Ross narrows his eyes. “Well, if you won’t stay put… Look, how about this. I can walk you down to Mr. Gutmunsson’s room. I’ll have to lock you in, because of security concerns, but if you wait there for me to get back, then at least you’ll have a few minutes with him, okay?”

“Oh, that would be wonderful,” Kristin says, her eyes brimming.

That will have to be long enough, Emma thinks. She and Bell exchange glances. She’s still shocked that Kristin has been the key to getting them all the way in to see her brother.

“No problem.” Ross steps closer, tucking his medical pouch under one arm. He pulls a lanyard with an attached set of keys over his head. “Uh, come on this way.”

There’s only another twenty feet before the oak door. Emma’s already considering how she’s going to wrangle the information they need out of Simon before they’re escorted out of the building—but at least they’ll be out before the Butcher’s anticipated arrival.

She can hardly believe they got caught and they’re still getting a chance to do this. It puts the idea of dealing with Raymond outside into perspective. She can just ignore Raymond, she decides. She can make herself do that. Getting the Butcher’s name is more important than her pride.

“Again, I’m real sorry about all this.” Ross’s sleeves are rolled to the elbow; he has the tight, hard muscle of a gym junkie. “It’s a bit crazy here tonight. Man, when I saw you, I really jumped. That took years off my life, no kidding. Okay, here we go.”

He stands at the open entry to Simon’s room, ushers them in. They mill near Pradeep’s desk. There are subtle differences in the room. The record player and speaker are both gone. The pincer tool is still suspended on the wall, but the desk, bare of objects, has its chair pushed in tidily. The lights inside have been darkened; before Emma can locate Simon in the dimness of his cage, Ross speaks again.

“Uh, would you mind just…” Ross lifts his chin toward the door.

Bell pushes the heavy oak until Ross can grab the handle.

“Thanks.” Ross fits the key in the outside lock, gives them a sheepish smile. “Thanks again for being so cooperative. I’m gonna lock this door now, but I’ll be back with the police in a few minutes. Remember to follow the rules in here—don’t go past the barrier. Okay. One sec.”

The door fits into its jamb and they lose Ross’s face. Emma hears him turn the key, tumblers clanking into place. As soon as they’re locked in, a noise starts up—a series of slow, mocking claps.

Emma turns around.

“Oh, well done. Nicely played.” Simon is reclining on his bed, barefoot in his usual way. A single dull spotlight on the far side of the cell casts shadows into the loose folds of his white T-shirt and white asylum pants. He looks as if he’s applauding a particularly terrible fault stroke in a game of croquet. “Emma, you never cease to amuse.”