“Come on,” she calls softly. “Door’s open.”

The house is dim inside. A standing lamp illuminates the downstairs living room, and the curtains are closed. They move through to the kitchen and the back door. The outside air in the rear yard is cooler, and the back garden is overgrown. A path through tall bushes; Bell winces at the sound of three pairs of shoes on gravel. Then a large wrought-iron gate with a modern lock, set into high redbrick walls. Emma works the gate open and they file through to a lawn area.

There’s a short disagreement over which way to go.

“SWAT could be patrolling nearby,” Bell says quietly. “Keep the volume down.”

Being on the lawn of the asylum from a different side is disorienting, and the buildings loom larger than he remembers. Bell struggles to get a concrete sense of where they are. He’s not as familiar with the asylum as Emma, and he hopes this won’t disadvantage them further.

Emma jogs forward to scout, then back to lead the way. The long, flat expanse of the west-wing wall stretches out to the right, dotted by barred windows. They’re looking for a brown door and they find it at the top of a set of wooden service stairs, deep in shadow.

“Do we just knock?” Kristin whispers.

Emma taps gently and in under a minute, the door opens. It’s the Sikh man who stood at attention in Gutmunsson’s room. Pradeep. Bell’s glad he remembers the name.

“There are only supposed to be two,” Pradeep says, scanning them.

“I know.” Kristin, sotto voce. “It’s my fault, I made them bring me along.”

“She was going to follow us. We had no choice.” Bell hears how his voice sounds heavy. He wishes more than anything that Kristin had stayed in Emma’s Rabbit.

Pradeep ushers them inside an antebellum-style hallway. High ceilings and a gloomy interior that looks like every horror-movie-asylum nightmare Bell has ever had.

“You must be very quiet.” Pradeep’s voice is low, rumbling. “Residents are sleeping. Come this way, please.”

They walk down the dark hallway in the asylum, closed doors on each side. Somebody behind one of the doors is moaning in their sleep. Bell feels goose bumps pop on his skin, lengthens his stride.

Pradeep escorts them to a small wooden door. “This leads to a room off the great hall. Once I lock this door behind you, I must return to my duties here in this wing. I cannot give you the key to open the door—it does not open from the other side.”

“That’s fine,” Emma says. Bell’s not convinced it’s fine. “Thank you, Pradeep.”

“You have always been considerate of Mr. Gutmunsson. I wish you well.” The man’s bearing is upright, stately. He unlocks the door, then notices Bell’s gun belt. “Ah. That may not go through.”

“Excuse me?”

“The weapon. It is expressly forbidden in the facility.”

“SWAT has guns,” Bell points out.

“You are not SWAT personnel. I am sorry, but I cannot allow it.”