The Sanatorium(105)

Working her finger into the edge of the door, she slides it open.

Elin recoils.

The cupboard’s empty, bar one thing: a mask.

The same black rubber mask that’s cast its horrifying shadow over the past few days. Without any features to fill it, it’s slack, collapsed in on itself.

She can’t take her eyes off it. The moment stretches, a cog turning deep within her brain.

There’s no doubt now. It’s the same mask she saw on Adele’s and Laure’s bodies. Margot’s too.

Lucas is behind this.

Cecile appears by her side. “That was in there?” Her voice wavers.

“Yes.” Elin reaches for it, taking in the detail: the hairline cracks in the rubber, the wide tube connecting nose and mouth.

Turning it between her fingers, an outline of a thought starts to form, but before she can get a grip on it, it fragments, drifts away.

Cecile crouches down next to her. “I know how this looks, but it doesn’t make sense.” She’s gabbling, words running into one another. “Why would he sabotage the hotel, everything he spent so long trying to build? He knows it wouldn’t survive this, surely?” Reaching out, she touches the mask. “I’m sure it’s a mistake. A misunderstanding.”

A pit opens in Elin’s stomach. Cecile will give it everything she’s got to explain this away. She’s still protecting Lucas, even now.

Yet she can’t condemn her, because she understands it. It’s what Isaac did for her all these years, isn’t it? Held back the truth. Protected her.

“Cecile, I—”

“I’ll try the other cupboards,” Cecile interrupts, reaching for the paperweight. “I’m sure he has all kinds of things like this. Artifacts from the sanatorium.” She gestures around her. “Look at the walls, the pictures. He’s interested in the history of the place, that’s all. It doesn’t mean anything more than that.”

“Cecile, I know this is hard, but . . .”

Elin doesn’t get to finish her sentence. Cecile starts shaking, her hands loosening their grip on the paperweight. Rolling from her lap onto the floor, it lands with a dull thud.

“This . . .” she starts, voice cracking, “it’s my fault. All my fault.”

Elin can see the resignation in her eyes.

She knows, doesn’t she? She knows what he’s done.

“It’s not your fault, Cecile.” She lays a hand on her arm. “None of this is.”

“It is.” Cecile turns to her. Her eyes are red, bloodshot. “There’s something I haven’t been honest about. Something you should know.”





86





Cecile stands up, and walks over to the window. “It’s to do with Daniel. What happened to him.” Her eyes slide toward the floor.

More lies, Elin thinks, straightening. Lie after lie after lie.

“Before Daniel went missing, he’d been at a meeting at the sanatorium with Lucas and the building contractors. No one knew anything was wrong at that point. His wife had received a message from him, saying he’d gone for dinner in town, had too many drinks to drive home, and was planning on staying with his parents in Crans.”

Elin nods, silent.

“The next day, Lucas’s building manager came up. Only a kid, checking on the building once a week. It was more or less derelict. People kept breaking in.” Cecile stops, eyes drifting away toward the window. “That afternoon, Lucas got a call. The kid had started checking the rooms. In one of the old wards, he found a body.” She takes a long breath. “Dismembered, a mask over the face.”

“Like this one?” Elin glances at the mask in her hands.

She gives a sharp nod. “Lucas was at the office in Lausanne when the kid called. Told him not to tell anyone, that he’d get there as soon as he could. Lucas said afterward that part of him had hoped it was a stupid prank. One of the protesters, but no . . .” Cecile’s face closes. “The boy was right. There was a body. Daniel’s body.”

“I’m guessing he didn’t call the police.” Elin bites down on her lip, her mind desperately trying to dissect what Cecile’s saying. She has so many questions, she doesn’t know which to ask first.

“No. He called me, in a panic, asked what he should do. I was at our parents’ house in town. I met him here.” Cecile brings a hand up to her mouth, a strange noise coming from her throat: an uneven, gulpy exhalation. “Daniel was stretched out on one of those invalid chairs, that horrible mask still attached to his face.” Tears spring to her eyes. She reaches up, wipes them away.

“And you still didn’t call the police?” Elin hears the accusatory tone in her voice, but she can’t help it. Part of her doesn’t want to hear what’s coming next, but she forces herself to listen.

“No. Lucas didn’t want to. He was in a panic, said it would kill the project dead in the water.” Cecile shrugs. “He was right. There was already so much opposition to the renovation, it wouldn’t survive this.” She hesitates. “I knew what this meant to him. He’d poured everything into it—not just money, capital, but his life. Marriage. Everything, into this one project.”

“So what did you do?”