“So now you’re happy to sacrifice Kristin for the pleasure of my company?”

“I would never do anything to deliberately hurt my sister. She’s the one who inspired me in the first place, you know.”

Emma rolls her eyes. “She’s got nothing to do with it. You just like killing people.”

“Nobody’s perfect.”

“Tell that to Kristin. She’s the one who’s going to be affected. You say she’s important to you, but actions speak louder than words, Simon.” Emma sees his blue eyes flash, and gets the feeling she’s struck a nerve. “Do you ever consider other people before you do a thing?”

His voice is cold. “Do you ever consider not worrying about what other people think?”

Emma’s savoring her drink now. “You know, I’m disappointed. Here I was, thinking you were clever. That you had special insight into the Butcher case, like some kind of homicidal savant—”

He stands. “I believe my credentials as a homicidal savant have already been established.”

“But your insight was all from the letters. You’re not clever at all. You’ve just been… faking it.”

There’s a significant pause, then Simon lifts his chin. “Give me a glass of wine.”

“Ask nicely.”

“Emma, may I have a glass of wine?”

“Let’s consult Pradeep.”

Emma is aware that she needs to tamp down this feeling or risk having control of the conversation wrested away from her. She busies herself helping Pradeep as the man attempts to figure out how to pass Simon a drink.

“He cannot have a glass. But there are paper cups in my desk drawer. One moment.”

He returns with a cup and the pincer tool. Emma pours three fingers of wine into the cup. Simon retreats to his waiting area behind the screen as Pradeep manipulates the pincer to slip the cup through the bars and onto the floor of the cell. As Pradeep returns to his desk, Simon saunters out from behind the screen to collect his wine and settle himself back on the bed.

He sniffs above the cup, rolls a sip in his mouth, and swallows. “This could at best be described as alcohol. I don’t know if I’d stretch so far as to call it wine.”

“You’re changing the subject.”

“Yes.” He takes another slow sip. “You don’t understand about that dormitory business, you know. They were bullying Kristin. Terrorizing her. Which is something I don’t tolerate.”

You only tolerate it if you’re the one doing the terrorizing? Emma doesn’t say that. What she says instead is “You must’ve been really angry about that.”

“I made it stop.” He gazes into his paper cup, at the red liquid swirling there. “You don’t know what it’s like, being two. Before I was jailed, Kristin and I hadn’t been separated ever, not for longer than a week—we were together in the womb.”

“Then show her that you care,” Emma insists. “Stop jeopardizing her well-being now. You can prevent the new FBI litigation attempt—just cooperate with me. Tell me what you know about the Butcher.”