Hope nods. ‘I was, um, wondering if I could talk to Mr Blake.’

•

Thistle offers to take us to a conference room. But I convince Hope that she’d be more comfortable in the staff cafeteria. I can’t focus when I’m hungry.

The cafeteria is a large, bright room with long tables under a low ceiling. A TV babbles quietly in one corner, the screen reflecting the glare from the windows opposite. I grab my lunch from the fridge, even though it’s only ten am, and steal a Nespresso pod from someone else’s stash to make Hope a coffee with a rattling machine that has probably never been descaled.

Thistle has gone to interview the cops who originally investigated the other disappearances. She looked grateful to be leaving. Thistle is naturally honest—I guess it’s easier to withhold the information about the severed hand if she doesn’t have to talk to the family.

I’d rather not miss the interviews with the other cops, but second-hand observations have limited value. And the other victims were all just like Ruthven. Biggs is the odd one out. Hope’s story could be key to this whole thing.

‘Here you go,’ I say, putting a paper cup of thin brew in front of her. ‘You want cream? Sugar?’

‘No. Thank you.’

‘Okay.’ I sit down and take a bite out of my sandwich. ‘You hungry?’ I ask, my mouth full. ‘I can get you something.’

‘I’m fine.’ She looks at my lunch. ‘What is that?’

I realise it’s actually her father. ‘Chicken,’ I say.

She takes a deep breath. ‘I wanted to thank you,’ she says. ‘My mom, she doesn’t like talking about what happened last year. Going over it again, without Dad there, it might have been too much.’

I assume what happened last year is her suicide attempt. ‘Why’d you do it?’

She looks taken aback for a second. Most people probably ask more carefully than that, or not at all.

‘There’s this study,’ she says. ‘Scientists—I assume they were scientists—snipped the connection between left brain and right brain in a few people. Then they showed instructions to the left eye only, like stand up or walk. The subjects didn’t realise they’d seen the instructions, but they obeyed anyway. When the scientists asked why they were standing up or walking, the subjects made up a reason. Like, I was bored.’

I take another bite of Biggs.

‘So I can tell you why I think I did it,’ Hope says. ‘But I wouldn’t necessarily be right. Dr Rosen said I was just ill. He talked a lot about “risk factors” for suicide, like it’s something that happens to you.’

‘It doesn’t have to be one or the other,’ I say. ‘It can be something you did and something that happened to you.’