Or maybe, Emma thinks, Simon Gutmunsson has simply lulled Dr. Scott into believing he could be reformed. She wouldn’t put it past him.

Cooper eases the car past the Franconia exit. “I’m not going to escort you inside this time. I’ll drop you off at the entrance and come back in an hour.”

Emma thinks of something else. “Can I ask you about Gutmunsson’s arrest? You said you were the second unit agent during his investigation.”

“That’s correct.”

“Did you suspect anything, when he first became a person of interest in the case?”

Cooper shifts uncomfortably. “A few alarm bells rang, yes. It was the way he presented, more than anything. His story was very smooth. Too smooth.”

“You weren’t there at his arrest?”

“No. I was examining one of the crime scenes when Agent Gilet decided to bring him in for routine questioning. Barton Bell was Joe’s backup.” Cooper catches Bell’s eye in the rearview, a single regretful glance. “Nobody realized how much danger they were in. The profile was way off—we thought we were looking for a much older suspect.”

“Is Agent Gilet still with the bureau? If we could talk with him—”

“Joe Gilet killed himself last fall.” Cooper’s jaw is like a clenched fist, and he doesn’t give Emma time to catch her breath. “Look, don’t let Simon Gutmunsson intimidate you. People call him a monster. I prefer not to think of him that way—it suggests there’s something legendary about him, and I don’t buy into that.”

“How do you think of him?”

Cooper scans the sky on the other side of National Harbor, the high clouds scudding across with their pristine, sudsy tops and underbellies the color of mourning doves. “I consider him to be a kind of… human black hole. Sucking everything into himself, every scrap of light. Beyond that, now that he’s incarcerated, I try to think of him as little as possible.”

Fifteen minutes later, Dr. Scott is greeting them at the door to the asylum.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The air in the chapel glitters with suspended particles of dust. Someone has swept the floor. Emma wonders if this is Pradeep’s job, or if another staff member or inmate completes such chores. On her way through the foyer, she passed a middle-aged man in a white uniform, but he was carrying a first aid kit, not a broom.

The mundane necessity of housework seems at odds with the time-capsule feel of the space. On her first visit she was too afraid to notice, but entering now it occurs to her that Simon Gutmunsson’s jail seems to have its own chronology, like a wight’s barrow or a knight’s tomb from a fairy tale.

She has to banish fanciful thoughts and refocus. Kristin’s advice and the experiences with McMurtry and Gesak have given her a better understanding of how to proceed.

Emma breathes deep. She can box up her anxiety about meeting Simon again, put it aside. Bell is in the lobby to support her in the aftermath. They need this. She can do this.