“Your brief was to steer clear of active investigations.” Raymond toys with his pen. “In fact, I had words with Special Agent Cooper about this, and we were both in agreement that active cases are not your area. Does my memory serve me correctly on this, Agent Cooper?”

When Raymond looks his way, Cooper is ready to play his part. “Yes, it does, sir.”

“Yes, it does.” Raymond waits a full four seconds of pause. “So can you please explain to me, in language I can understand, how I happened to turn on the television at oh six hundred hours this morning to see you, Mr. Bell, and you, Miss Lewis, in the background of television footage of officers attending a crime scene in Berryville, which I’m sure you’re aware is the latest development in a very active homicide investigation.”

“Yes, sir,” Bell says. “We heard about that, sir—”

“Heard about it? You were goddamn there.” Raymond puts one fist on the desk. “Do you know what I like to see in officers of this organization, son? Fidelity, bravery, integrity. Those things I like to see. The ability to accept and follow instructions—that I like to see. You know what it pains me to see? It pains me to see officers of the FBI, and support staff associated with those officers, on national television without my express permission.”

“Yes, sir.” Bell’s neck gets hot.

Cooper quietly clears his throat. At Bell’s side, Emma is silent, but he can feel her vibrating.

Raymond’s voice becomes terse. “Your role has been made very clear to you, Mr. Bell. You are to adhere to your instructions. You are to assist with inquiries as they have been set out to you. And you are to maintain a low profile. Miss Lewis, I’m including you in all these comments. It is not your job to—”

“Do you know the young man you’re hunting, Mr. Raymond?” Emma says suddenly.

“Lewis.” The way Cooper says her name makes it sound like a swear word.

Raymond swivels to look at her. “Miss Lewis, I am explaining—”

“Do you know what kind of man he is? Because we do.”

Raymond’s face goes dark at Emma’s tone. “Miss Lewis—”

She steps forward. Her eyes are vivid, but Bell sees not the faintest hint of fear in her anywhere.

“He’s young,” she says. “He’s physically strong and fit. He’s five and a half to six feet tall, and his blood type is AB-positive. He’s probably white—he hunts across race lines, but we see a preponderance of white males in this category. He has medical training, and he holds down a job. He has a psychological disorder that means he finds his enjoyment in standing underneath his victims and bathing in their blood as he cuts their throats. And his prey is getting younger, because the last girl he took and used this way was fourteen years old.”

Cooper tries to rein her in. “Miss Lewis—”

“Do you understand this man, Mr. Raymond? Because this is who you’re trying to catch. He only hunts teenagers. He’s likely a teenager himself. And you’re telling us to stay out of it? How can we do that, in good conscience, when we’ve turned up more leads in a week than the police have in three months, and we’re the only people in this whole damn building who fall within both the offender and the victim demographic profile? Are you fucking kidding?”