“Miss Lewis, we think the reason these teenage offenders won’t talk to us is because they distrust authority figures, including our interviewers. And this is why I’ve come to speak with you. We need someone to—”

“No.” She shifts, ready to rise.

“Five inmates. Five interviews, total.”

“Ha. Still no.”

“You would have support. A partner. A unit. It would be entirely safe—”

“Is that what you think?” She stands. “Mr. Cooper, you’ve come a long way, but you’re asking the wrong person.”

“I don’t believe I am. And I’d like you to think about what I’m offering.”

Her jaw locks and she breathes out her nose. “Okay. What are you offering?”

He keeps his voice even. “The chance to come in on a kind of scholarship. You’d defer your summer classes and come live on base with us over the break. You’d be paid as a candidate and given some bureau instructional training. If forensic psychology is something you decide to pursue, you could enter our program. Your education after your freshman year would be subsidized. Or if not, you could return here to complete any further units in pediatric psychology.”

“That…” She sinks back down. “That sounds very generous. I suppose I don’t need to ask why me.”

“Mostly, it’s because you’re the right age. But you’re also studying in a field of undergraduates we’re already interested in. You have the academic background, you’re top of your class—”

“And I have first-hand experience of the subject.”

“That is only one of a number of considerations.” For the first time, he leans forward. “We’re looking for a certain mindset, Miss Lewis. These interviews… Every piece of information we gather helps us. And every time our knowledge increases, we get faster. Save more lives.”

The “saving lives” line was heavy-handed. He still thinks that’s how he’ll win her.

She narrows her eyes. “I’ve spent two and a half years trying to get out of that mindset, Mr. Cooper.”

“Do you think you’ve succeeded?”

Her expression doesn’t change, but he sees it again: that flare of animal panic in her face. But it is sometimes his job to do hateful, necessary things.

She looks away from him, looks around at the grass, at the trees and buildings. Then she gets to her feet, slowly this time, as if the conversation has aged her. “Mr. Cooper, I appreciate what you’re doing. But I don’t think I can help you. I hope you have a safe drive home.”

“You’re driving home yourself, is that right? Back to Apple Creek?” He rises to match her. “Would you please think about what we’ve discussed over the weekend?”

“I’ll think about it.” She retrieves her canteen.

“You have my card, if you need to call. Thank you for your time.”

“Goodbye, Mr. Cooper.”

He watches her walk away, dark head bobbing, sun glaring off the white of her running shoes. They’re good-quality shoes.

His pager beeps at him. He walks back up the rise, to the bus stop area above the oval, where there’s a pay phone, and calls collect. “Cooper.”