‘What do you—’ Emma feels pressure building inside her head, white noise. ‘What does that mean? Did the bureaulosethem?’
Bell is taking in her whole face with his eyes. ‘We don’t have a record of them being recovered from the scene.’
‘Are you saying Huxton destroyed them?’
‘Mr Bell is saying that we suspect they were sent elsewhere. To someone else.’ Carter’s expression is very grave. ‘During the inquiry, it was established that Huxton was part of a circle of collectors …’
Emma reaches for a chair, sinks down into it. ‘Collectors.’
Carter squeezes the nape of his neck. ‘Yes. We’re going back over the evidence logs again, and reviewing file notes to see if we can dig up any of Huxton’s contacts or correspondence, or find any record of packages he might have sent. I’m sorry, Miss Lewis, but it appears those tapes may have been in underground circulation for some time.’
Bell comes closer, crouches down on his haunches beside her. ‘Emma, we think that’s how the College Killer knows the Huxton murders well enough to replicate the details. That’s how he knows about the dresses, the rings. And it’s maybe one of the reasons why he’s focused on you.’
Emma finds that her voice seems to be coming from a long distance away. ‘Because he saw a videotape of me. Me inside Huxton’s basement.’
Bell nods. The white noise in her head reaches a deafening pitch, and for a moment it crowds out all other sensory input. Her vision becomes opaque. She can’t feel, or see, or hear, or think.
But when the totality of it recedes, the room blinks back. She checks Bell and Carter. She can only go by their expressions. Carter looks solemn, tense. Probably worried how she’s going to take it. When she turns toward Bell, his eyes hold her.
‘I’m not gonna ask you if you’re okay,’ he says softly. ‘Can I help?’
Emma looks away to the tabletop. ‘I need an external phone line, and some privacy in this room.’
Bell stands and shifts, places the phone from the neighboring desk in front of her.
‘I’ll ensure you’re not disturbed for a while,’ Carter says quietly as he moves to the exit.
Bell speaks before closing the door. ‘I’m gonna be right across the hall.’
Emma nods, and he’s gone.
She dials Dr Audrey Klein’s number, which she knows by heart. Usually, the phone is answered within about five rings. This time, the phone keeps ringing. She redials, and the phone rings on and on. Emma’s breathing goes high on her ribs, and her vision goes white once more, and she has to ride through it. Then she dials another number from memory.
‘Yes?’
‘Robbie?’
‘Oh my fucking god –Emma? Is that you?’ The sound of her sister’s voice almost tips her over the edge. ‘Are you okay? Where are you?’
Emma’s shocked to find her own voice shaking. ‘Robbie, I’m in Pittsburgh.’
‘Pittsburgh?Holy Jesus, Emma, I’ve been trying to get in touch with you fordays. Every time I call the number they gave us, I end up talking to some guy called Kirby—’
‘Jack Kirby.’ Emma has to work hard to keep her words level. ‘From Behavioral Science.’
‘He wouldn’t even tell us where you are!’ The rustle of Robbie changing the phone over to her other ear. ‘Listen, I’m glad to hear your voice, and I’m fucking pissed at the FBI, but we’re okay. Dad and Mom are okay. Are you okay?’
‘I’m …’ Emma can’t answer that. ‘Robbie, I need to talk to Audrey. But when I call, nobody answers—’
‘Oh Jesus.’ Robbie expels a harsh sigh. ‘Emma, that’s why I’ve been trying to contact you. Audrey was admitted to hospital on Wednesday. She had a—’
‘What?’ Emma presses her hand against the tabletop, can’t feel it.
‘—some kind of episode while she was out grocery shopping. The doctors found cardiac arrythmia, so they admitted her. Listen, Emma, it’s gonna be okay. Where you are in Pittsburgh, do you have support?’
Support.Emma is confused by the question. This table is supporting her hand, and the phone. The chair is supporting her weight. The rest of her is coming in and out of focus, like an image in a camera lens …
Videotapes. Collectors.
