Simon slides the false note from the bottom of his stack. “Because it’s the other half of this page.” He puts it next to the one I’m holding, lining up the ripped sides. Parchment, particularly the cheaply made kind, doesn’t tear evenly. These edges match perfectly. “In the right light, you can still read the rest of the grain inventory,” he says quietly.
“You mean to say the killer went into the grain merchant’s house and stole this, knowing you’d be able to tell where it came from?”
“That’sexactlywhat I’m saying. And he took the time to scrape and press it properly, just to show me his level of patience.” Simon pauses. “What do you think that means?”
This is a threat, obviously, but there’s more to it. “It’s a challenge,” I whisper. “He’s taunting you by saying he’s aware of everything you know and do.”
“Yes.” Simon pushes the false note under the stack and refolds the true one before placing it back in his pocket. “He’s in complete control, or thinks he is. It’s very unlikely he’ll strike while I’m gone because watching me flounder is much more entertaining. And…”
“Andwhat, Simon?”
He hesitates. “It would also eliminate me from suspicion.”
I digest that for several seconds. No one’s accused Simon of anything, but even I’m uneasy at the level of horror he’s comfortable with, or at least able to tolerate. The only other person I can imagine having such a tolerance is the killer himself. It won’t be long before others make a similar connection. Remi already has. “So he’ll wait for you to return,” I murmur.
There’s a mix of pride and pity in the way he looks at me. “Yes.”
“Which means while you’re gone, he’ll have to restrain himself,” I add, and Simon nods. Another thought occurs to me. “How long do you really need for this trip to Mesanus?”
“Probably only a week or so,” he admits. “But we’re telling everyone else a fortnight.”
Now I understand. “You said hethinkshe’s in control, but the longer you’re gone, the harder it will be to stay in control,” I say. “You’re tauntinghim.”
Simon continues watching me silently.
“When you return earlier than expected, the killer will let himself loose before he’s ready,” I say.
“And he’ll be more likely to make a mistake,” finishes Simon, looking pleased.
I’m not smiling. “You’re just going to let someone else die?” I shout, leaping to my feet so violently that the bench falls over backward. “You’re not even going to try to stop it?”
He blinks up at me. “I don’t know what else you think I can do.”
“Before you said you wouldn’t have enough to complete your picture without another victim,” I snap. “Now you’re saying you need a third!”
“You came to the same conclusion,” he says calmly.
“What I concluded is that you think of this monster as more of a human being than the women he butchers!”
I’m out the door and halfway to the stairs before Simon catches up to me. He grabs my arm, pleading. “No, Cat, wait! I need you!”
“Why?” I spin around to face him. “You had all of this figured out on your own. What do you need me for?”
Simon’s other hand clasps my elbow to keep me from turning away again. “It’s more than that. I…” He drops his chin to his chest and sighs heavily. “This is why I need you. I need someone to hold me accountable. To remind me what is really at stake. That the cost of my failure is real lives.”
We’re suddenly as close as we were that night on the Sanctum. My anger wavers at the agony in his eyes. “Simon, I can believe some others might forget that, but how could you?”
“I don’t want to, Cat,” he says softly. “But if I let the horror of all this get to me, if I can’t think dispassionately, the victims will never get justice.”
That’s how Simon endures what he sees. “You lock it away,” I whisper. “Keep it separate.”
“Yes.” His hold on me relaxes, but we don’t move apart. “And the longer it’s removed from my thoughts, the easier it isto avoid going back to it.” Simon’s lip begins to quiver. “That’s why you’re so important. I don’t think I can do this and stay human without you.”
I shake my head. “Simon, you hardly know me.”
He retreats a few inches. “I know I…”
When he doesn’t continue, I use what’s left of my own breath to ask, “You what?”