“Kristin, you still seem loyal to Simon. Can I ask why? He killed almost a dozen people, some of them your friends. But you’re still connected to him.”

“I can’t give up on him.” Kristin sinks back onto the couch, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. “I sometimes wish I could. But he’s my brother. My twin.”

“You still care for him.” Emma is shocked into saying it out loud.

“Of course. Simon still needs love. And I have to hold on to the love I have for him, in the hope that he’ll see, and remember love still exists.” Kristin looks over at Bell. “But I’m so, so sorry for the hurt he caused you. It doesn’t mean I’m apologizing for him, or that I excuse him, in any way. That’s the difference between Simon and me—I know that what he’s done is wrong. It’s part of my family’s history of shame,” she says sadly.

Bell takes a step forward. “Then help us. What can we say that will make your brother give us the information we need?”

Kristin swipes her face once more, settles her hands in her lap. “Well, you can’t make Simon do anything. But to be honest, I think your best asset is Emma.”

“Me?” The hair on Emma’s nape lifts.

“Why yes.” Kristin’s expression is tear-stained and guileless. “I already told you. He likes locked boxes. He would be curious about you, and I’m sure he would appreciate some stimulating conversation.”

Emma catches Bell’s quick, fierce look in her direction; she cuts her eyes away. “What exactly would Simon like to talk about?”

Kristin waves a hand. “Oh, lots of things—Simon has broad interests. Art, music, history, literature…”

“We’ve already touched on literature.” Emma’s voice is dry.

“Perhaps you’d like to tell him a little about yourself, your background and family.…” Kristin falters, as if only just realizing that revealing personal information to Simon may not be altogether wise.

Emma thinks it might be best to redirect the conversation. “Kristin, can I ask what happened the day of Simon’s arrest? Why did he take you hostage?”

Kristin blushes. “I told him to.”

Bell jerks forward involuntarily. “You what?”

“It was all so fast and muddled.… Simon rushed into the piano room, rambling about police, saying he had to run, and I…” She examines her hands. “I said he couldn’t run, he’d never get away. That maybe he should try another strategy. I said maybe he should use me to get to Father’s car.”

“And that’s what you did.” Now Bell seems frozen.

“Yes. But then the Marshal—” Kristin corrects herself. “Your father. He offered to take my place. But as soon as we changed places, I knew Simon wouldn’t do the right thing, that he wouldn’t be able to resist.…” She blinks at the grass. “When Simon stabbed your father, I had to do something. So I picked up the letter opener, and I…” She swallows. “Well, you know what happened. And now here we are.”