“There are a lot of damaged people within these walls, Miss Lewis, and it’s my job to look after every one of them—even the complicated ones.” Scott gives her a nod. “Good luck.”

Scott walks off, and the SWAT team waves Emma forward, toward sundown.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Mike Martino finds Donald Raymond unpleasant to be around. He thinks the man looks like a bulldog walking on its hind legs, and Raymond’s manner does nothing but exacerbate that impression. Martino doesn’t mind taking orders—he’s used to taking orders—but the way Raymond has steamrolled through this operation, his treatment of Scott and of Cooper’s students, doesn’t fill Martino with confidence.

Raymond is currently strong-arming Scott over personnel access. “Dr. Scott, forget the keys business—you’ve got no reason to worry about your patients. This center building is like a goddamn fortress. We have SWAT—all trained in emergency first aid—stationed inside, in the old kitchen, and more outside the building. Our agent in the front foyer is protected with Kevlar. Your man in the control booth is locked down in his room. Gutmunsson is locked in his cage. The way I see it, the Butcher comes in, SWAT takes him down, problem solved.”

“I may not be considered essential supervisory staff, but I’m legally required to have medical and control systems staff on-site in order to operate—and they need keys.” Scott appeals to Martino. “Even if they have no cause to use them, there are some things my remaining staff needs just to be able to function, and that’s one of them.”

Martino hesitates. The fact that he doesn’t actually like Raymond makes his decision easier. “Sir, I think we should just give the paramedic a set of keys. He’s gonna be stuck in the control booth with the technician most of the night anyway. And if there’s an issue and he needs to attend to someone, it might come in useful if he doesn’t need to be escorted—”

“Oh goddammit. Fine, then.” Raymond expands like an air bladder. “But this is my last concession, Dr. Scott.”

“It’s the last concession I’ll ask for,” she replies coolly. She unhooks a large keychain from the lanyard around her neck, detaches a set of keys on a ring, and hands them to Martino. “Contact me if there are any problems—you have my phone number. I’ll be monitoring the situation from the east wing. I sincerely hope you know what you’re doing.”

She walks off. Raymond grinds his teeth as he turns Martino’s way. “Where’s the paramedic? I want him locked into the control booth.”

“I’ll find him, sir.”

“And are those damn kids off the site?”

“Yes, sir.” Martino consults his clipboard. “They should be taking Kristin Gutmunsson back to her facility right now.”

“Thank fuck. That’s three less inconveniences I have to deal with.”

“Yes, sir. Ah, the paramedic is right over there, sir. I’ll go speak to him.”

Martino pats the lapel of his jacket as he walks toward the building entrance. The list of MTs that Travis Bell faxed over is sitting in his inside pocket. He gave a copy to Jack Kirby in Behavioral Science, for follow-up, and he’s been waiting for a spare moment to examine it himself, but no spare moments have come: He’s been bustling after Raymond for nearly thirty straight hours. It might prove unnecessary anyway, if everything goes well tonight.