“So how does he feel about the kid? Is he another specimen? Something to keep and observe?”

“I think he finds the kid useful.” She crossed her boots at the ankles, leaned forward. “I’m interested in the killer’s ability to get so close to victims. Even Henry. Even after suspected poisonings. You had warned that street kid specifically about an octopus. This killer blends in, appears trustworthy. In cases like this, we’d consider someone disguised as law enforcement, except that the street kid wouldn’t have trusted a cop or someone in a National Guard uniform. A woman. Someone feigning jeopardy. She needs help. The victim goes to her aid, and she pushes the octopus into the victim’s hands. It’s dark, the person takes the thing reflexively, before they even know what they’ve got. They’re bitten instantly. The poison enters their system. They’re disoriented. The killer retrieves the octopus. Watches as the victim dies. Then pushes the victim into the water.”

“He’s using the kid as bait,” Archie said.

Anne nodded. “If so, the child has watched at least four people die. It explains why he left the hospital, why he’d try to find his way back to this person. He’d be entirely dependent. And terrified.” She thought for a second. “This person has been in chat rooms, exchanged information with other cephalopod fans online,” she said. “And talked the ear off aquarium store clerks. There’s a trail. If you can find it.”

Chief Eaton poked his head in the room. “The parents are here,” he said to Archie. “They want to meet you.”

Archie cleared his throat. “Of course,” he said. He stood, thinking the parents were downstairs, that he would be following Eaton to find them, but when Eaton opened the door wider Archie saw that Patrick Lifton’s parents were right there.

They stood in the doorway, Eaton behind them. They didn’t come in. They seemed almost physically wary of Archie. He’d seen that before. Crime victims sometimes associated cops with grief and anxiety. Everything had been fine before the cops had showed up.

“I’m Detective Sheridan,” Archie said. He held out a hand and Daniel Lifton took it. He had a firm handshake and he looked Archie in the eye from under the bill of his baseball cap. “We appreciate all you’re doing,” he said.

“I wish I could do more,” Archie said. He extended his hand to Diana Lifton. She wrapped her hand around his, but she didn’t shake it. She just held it for a moment. Her palm was smooth and warm.

“How did he seem?” she asked. “When you saw him?”

Archie didn’t know how to answer that. It was dark. And Patrick Lifton had been drowning. How had he seemed? He’d seemed scared and wet and lost.

“He’s a fighter,” Archie said.

Diana nodded.

“Thank you,” Daniel Lifton said.