Emma follows his reasoning. ‘Easier to get them out on this level, rather than bring them down from upstairs?’
Bell nods. ‘Sounds about right.’
They stand, holding their drinks, watching. Emma can’t identify the planted field agents from among the other patrons. She’d like to talk with Bell more – she wants to know what he was doing all day, where he disappeared to while she was worrying about his emotional state. But it’s hard to talk with the music so loud, and maybe it doesn’t matter. They seemed to have reached a détente back at police HQ, and they’re here now in Paradise, a Bosch painting brought to thumping, pulsating life.
‘You a nightclub person?’ she asks over the music.
‘No,’ Bell says bluntly.
‘Me either.’
‘What did Gutmunsson say about motive?’
She looks at Bell quickly. ‘You know, I can always tell which sibling you’re talking about when you say “Gutmunsson”.’
Bell rolls his eyes. ‘So what did the asshole say?’
‘He said that the College Killer is looking for a mate, which we knew, and that he doesn’t hate women like Huxton did.’
‘Sure,’ Bell says, scoffing. ‘He doesn’t hate women, he just murders them. That’s some real insight there.’
Emma can’t disagree; her own reaction had been the same. Andthe next piece of information makes her uncomfortable. ‘Simon thinks the College Killer is looking for me because I survived Huxton. Because my survival makes meworthy.’
‘That is such bullshit.’ Bell’s expression is sharp now. ‘The College Killer is looking for his own warped idea of the perfect woman, which he’ll never find.Worthinessis just another fucked-up criteria on his list.’
Emma stays silent.
Bell scans around at the insanity in the club. ‘You didn’t survive Huxton because of worthiness, Emma.’ He looks at her. ‘I don’t know how you survived. But what really matters is that you’re surviving now, in spite of everything.Thatsurvival is all down to your strength of character and will. That survival makes you a fucking force of nature.’
Emma finds she’s at a loss for how to reply. She didn’t know she needed to hear this, didn’t realize it would give her such a visceral reaction. Something amorphous and sticky has swept out of her, on her shaky exhale, and been replaced by something hard and clean. She feels a powerful urge to cry, blinks it back as Bell bumps her gently with his shoulder.
‘You still with me?’
‘Yeah.’ She uses the edge of her glove to swipe at the side of her eye, makeup be damned, before clearing her throat. ‘Okay. We should probably be getting more proactive here. Let’s go scout around.’
Bell pushes off the bar. ‘I’ll come along.’
Emma touches his elbow with light fingers. ‘If the CollegeKiller is here, he’s not going to approach me if he sees I have an escort.’
Bell instantly tenses. ‘I don’t want him approaching you at all.’ Then he grimaces. ‘All right, I’ll walk you to the ladies’ room, then when you come out, I’ll keep some distance.’
They do a tour of the floor, pushing between bodies, stepping around dancing couples and spilled drinks, dodging lit cigarettes being waved by careless patrons, observing everything. By Emma’s watch, it’s just after 11:15PM. She wonders if ‘John’ sets himself a time limit – does he need to find his prospective bride before the clock strikes midnight? There are lots of marriage themes like that in fairy tales; Emma makes a mental note to talk with Kristin about it.
Bell lets her enter the ladies’ room unguarded, gives her a chance to wander into corners on her own afterward. She can feel him just a few paces back, as she scopes out other girls who might be potential targets – white, slender, long dark hair, within the right age range. Then she holds position on one of the couches while Bell does a tour of the exits. They even dance, briefly and unconvincingly, but after a few minutes, Emma decides enough is enough, and she leads Bell away from the floor.
‘Do you want to check the mezzanine?’ He’s behind her, holding her hand, being pressed into her back by the crowd.
Emma turns, smelling the warm, crisp notes of amber and orange and bergamot in his shaving lotion. She pulls her gaze away from his neck, peers up at the mezzanine floor. There’s an agent up there somewhere, but they haven’t made contact.
She and Bell have seen no signs, nothing to suggest that the College Killer is even here. Carter pointed out they might not get lucky. But something inside her is on high alert, lifting the hairs on her arms – prey animal instinct.
She has a feeling. If the College Killer is here, he’ll be on the mezzanine looking down. The certainty of it lives in her gut.
‘We don’t need to go up,’ she says. ‘He’ll come to me.’
Once they’re hunkered over a three-chair table near the dance floor, Bell looks around and shakes his head. ‘I don’t think it’s gonna happen.’
‘If we have to do this tomorrow, and again on Saturday, that’s what we’ll have to do,’ Emma says, although the idea exhausts her.
