The question was—escape from what? From the guilt of stalking Mary Biggs to her death? Or from the guilt of beating Laura to death?

Or both?

If Finn had succeeded, he would have taken the answers with him. Finn dying would have been exactly like Dada jumping on that train. The investigation would have shut down again, and suspicion would have landed like a bird of prey on Finn’s dead body. Rightly or wrongly.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Stride turned and found Rikke Mathisen behind him. She clutched a cup of hospital coffee in her hand, and steam curled out of the brown liquid. She was tall; they were almost eye to eye. Her face was hard with rage. She pushed past Stride into the hospital room and tugged the flimsy curtain, blocking Finn from Stride’s sight.

“I said, what are you doing here?” she hissed again.

“I wanted to check on Finn.”

Rikke pointed her finger like an arrow out of the room. At the end of the corridor was a small waiting area, with dreadful orange sofas, out-of-date family magazines, and an overhead thirteen-inch television suspended from the ceiling. No one was there. The television was off. Stride went to the tall window and looked out on the main street of Superior below him. Rikke followed. She wore an oversized sweatshirt and jeans.

“You are not to come near him,” she insisted. “You are not to talk to him. Is that clear? I’ve hired a lawyer. We are through with you, starting now.”

“How is Finn?”

“Alive,” she snapped.

“I hear he’s going home tomorrow. I’m glad he’s okay.”

“He’s not okay.”

“I’m sorry about what happened.”

Rikke’s eyes were two blue stones. “Spare me. You knew perfectly well what kind of a man Finn is. He’s an addict, for Christ’s sake. An alcoholic. You deliberately went and pushed him over the edge. I hope you’re proud of yourself.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Stride said.

“You’ve put salve on your conscience by coming here, Lieutenant. Now go home. Get away from me and my brother.”

Rikke sat down, grabbed a dated copy of People, and flipped the pages savagely.

“You knew about Finn peeping teenage girls,” Stride said.

“I have nothing to say.”

“A girl died.”

“That’s not Finn’s fault.”

“I think you know it is. You destroyed evidence, didn’t you? Our search team said someone burned papers in Finn’s room. The hard drive of his computer was missing. If he’s mentally ill, you’re not helping him by covering up what he did.”

Rikke slapped the magazine shut. “Finn does not belong in prison. He belongs with me. I can take care of him.”

“You can’t control him,” Stride said. “Isn’t that obvious? He’ll start all over again when he gets home. We both know it. What if another girl dies? How will you feel then?”

“Finn would never hurt anyone.”

“No? What about Laura?”

“I told you, he wasn’t there that night. He had nothing to do with it. He was with me. At home.”