“I’m… working on it.” Emma doesn’t know why the knowledge won’t come. Maybe she needs to sleep for a thousand years, too.

“Okay, then the next step for you two is digging into victim backgrounds, especially the three new ones, to see if there’s any points of commonality. We got the identification on Donna Williams, the third victim from Berryville, so we can add those details now. I’ve got other agents looking at this information, but it can never hurt to have a few extra pairs of eyes. Look at their medical histories, see if they gave blood, or got shots, or had a recent checkup. See if they share a doctor’s clinic. I don’t imagine it’ll be that simple, but we should look at everything.”

“You want us to visit the victims’ residences?” Bell asks, making a note.

“Not yet. I’ve got other people working that, let’s see what they pull up.” Cooper tears off a sheet from the notepad and scribbles. “I’m going back to Berryville tomorrow to do a press conference and see if we can drum up any witnesses. Here’s a list of some of the other team members—my second, Howard Carter, plus Pete Anderson, Jack Kirby, Mike Martino. Don’t contact them directly, but if their names come up, you know you’re dealing with my people. If you get really stuck, ask Betty to put you in touch with Carter, he’ll steer you straight.”

Bell nods. “So the victims are our focus now?”

“Yes. And you need to look like you’re still doing interviews. Raymond will be watching to see what you’re up to, and I want you looking busy.” Cooper drops his pen and leans back. “Work up an interview strategy for Campinelli—you can visit him at Butner sometime in the next few days.”

Emma knows that progress is being made on the case, although the pace of it is slow—walking pace. She wants to be sprinting.

It doesn’t help that they’re still supposed to be going to classes. Bell bullies her into attending a 3:00 PM lecture on Search and Seizure, where she shifts in her chair and the faces of the Berryville victims float behind her eyeballs. She tries switching the images out, tries conjuring the face of the Butcher himself, but that only produces a choking feeling. Once the class is over, she goes to the training lockers and pulls on her track gear, hits the Yellow Brick Road while everyone else is eating dinner.

She runs for longer than she intends, the trees around her gathering shadows. It’s cool beneath their branches, the pine needles slippery underfoot. There is no complexity here, no politics, just the burn in her legs and the sharp saw of her breath. Emma thinks of nothing at first, then she thinks of baking cookies with her sister at home, Robbie grinning as she nibbled the raw cookie dough when their mother wasn’t looking. Sweat soaks into the waistband at the small of Emma’s back, the fabric of her collar.