‘Somehow I kinda doubt that.’ Travis lets his shoulders settle in the chair, rests his mug on his knee. ‘And I don’t know how we combat it. We can find and catch them, but …’
‘There’s always more,’ Emma agrees. Her expression turns cold. ‘In a civilized society, we’d just put them to death and be done with it.’
He wonders if she’s joking. Her expression says she’s not. ‘What, and hang their heads on the wall as a deterrent?’
‘I could live with that.’ She sips her coffee.
‘Jesus, Emma.’ Travis hadn’t realized she was so bloodthirsty. Then he thinks of Simon Gutmunsson, and wonders if his own position on the matter is really any different. But working with law enforcement, doesn’t he need to have more balance? It’s hard to disagree with her, though. ‘Is this spillover from seeing Gutmunsson at the jail?’
Emma puts her mug aside, returns to the knobs on the scanner. ‘I don’t think I’ve been so angry in the past three years as I was with Simon this morning. He got in my head.’
‘You knew when this started that would happen,’ Travis points out gently.
‘I know – you warned me.’ Emma glances at him, rueful. ‘But it all got a little too close.’
‘You wanna talk about it?’
She presses her lips together, looks down, her cheeks a muted pink.
‘Hey, if you don’t want to talk to me, there’s someone else you can call.’
‘No, there isn’t.’ Emma examines her hands. ‘I talked to Robbie on the phone, and—’
‘I know. Me too.’ In the flurry of everything, he forgot. Now Travis sits forward and sets his mug on the table, digs for his wallet.
‘You spoke to my sister?’ Emma’s eyes are bright and wary.
‘Just before the briefing. She’s okay. And she said to give you this.’ He finally finds what he’s searching for, flips open his billfold to fish out a scrap of paper, which he pushes across the desk. ‘Dr Klein is out of the hospital, she’s in a recovery unit at OSU Medical. She contacted your family to say you can call her anytime.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Kristin thinks it’s very convenient that the jail is situated so close to police headquarters. It makes sense, of course. But it’s wonderful to be five minutes away from Simon, and her permission letter allows her to breeze in despite the hour. It’s nearly 6:00PM, and the shadows of Allegheny County Jail are cool and dark.
Once inside the jail, she is asked to explain the purpose of her visit and show her letter and her ID – she has her FBI identification on its lanyard. The officer at the desk scans her and the ID photo carefully, while Kristin peruses the giant mural that saysREMEMBER YOU WILL BE SEARCHED! Then there is another door, where she duly surrenders her jacket and handbag. She is given a tag for her belongings and a prominentVISITORbadge.
She waits in the lobby with the unpleasant yellow paint, until a correctional officer enters through a steel-barred door and examines a clipboard.
‘Kristin Gutmunsson?’
She raises her hand like she’s still in school. ‘Yes! Yes, that’s me.’
‘Follow behind, please.’
She follows behind as he goes back through the barred door,then down the corridors. Finally, they arrive at the metal door that saysKNOCK ONCE ONLY.
By the time the metal door has rolled aside, and the officer in the odd little barometric chamber has given her his talk again, and she has walked down to her brother’s cell, Kristin feels ready. Her shoulders push back, and there is not a breath of nervousness about her anywhere.
She walks past Simon’s cell, collects the hard wooden chair left nearby for her convenience, arranges it as close to the white aisle line as possible. She seats herself, composed and elegant, with her hands clasped in her lap.
The spotlight glares inside the front of the cell, and the rest of the space is dingy. But she can see Simon, fully reclined on the bunk shelf at the right. His long limbs are relaxed, his eyelids violet with shadow and closed as if in sleep. His book lies open facedown on his chest. Kristin watches the book rise and fall with his slow breaths, hears the foxed pages rustle faintly against the blue fabric of Simon’s scrubs.
‘You came.’Simon’s voice is like a sigh in the oppressive quiet of the jail corridor. His eyes are still closed.
‘Of course,’ Kristin replies, equally soft. Her heart fills up with an overwhelming tenderness.
She has done everything right. She has visited on four occasions since her brother arrived. Whenever she has attended, she has been a model of decorum. She speaks politely. Submits willingly to each demeaning search and process step. Allows her belongings to be confiscated. Smiles at all the correctional officers.
She has prepared well for this moment.
