Emma grimaces. ‘I’ve got no idea how to get reception on this thing.’
‘One second – let me look. There should be headphones.’ He squints around at the items on the desk near the scanner.
‘There’s no headphones.’ Emma throws up her hands, stands to search behind the unit.
There’s a clatter and an almighty crash near the hallway entrance, and they both jump.
‘Oh my goodness – I’m sorry!’ Kristin has reemerged with her small, odd handbag and her long jacket: it’s the jacket that obscured her vision so she knocked over the metal trash can near the fax desk. Now she falls to her knees to fix the mess. ‘That was my fault, I’m so sorry.’
‘Forget about it.’ Emma makes a face as Kristin attempts to gather screwed-up paper and cigarette butts. ‘Kristin, leave it. I’ll find the broom.’
Kristin clambers to her feet. ‘Oh, Emma, I’m sorry—’
‘Stop apologizing. You want to get to your brother.’
‘I do.’ Kristin bites her lip, wipes her palms on her pants. ‘I’m going now. Will you be all right?’
‘We’ll be fine,’ Emma says gently. ‘How long will you stay?’
‘As long as they’ll let me. I have a special permission letter from Mr Carter, giving me admission to the jail at any time.’ She dithers a little, before getting herself aimed for the exit.
‘Kristin?’ Emma waits until the girl makes eye contact. ‘I’ll see you back at the hotel when this is all over.’
Kristin nods, conjures up a weak smile, then hurries off. Travis watches her pass through the exit. The sway of Kristin’s white hair gives him all kinds of conflicting feelings.
‘Those two are like …’ He can feel his lip twisting. ‘It’s like they never cut the umbilical cord.’
Emma finds her seat again, looks at him with what seems like recognition as she reaches for her mug. ‘I know. I need to talk with her about it.’ She glances down at the scanner again, her expression thinning out. ‘But I guess they don’t have much time left.’
‘Guess not.’
And it’s only then that Travis realizes: Simon and Kristin Gutmunsson aren’t the only ones running out of time. This investigation is about to reach a conclusion. Travis knows how invested he is in catching Peter Kirke, in saving Linda Kittiko from torture and death. He’s also suddenly, achingly aware that once everything is resolved, he’ll return to Wisconsin and Emma will go back to Ohio.
‘You must be exhausted.’
‘What?’ Travis turns blindly to look at her.
Emma’s head tilts as she examines him. ‘Well, you were up all night in Columbus. Got back just in time to race over to the jail and pull me out. Now you’re here.’
Travis makes a production out of sipping his coffee. ‘Yeah, but this is the good part – when we get to catch the bad guy.’
‘What was it like? Columbus?’ Tension in her muscles, as if she’s braced to hear.
Travis blows out air again. ‘It was … weird. Being on the strike team was, like, a massive adrenaline rush. But I couldn’t …’ He takes another sip. ‘I wasn’t prepared for dealing with the guy. Benneau.’
‘He resisted?’
‘No, it wasn’t …’ Travis doesn’t know how to phrase this. ‘It wasn’t like that.’
‘What was it?’ Emma’s expression changes, and he realizes she already knows. ‘He was normal.’
‘We arrested him at home. His wife and kids were there …’ Travis stares at a place across the room. ‘I just can’t reconcile it. How a guy with those kinds of …predilections…’ He rolls the term in his mouth; such a courteous-sounding word for the urge to enjoy the rape and torture of women. ‘I didn’t know a guy like that could have such a smooth facade.’
‘I’ve been used to that idea a long time.’ Emma cups her mug on the desk, as if she needs the warmth. ‘Monsters don’t always look like something from a horror movie. Mostly, they just look like … normal guys.’
Travis can only lean back in his chair and nod. The last time he and Emma worked together, he had to come to terms with the idea that the monsters were real. This is just a variation on the theme: monsters are people, and they’re living among us.
‘Not all of them can fake it,’ she continues. ‘A lot of them aren’t smart enough. But the smart ones … Huxton managed to do it, for alimited time. Simon Gutmunsson probably seemed completely normal to his friends and acquaintances.’
