sharp plane of his cheek exposed to the light and his eyes taking in her face.
‘Yes, if you’ll talk to me.’
‘The best approach is to register your name with Monsieur Grenier at the front desk. Delightful fellow. His hands simplyreekof Brylcreem.’
‘If you assist me in this,’ she continues, ‘I might be able to persuade the FBI to vouch for your cooperation, to bolster your case in court—’
‘Oh, Emma.’ Simon smiles at her kindly. ‘Don’t promise me the stars. You don’t have that kind of authority.’
‘We want to catch this guy real bad,’ Emma admits.
‘Then you should be looking at who he targets.’ His gaze narrows. ‘Didn’t you learnanythingfrom Hoyt? If you want to find the hunter, follow the prey.’
Emma marshals herself. She’s got what she needed, now it’s time to go. She’s not sure why the idea of leaving Simon here, alone, produces a sense of melancholy. ‘Thank you, Simon.’
‘And now again ’tis black…’He looks wistful. ‘Goodbye, Emma. See you next time.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Travis doesn’t take his eyes off Emma. Through the big porthole window in the door, she looks small and far away, lost in the gloom of the asylum’s basement corridor.
The glimmer of her profile: her lips move as she speaks. At this distance and angle, he can’t see Gutmunsson, so it looks like she’s speaking to nobody. But Gutmunsson is there. Travis can feel it in his own revulsion, the strange yearning awareness of his father’s murderer so close by. Travis feels how his mouth has tightened and twisted. He presses his lips together, tries to relax his expression, regain some control.
In the tiny guard room, the scratching of pens as Grenier and his colleague complete paperwork. Chester has returned to the women’s facility.
‘She’s taking a long time,’ Kristin whispers.
Kristin is standing to Travis’s left, gripping her own fingers. Both of them are watching down the corridor.
Travis wants to reply, but he doesn’t trust himself.
Now, movement – Emma pivots and walks back. Her face gets more defined as she gets closer.
‘Ayuh, let her in,’ Grenier says, and the other orderly works the clanking metal door.
Travis thinks Emma’s expression resembles someone just awakened from a disturbing dream. She has hollows around her eyes; it occurs to him that she probably didn’t get a lick of sleep last night.
‘You get what you came for?’ Grenier asks her.
Emma ignores that. ‘Kristin, you should go down now,’ she says. Her voice is a little hoarse.
There are some gestures between the two orderlies, then Kristin is allowed through the door. Travis hears the eager clip of her shoes on the concrete, sees the swirl of her skirts.
Emma looks over at Grenier. ‘Have you got paper and a pen?’
‘Here.’ Travis takes a small spiral-bound notebook and a pencil from his inside jacket pocket, hands them to her. Their fingers touch as she receives the writing materials.
‘Thanks,’ Emma says. She flips the cardboard cover, finds a fresh page.
She is still in the nightmare country, he can tell. She stands in the middle of the tiny office, motionless but for the short, fierce movements of her writing hand as she pours her notes from the conversation with Gutmunsson down onto the page.
When she’s done, she shakes her hand out. Her expression seems clearer. ‘How long do we want to give Kristin?’
Travis checks his watch. ‘Five more minutes. Or we won’t make the flight to DC.’
‘Okay.’ She nods, a little too repetitively. Catches him looking. ‘I’m okay.’
‘Good.’ He knows she’s not going to talk about it now.
