“No, she doesn’t,” said Ostler. “She’s talked to the police and to a trauma counselor, and now she’s safe at home.”
“Thank you for that.” He leaned back in his chair, his head down. He looked deflated, as if all the life had gone out of him.
“Ask about The Hunter,” I said.
Ostler pushed the button again. “Can you tell us about the cannibal?”
“I don’t know anything,” said Elijah.
“You have the photos in front of you,” said Ostler. “Does any of it look familiar?”
Elijah sighed, then leaned forward to look at the images. “This definitely isn’t any of the three who came to me. Ihsan flays his victims—he was going to flay Ted if I hadn’t stopped him last night.”
“Who’s Ted?” asked Ostler into the mic.
“I’m sorry, Jacob,” said Elijah, shaking his head. “Jacob Carl. I forget his name all the time.”
Ostler frowned. “How long does your memory last before you need to drain another person?”
“A few weeks at most,” said Elijah. “Honestly, that was just a bad habit just now—my memory is sharper than it’s been in … forever, maybe. I’m used to drinking humans with seventy or eighty years of good memory, at the most. Last night I drank two Withered with ten thousand years each. I’ve never done that before. It might last me for months.”
“Then why can’t he remember the cannibal?” asked Diana. “You’d think that kind of thing would stick in your mind.”
“Ask about The Hunter,” I said again. “Use that name, see if it means anything to him.”
Ostler nodded and pressed the button again. “Do you know of any Withered who calls him-or herself The Hunter?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Perhaps the name ‘Hunter,’” she asked, “as first or last name, or maybe part of an alias?”
He thought, then shook his head. “Not that I can remember.”
“Ask about ancient hunters, then,” I said. “Ten thousand years ago his society had to include hunters, right? Was there anyone in the group who hunted for a living?”
Ostler relayed the question, but Elijah just kept shaking his head. “I’m sorry, I just can’t remember. There are too many holes in my memory.”
“There’s an easy fix to that,” said Potash. “Bring him one of the victims and let him go to town.”
“You can’t ask him to do that,” I said immediately.
“Why not?” asked Nathan. “It’s the most perfect thing ever. Do you realize how easy it would be to catch killers if we could just ask the victim: ‘who killed you?’”
“You’re asking him to remember being eaten alive,” I said.
Nathan shook his head. “We don’t know that the victims were conscious—”
“Would you risk it on yourself?” I asked. “If you could experience everything a murder victim went through, but it had to be you doing it, would you still think it was such an awesome idea?”
“When did you get so empathetic all of a sudden?” asked Nathan.
“I’d risk it,” said Potash, and looked at me. “And I know you would, too.”
I glowered at him. “If I did it, it would be specifically because I didn’t want to make anyone else do it. I can be responsible for my own suffering—that’s why we’re on this team in the first place. So we can do the hard stuff and no one else has to.”
“He’s on the team, too,” said Ostler, looking at Elijah through the glass. “He said he’d help us, and this might be the best way to do it.” She pushed the button for the speaker. “Mr. Sexton, it is vital that we learn as much as possible about this killer. Since your memories of him are incomplete, would you be willing to … ‘drink’ the memories of one of his victims?”
Elijah furrowed his brow, and the sides of his mouth drooped down in a mournful frown. “Do you realize what you’re asking?”
“I do.”
He took a deep breath. “Okay, then, but…” He glanced at the photos. “Is Valynne Maetani the most recent?”
“She is,” said Ostler. “Is that a problem?”
“I have to get them fresh,” said Elijah. “Twenty-four hours at the most. This thing that I do isn’t designed for dead brains; the memories start to degrade, I guess you’d say. I don’t think I can help you until he kills again.”
“That’s still good,” said Nathan. “Better late than never, right?”
Sure, I thought. Unless you’re the one he kills.
*