Simon’s eyes glint cobalt. ‘Congratulations. That was a deduction a two-year-old could have made, but well done.’
‘So, let’s talk about motive,’ Emma prompts.
Simon does a French draw. The smoke furls between his mouth and nose like dragon’s breath, and he holds it for a moment before exhaling to speak. ‘Do you remember when we discussed the Butcher case? What purpose is served by behavior?’
Emma treads carefully. ‘Some of the circumstances and behaviors of both Huxton and the College Killer are the same.’
Simon makes a magnanimous gesture. ‘Huxton was blue-collar. Our new man, John, is also blue-collar. Huxton used his own vehicle, and his own home. So, too, does John.’
Emma knows this is not a revelation. A private home and avehicle are necessary for what John does, to ensure independence and privacy.
She feeds in more details. ‘They both drug their victims on capture. They both hold on to their victims for prolonged periods. They both put wedding rings on their victims. They both dress their victims in wedding gowns.’
Simon raises his eyebrows. ‘Who will love me?indeed.’
This is one of the areas in which Emma is seeking clarity. ‘But Huxton never posed his victims. He never displayed them in public places. He never gave them wedding bouquets.’
‘Does John do that?’ Simon smiles, sharklike. ‘What a sweet fellow.’
‘And John is younger,’ Emma points out.
‘His idealism hasn’t yet transformed into deep-seated anger.’
Emma keeps a firm hold on her outrage. ‘You don’t think killing women shows he’s angry?’
Simon waves the cigarette. ‘Oh, Emma, you know how these things happen – you lose your temper. It’s not the same thing at all.’ Smoke wreathes his head as he stares into her eyes. ‘Daniel Huxton didn’t want amate. He wasn’t under any illusions. He exerted power over those he despised.’
‘You’re saying John doesn’t hate women like Huxton did.’
‘Certainly not,’ Simon declares. ‘Only the ones that prove unworthy. Unfortunately, that’s a large percentage of them.’ He smirks at her. ‘I imagineyouwould be very interesting to him, in that regard.’
Unsure what to say, Emma opens her mouth and closes it, before realizing that this is an answer in itself.
Simon’s eyes flash. ‘Oh, I see. He likes you, doesn’t he? You survived Huxton – John would consideryoua worthy mate indeed. Are you flattered, Emma?’
Emma hears her voice lose tone. ‘I don’t find the interest of murderers flattering.’
‘But it’s a compliment, isn’t it? Pretty girls love to have the boys swooning over them.’
‘Pretty doesn’t matter to me,’ Emma says flatly.
Simon’s smile is broad. ‘Oh, Emma, how ignorant of you! Don’t you remember that beauty is truth, and truth beauty?’
‘I’m not interested in listening to you quote Keats. What I’m interested in is the truth of how John is copycatting Huxton.’ She’s trying very hard to control her anger. Simon finds displays of pique amusing, and she’s determined not to give him that kind of entertainment.
‘Mm.’ Simon gets up off the bed and prowls forward. He takes up a lot of space inside the cell. His cigarette is almost half-finished now. ‘How does he know the special details, Emma? It wasn’t from you.’
‘No, I would never.’ She’s frustrated to find her voice has gone husky.
‘You would never …’ Simon gazes out into the air beyond his cell bars. ‘Yes, you were very closemouthed to the media. And the “journalists” ’ – he makes the air quotes with his fingers – ‘didn’t take many good photos of the house interiors. So how could this killer have an awareness of all the details of that basement in Huxton’s mountain house?’
Her concentration wavers. ‘I don’t know. The details he has are … significant.’
Simon returns his gaze to her. ‘One of the details is the way the girls all look like you, isn’t it.’
‘It’s not me,’ Emma insists. She wants to hang on to this information, for reasons she doesn’t yet understand. ‘I mean, it’s not just me. We all looked like that. We fit a profile. It wasn’t a secret. There were pictures in the papers.’
‘Pictures of you.’ Simon tilts his head.
