Emma finds her voice, dust-dry. “We people of the Podunk rural classes have our moments, from time to time.”

Gutmunsson bursts into a laugh. The sound is quite musical. His face, so distorted only moments ago, becomes radiant. “Oh, Emma, you’re delightful! I could chat with you all day.”

“Unfortunately I don’t have all day. Will you do this questionnaire for me? Or should I leave it and come back?”

“No, no—don’t go.” Gutmunsson makes his look an appeal. It’s hard to credit, that a boy with a mien like this should have the soul of a hyena. “Ah, you remind me so much of Kristin.…” He shoves a hand through his fall of white hair. “But where do I know you from? It’s positively tearing at me.”

“Maybe I have a common-looking face,” Emma suggests. She keeps her expression perfectly blank.

“Goodness, no. All right, I’ll put it away, I’m sure it’ll come to me. Give me your questionnaire now.”

She finds her anchor. “I’d like to, but I can’t hand it to you.”

“Then we’ll call for Pradeep, shall we?”

The orderly arrives holding a long-handled instrument with a pincer grip. “Mr. Gutmunsson, we do this in the usual way. Please go behind the privacy screen. If you do not obey the rules, the usual prohibitions on your news dailies will apply.”

“Pradeep, may I have a cigarette while I complete the questionnaire?”

Pradeep considers. “You may have a cigarette now, but not after dinner this evening. Is that acceptable?”

“That’s perfectly agreeable, thank you.”

Gutmunsson retreats, peers over the screen as Pradeep expertly lifts the folder in the pincer and slides it through the bars of the cell. The cigarette is done in the same way, but with one entertaining variation: Pradeep takes a single cigarette from a pack in the pocket of his uniform, lights it and puffs on it once, then swiftly transfers it into the cage.

As soon as Pradeep calls out, Gutmunsson swoops from his naughty corner and falls on the cigarette, puffing furiously to keep the ember alight. Then he selects a felt-tipped pen from his desk and perches on the end of his bed, blue pages in his lap.

“Let me see what we have here,” he says, uncapping the pen. With his long limbs, he looks rather like a large white spider hunched over the pages. “Hmm—boring, boring, boring, the usual dull stuff. I can complete this while we talk.”

“Thank you for completing it.” She can hardly refute his assessment of the questionnaire. A standardized instrument designed for the McMurtrys of the world is unlikely to be incisive enough for an offender like Simon.

“Not at all. Are you comfortable? Would you like to sit? I’d offer you a chair, but Pradeep is sitting on the only one.”

Emma decides that this situation could not really get any more bizarre, so after checking the level of dust on the floor, she sits down on it cross-legged.

Gutmunsson is already intent on scribbling on the questionnaire pages. “You said you don’t read the papers, but you’re connected through Cooper. So how is he getting on with Pennsylvania?”