“But?”

She picks at the knee of her jeans. “It would be better if there was a specific goal. Beyond just… making a bigger graph.”

He eyes her. “You wanna be putting this information into service? That’s active cases. You must want to sign on with the bureau, because that’s the only way you’re getting on active cases.”

“No, Jesus. I just…” She keeps returning to the questions, and the questions are Why this? Why us? Why now? She doesn’t know the answers.

And this focus on the perpetrators sticks in her throat. It’s like the victims get forgotten. Why is it always about the killers?

Emma stares out the window. McMurtry’s offender behaviors and thought patterns—what is there to take away from that? Is it just anticipating the behaviors and thought patterns of more men coming after him? Is that all they’re doing now, shoring up the ramparts?

The atmosphere in the cab of the truck is subdued. But the rumble of the engine is soothing, and after a while Emma finds herself allowing her head to lean back, closing her eyes.

She wakes from her doze with a mild startle—she’s slumped across the bench seat, almost drooling on Bell’s shoulder.

“Lewis.” He nudges her.

She wakes up fully. “How… how long have we been going?”

“About two hours.”

It’s black outside. She pushes herself more upright, rubs her face. When was the last time she felt easy enough in a new acquaintance’s presence that she could fall asleep beside them? She can’t remember.

“I was going to give you a break from driving.”

“I’m good.” Bell’s intently focused on the white lines flashing on the road. “You knew, didn’t you? When McMurtry came into the interview room, you felt it in him. I saw you, when he came in, and something changed in your face.”

Emma frowns. “What are you talking about?”

“It was like… something twigged in you. You knew he was a killer.”

“I’d already read McMurtry’s file.”

He gives her a sidelong glance. “I don’t think you believe it was just that.”

She rubs her head. “I don’t know, what do you want me to say? It’s a learned behavior. I recognize stuff now.”

“Can we teach that somehow? That recognition?”

Emma looks at him, her face drawn. “You don’t want to teach people the kinds of things that are in my head.”

“I get that,” Bell says quickly. “I understand. But I think maybe that’s the bigger goal. That’s the purpose of these interviews.”

“What’s that?”

“How to pick these guys out fast.” Bell stares off down the road. “McMurtry was caught because one guy from the Ripley sheriff’s department followed up on him. That cop—he must’ve noticed something. And that’s what the FBI wants. They want people out in the field who can follow their instincts on this.”

“Well, they’re using the information collected in interviews to teach agents and cops about new profiling techniques. Maybe some of it is rubbing off.” Emma watches the oncoming headlights, considering. “Maybe it even feeds into something they need to know about Pennsylvania.”