Emma gives him a bland look. “That’ll be fun. University English departments aren’t generally very welcoming toward the FBI.”

Cooper straightens. “I’m not wearing a sign that says ‘FBI Agent.’”

Emma does a visual tour of his brown suit. “Uh… actually, yeah, you are.” She lifts her chin at Bell. “Why don’t you take Travis and send a real live college-aged person in to see them?”

Bell’s head turns. “Maybe you haven’t noticed, Lewis, but I don’t look like I’m going to college.”

“Sure you do.” She steps in and ruffles his hair. Snags a tweed jacket with leather elbow patches hanging off the back of a nearby chair, pushes it into his hands. “Put that on. Then find yourself a pair of sunglasses and you’re all set. You’re much more likely to get something out of the university staff than a government agent would.”

Cooper pinches his bottom lip between his finger and thumb. “She’s got a point. Okay, Mr. Bell, you can come along. And bring the jacket.”

Emma steps forward as they both start to turn. “Wait. Are you going to the School of Medicine as well?”

Cooper nods. “We’ll get a list of current students and recent graduates. And ask the staff to check their stocks of ether.”

“You don’t know if the Butcher’s still on campus. Be careful.”

“We will,” Bell says gravely. “Be careful with Gutmunsson.”

“You know it,” Emma says, but she smiles with a closed mouth.

Emma asks the bureau agent to make one pit stop before they reach St. Elizabeths. On the last leg of the drive, her attention shifts long enough to notice that the view outside the cab window is bright with sun. It’s a lovely day, the long cirrus clouds like pulled taffy, high and white. And here she is, beneath those clouds, being driven to a mental asylum by an FBI agent, with a xeroxed copy of a murderer’s letter in her pocket.

The agent doesn’t even make it to the foyer—he waits in the car. Dr. Scott meets her personally at the door to the asylum.

“Thank you for meeting me,” Emma says as they begin the sign-in procedure. “I know it’s been a hectic morning.”

“It’s fine, Miss Lewis. It’s very nice to see you—Simon’s behaviors have shown a marked improvement since you started visiting. Until this morning’s unpleasantness.” Scott looks well, color in her face, her lipstick glossy and perfect. She’s clearly perturbed, though. “Can I ask what your intention is with this interview? Are you hoping to get more information from Simon about the letter?”

Emma signs the visitor ledger, avoiding Scott’s eyes. “There’s been more than one letter.”

“It bothers me a great deal, this correspondence. That I wasn’t alert to it, that Simon participated in it… You must be angry, that he’s been lying to you.”

“He never lied,” Emma corrects as they walk on. “He simply omitted information that would have given the authorities a better understanding of what was going on.”