When she notices them, she smiles and approaches. ‘Oh hello! I hope you don’t mind that I didn’t attend the transfer, Mr Carter. I simply can’t stand to see Simon in restraints.’ She shudders. ‘It bothers me so much.’
‘We didn’t need you there,’ Carter reassures. ‘It all went fine.’
‘I’m so glad,’ Kristin says, then looks at Emma. ‘Did Simon seem all right?’
‘He seemed … just the same.’ Emma’s words stay level.
‘But where is Mr Bell?’ Kristin asks, casting around as if Travis might magically jump out from behind Emma’s back. ‘He didn’t come with you?’
Emma blinks at her for a moment.Did you really think Travis would come to see his father’s murderer?But she can’t say that. In her personal joy, Kristin appears insensible to the sensitivities at play.
‘Travis is still at headquarters,’ Emma says finally.
Carter draws Kristin’s attention back. ‘Now, Miss Gutmunsson, I’ve kept my part of the deal, so I believe you have something for me.’
‘Goodness, yes, I do!’ Kristin rummages in her purse for a moment and comes out with a somewhat crumpled letter. ‘Here you are – all the names.’
‘What names?’ Emma asks.
Carter ignores her question, takes the letter. ‘This is extremely helpful.’ He opens it and peruses the contents. ‘Yes. Good. All right, Miss Gutmunsson, much appreciated.’
Kristin is beaming. ‘You’re very welcome. I don’t know what the names mean, but Simon said that you would.’ She turns her smile on Emma. ‘This is such a wonderful day! I can’t believe Simon is so close – oh, Emma, it’s so exciting!’
Kristin steps in for a hug, and Emma awkwardly obliges her. In the chill breeze of the concreted courtyard, surrounded by the dense stone walls of the jail, Emma realizes that she can’t be angry at Kristin. Simon is her brother, her twin. More crucially, in two months’ time, Simon will be dead. Kristin deserves to spend as many final moments with him as she can.
Kristin steps back, her face radiant. ‘I’m going to visit Simon now. They should have settled him in. Mr Carter, thank you again for making this happen. Emma, I’ll see you back at the hotel later on.’ She swirls away, shoes tapping on the ash-colored pavers. Emma watches as Kristin’s slim figure and white hair are swallowed up by the dark interior cloisters of the jail.
‘I know you consider this transfer unwise.’ Carter’s deep voice resonates behind her. ‘But so far as I can see, this is a net good. Miss Gutmunsson acts as an intermediary and gets to see her brother. We get the benefit of his insight in the case. The College Killer is brought to justice and Miss Kittiko gets rescued faster. Everybody wins.’
Everybody wins.Emma feels numb. She turns and looks back at him blankly. ‘Right.’
Carter holds up the crumpled letter. ‘I’ll have this information analyzed and contact you later about results.’ He nods toward the courtyard gate. ‘Mr Francks is waiting just outside. I’ll be in touch again soon, Miss Lewis.’
He follows the route Kristin took, back into the jail. Emma stands in place, surrounded by autumn elms and a glowering sky. Far off, the rumble of thunder. Her senses feel heightened by yesterday’s panic attack – her exterior shield walls abraded, all her skin raw and rippling with unease.
Carter’s nonchalance and Kristin’s smiles don’t provide reassurance. It’s like Grenier said: this is dumb. This is not a net good. This is a horrific mistake.
Simon Gutmunsson is in Pittsburgh, and anything could happen.
She goes back to the hotel and takes a Valium and tries to nap, surprising herself by falling into a dead man’s slumber until Kristin’s return at six.
They start a takeout dinner at the glass-topped table outside the room, retreat inside when the storm breaks. The background drumming of the rain provides a counterpoint to Kristin’s excited chatter about her visit with her twin. Emma finds it hard to sustain a pose of neutral interest, wants to press Kristin about the names in the letter, knows nothing will come of it. Finally, she excuses herself to call headquarters. No one is available to talk, so she yanks on a rain jacket to go for a walk.
Accompanied by Francks and the smell of wet asphalt, Emmasees the way Pittsburgh lights up in the evening rain like a box of costume jewelry. The city looks good if you ignore the heavy industry areas. She skirts flooded drains as workers in white hard hats find their way home on streetcars and buses.
The walk is not as good as a run, and only proves useful as a way to get very damp. On her way back, she detours past Bell’s room, but he isn’t there. She gives up at last, returns to her shared room with the faux wood-grain dado and brown blankets and apricot-colored comforter she’s come to loathe. She tidies a little, watches an episode ofThe Greatest American Herowith Kristin – who stares at the television, mouth agape – then turns off her lamp and goes to sleep.
At midnight, the phone rings.
Kristin is snoring. Emma fumbles for the noise in the dark, feeling like she’s in a coma.
‘Lewis, you ready for some news?’ Bell only calls her Lewis now when there’s police business. ‘We found the videotapes. Gutmunsson’s names hit pay dirt, and we confirmed via tax records of the delivery services Huxton used to distribute the tapes – he claimed the videotape deliveries as a fucking tax deduction.’
‘Where are you?’ Emma wipes the corners of her eyes, still groggy. ‘What does this mean?’
‘It means we’re conducting raids – tonight, right now. We’ve got three targets.’ Bell’s voice is charged, despite the line’s faraway crackle. ‘Emma, I’m in Columbus.’
‘You’re in Ohio?’
