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“I’m sure others have much shorter terms,” the doctor said, sawing into his steak with more vigor than necessary.

“Such as?” Grace asked.

“There are plenty who just call us bitches, dear,” Adelaide explained, and Grace’s eyes went wide. She smiled and touched Grace’s wrist.

“I’m sorry for my language. When you’re at the front of the movement like I am you hear all manner of things and a certain coarseness creeps into your speech.”

“A beautiful way of saying you’ve lost your manners,” Thornhollow said into his half-empty wineglass.

“That’s a nice criticism coming from a man who drags young women to murder sites.”

“I only drag the one.”

“Regardless,” Grace interjected. “It’s good to know that something is being done for women, and I thank you for doing it. You’re free to use any language you like around me.”

Adelaide shot Thornhollow a look before nodding toward Grace. “I imagine you’ve seen all kinds of things, as a patient.”

“Yes,” Grace said, her mind turning back to Boston only when she forced it to. “I couldn’t quite get my mind around the fact of where I was, even a few days in. That something so horrible could happen easily, that’s the true insanity.”

“Well said,” Adelaide agreed. “The signature of one judge and the word of a male family member and that’s that.” She snapped her fingers. “You’re insane.”

“I probably seemed it,” Grace said, fingers toying with her glass stem. “I was screaming and kicking the entire way. I remember I pulled a chunk of hair right out of one orderly’s scalp.”

“Good for you,” Adelaide said, touching her glass to Grace’s.

“And I’d add, it stands as only further proof of your sanity,” Thornhollow said, leaning back from the table. “You knew where you were going and what awaited you. Any mentally sound person would fight tooth and nail to prevent it.”

“However, to the average person your fit only solidifies the claim,” his sister said. “Believe me, dear, I work side by side with women who have been in lunatic asylums, and their stories make my toes curl. And not in a good way,” she added, making Thornhollow rap the table sharply.

“I’m lucky to have your brother,” Grace said quickly to avoid another family argument. “Without his intervention I doubt I would’ve made it another week.”

“You would have,” he said.

“Yes, and about that . . .” Adelaide pushed her wineglass away from her, eyeing Thornhollow over the table. “How goes this catching of criminals by studying their brains?”

Thornhollow’s brow turned cloudy again, but he spoke amicably enough. “The theory behind it is sound, I truly believe that.”

“I do as well,” Grace added. “At the first murder we worked together your brother had the offender figured before we left the scene.”

“And since then?”

Thornhollow wadded up his dinner napkin. “We’ve had a repeat killer we haven’t had much luck with.”

“Really?”

Adelaide soaked up the details as Thornhollow and Grace filled her in on the three dolls, her mind working as quickly as her brother’s.

“I don’t think he’s showing any particular hatred toward women,” she said when they’d finished. “I’ve seen plenty of that, and it’s a bloody business.”

“I agree,” Thornhollow said. “Their faces are unharmed and no particular violence done to their female anatomy.”

“Were they raped?” Adelaide asked.

“Anka was not,” Grace said, her memory ticking off the facts. “Mellie Jacobs was in the ground before we knew she was a victim of the same killer, and the third girl had been outside for so long that we simply don’t know.” Grace’s eyes clouded as she realized something. “I never asked you her name.”

“Janet. Jenny. Something like that. I don’t know,” Thornhollow said.

“A prince of the people,” Adelaide huffed. “Although I’m not surprised. He’s never been good with names. I didn’t even have to run off the last girl who had attached herself to him. He managed that all by himself by calling her by her predecessor’s name at dinner.”