His eyes glaze over, and his voice drops to a whisper. “He’s a monster whoallowshis impulses to be caged because he knows at some point they will be released again.”
A shiver ripples through me. When Mother Agnes said all people live in cages, I doubt this was what she imagined. “But if none of that is visible from the outside, is there anything about the killer we can know for certain?” I ask.
Simon exhales, shrinking, and walks back to the table. He sits on the bench next to Juliane, facing outward, and leans his elbows on his thighs. “Tall and physically strong, more than average intelligence, between the ages of twenty and thirty but immature. Poor relationships with women.”
Juliane’s quill scratches across the page. When she stops and Simon doesn’t continue, I gape at him.
“That’s it? That’s all you can say?” I’m not sure what I expected him to divine, but even I could have guessed that.
“That’s all I can say with confidence,” Simon says to his hands. “Until I have more to work with.”
Until the monster is freed from his cage again.