“I overslept,” Emma says. “Bad night.”

“Are you okay to do this?”

“I’m okay.” Emma hopes that’s not a lie.

The elevator spills them out onto the atrium floor; they move at a fast clip. Her stomach rumbles as they pass the cafeteria, and she remembers she missed dinner last night. A sniff of brewing coffee is all she has time for as Bell herds her toward the basement.

The Cool Room is disconcertingly crowded. Cooper is plugging in a phone provided by Betty. Bell tucks the ID photos back into the Butcher file on the desk as another agent—tall, stocky, mustached—moves closer. He’s wearing a tan suit and his dark hair is slightly longer than regulation. Emma thinks she recognizes his cologne: Savage, the same one her uncle uses. It may as well be called Macho.

“Mike Martino, hi.” He shakes their hands. “We’re sorting out a phone line here, because you’re—”

“—not allowed in the offices of Behavioral Science,” Bell finishes. “Yessir, we know. Good to meet you. Has Dr. Scott called back?”

The phone rings as he says it. Betty excuses herself as Cooper picks up and hits Conference.

“… there, Agent Cooper?”

“Yes, Dr. Scott, thanks for waiting. I’ve got you on speaker, everyone’s here.” Cooper looks better: Still in shirtsleeves, but it’s a new shirt and he seems more rested. “Can you describe the letter for us?”

Scott’s voice has a canned echo. “It’s typewritten, on some kind of thin paper. Onionskin, maybe. There’s a signature at the bottom that looks handwritten. The envelope is official letterhead from Georgetown University.”

Emma thrums a little inside.

Cooper’s posture is attentive. “Can you read the entire letter aloud, please?”

“There’s no date,” Scott says. “Here’s the content—

“Dear Artist,

“It’s been an eventful month. I’ve found a place to settle, away from prying eyes, which will make a big improvement, and the most recent donor treatments have been incredibly effective—”

“That’s him,” Bell says.

“Gutmunsson keeps referring to donors,” Emma confirms.

When she looks over at Cooper, he’s nodding gravely. His gaze holds hers as Scott continues.

“—much better than I’d hoped. Finally, real results after the long process of trial and error! I feel myself getting stronger, faster, with each treatment. My friends comment on the change, and I confess I have trouble keeping in a small secret smile. I’m sure you understand. The minor refinements you suggested were wonderful, thank you—”

“That son of a bitch,” Bell breathes.

“Goddammit.” Emma sits down abruptly. “Simon Gutmunsson hasn’t been sharing ‘insights’ about the case. He’s been corresponding with the Butcher this whole time.”

The shock of understanding is like an evisceration. But in the hollow place left behind, she finds a supple coil of fury. The question isn’t How could Simon do this? This is a boy who disemboweled his friends for entertainment. Why wouldn’t he do this?

Beside her, Bell is swearing fervently under his breath. Cooper’s face is grim, and Emma can tell he’s thinking up new and dreadful punishments for Simon Gutmunsson.