And can she use that?

She straightens. “I’m sorry. It’s nice to see you, Simon. How have you been?”

He touches his tongue to the tip of his finger and turns a page. “Thank you, Emma, I’ve been very well.”

“As a courtesy, I’ll say I think you’ve had your nose stuck in books all day. That’s great for your vocabulary, but you’ve lost sight of the big picture.”

“What big picture is that?”

“Pennsylvania.” She wets her lips. “Crozet. Luray. I’ve seen the file now. I can give you answers to your questions.”

“Did Cooper give you the file?” Gutmunsson glances over to check her expression, rolls his eyes. “My god, that man can’t help himself, can he? He’s almost as single-minded as I am.”

“He wants to catch this killer. Don’t you want to know about Pennsylvania? Ask me again.”

He sets his pen aside and turns, crosses his legs. Emma is struck over by his almost insectoid manner, his calm, precise movements. “Actually… there’s more I’d like to know about you.”

She’s readied herself for this. “That’s a shame. I’m not really prepared to answer personal questions.”

“Humor me. You’re a lot more interesting than anything in an FBI file.”

Emma doesn’t believe that. “If you want to play that game, it should be a fair exchange. How about I ask you questions about your own case, like how you got that scar on your neck?”

“My sister stabbed me.” He shrugs. “People fight. It happens.”

“Did she get angry at you?”

“She wanted me to stop doing what I do. Awkwardly enough, it’s not something I can simply switch off. I suppose she thought some time incarcerated would help me kick the habit—or maybe she felt I was too dangerous to leave walking around. She’s very community-minded, Kristin.”

“I met her.”

“Did you?” Simon straightens. A flicker of something across his face—a brightness, a yearning. “She’s lovely, isn’t she?”

“She is.” The change in his expression prompts her to dig deeper. “It must be hard, not having contact with her.”

“Yes.”

His clipped answer is a traffic sign—NO ENTRY. Emma tries another tack. “The place she’s living in is very… refined.”

“Very expensive, is what you mean.”

“Why did you say I reminded you of your sister? We’re nothing alike.”

“You’re both survivors of trauma. You encountered Daniel Huxton and Kristin encountered me. The behaviors don’t present in the same way, but you have the same flavor. It’s hard to describe.” He gazes off into a high corner of the chapel, his voice singsong. “You are dark and she is fair, you no longer have your hair.…”

She needs to redirect. “It was your mention of hair in the questionnaire that annoyed me. But it was important, wasn’t it?”

Gutmunsson ignores that. “You and Kristin have both placed yourselves in positions where you can indulge your post-traumatic peccadilloes. She’s at Chesterfield, where she can relax into fantasy. You’re with the FBI, where you can channel your fury.”