The answer comes quickly.

Think about it like a chain of evidence—the FBI would want the paperwork. And you don’t know if it’s important; you’re not an agent. Better to give it to a superior.

Bell sighs and turns around.

Jefferson has a hollow, echoing quiet at night. Only instinct guides his way from the elevator through the gerbil-run basement corridors to the Behavioral Science offices, where he finds the reception desk unattended. This is another problem. He needs to hand over the questionnaire, but he’s not allowed in the offices. Cooper was very specific about it.

Bell chews his lip and looks around, hoping for a solution to arrive from the air. His fatigue is deep in the bone now. Leave the papers on the reception desk? No, bad idea. Fuck.

He spends a minute thinking. Half that minute is taken up with thoughts of Emma Lewis. He’s never met anyone so guarded. He’s not stupid—he knows where her reserve is coming from—but he has to watch her cues all the time: the flare of her nostrils, the changes in her posture. He thinks of the dreamy expression she gets when she’s considering something. Then the expression she gets when she’s steeling herself, like when they talked to McMurtry.

Bell yanks the questionnaire folder out of his satchel and pushes forward. If Emma Lewis can talk to McMurtry, he can walk through an office door.

The inside of Behavioral Science is all low ceilings, crummy carpet, and cubicle hallways. Not as impressive as he imagined. Bell hears the sound of someone hanging up a phone farther ahead, then a muffled question, answered by an unfamiliar voice.

“We dusted the letter, and the envelope, then we fumed it. The envelope had multiple prints, but if anyone other than the subject touched the letter, they’re not showing up. Should we run the other prints?”

“You’d only turn up the staff at the hospital, maybe the external mailman.” Cooper’s voice, clearer now. Bingo. “Plus the mailman here in Jefferson.”

“We got one piece of trace in the envelope—a single hair, plucked not cut. The bulb was still attached. Same kind as the ones we have on file.”

“He would’ve put that in there. He knows we look. It’s like when a cat leaves you a present of a half-chewed mouse on the doorstep, just reminding you they’re still around.”

“Linda analyzed the handwriting. Same deal.”

“Thanks for coming down to tell me in person, Gerry.”

Bell isn’t sure why his feet slow as he comes closer. He sees a white man in a plaid shirt and brown trousers standing at the door to what must be Cooper’s office. The man—Gerry—is overweight, about midsixties, drooping in the face like a hound.

Cooper asks another question, but it’s muffled.

“Eh.” Gerry pushes up gold-rimmed glasses with the same hand holding a burning cigarette. The cigarette smoke eddies up in a bobbing ribbon. “Glenn’s still going through the trace from the underwear. It’s your basic mess. I’m glad the bodies weren’t found in a river, but I wish they hadn’t been found in a Pennsylvania garbage dump. I’ll have a full report by tomorrow afternoon.”