The Sanatorium(111)

“So you got involved,” Elin says, a flutter of trepidation in her throat as she watches Cecile’s hand, holding the knife, move closer to Lucas’s face.

A nod. “That’s when I upped the stakes. A few months ago.” Cecile jerks the knife upward to emphasize her point. “Got Margot to give her the memory stick with the redacted files. We thought she’d be intrigued, want to find out what was going on, but she balked. Said she didn’t want to be involved. Even when Margot showed her the unredacted files, the full story, she wasn’t interested.”

“But that’s a normal reaction. She was probably scared.”

“No.” Cecile’s face twists, now a violent, angry red. “It wasn’t. She wanted to look the other way. Like Lucas. Like Adele.” Her eyes flash. “Even Margot in the end. Even she’d had enough, wanted to stop.”

“But why kill Laure? She was no threat to you.”

Elin tries to take a deep breath, but her chest is tight. Not from the cold, but from anger. Despite her fear of what Cecile’s about to do next, she feels unmoved by her justifications—justifications for horrific acts that only make sense to her.

“It was necessary. When Lucas and I came back early from our trip, Laure knew I was planning something. She called me the night before she vanished. She wanted to stop me from doing anything. When I said no, she told me she had leverage.”

“The memory stick.”

“Yes. I’d had someone hack into the clinic’s database to retrieve the electronic files, but I knew they were traceable back to me. That’s why she disappeared. She hoped I’d assume she’d run, but I knew she was here. Watching, ready to expose me.”

“So that’s why Laure was keeping the encrypted memory stick on her, disguised.” Elin works it through in her mind. “But you weren’t going to give her the chance to use it, were you? That’s why you abducted her.”

“Yes. With Margot’s help. Margot was the one who messaged you from Laure’s phone to lure you up to the penthouse. And Laure had contacted Margot to try to convince her to stop me. Margot arranged to meet Laure to talk, early.”

“Before I went to the penthouse . . .”

“That’s right. It was a trap. Margot wasn’t waiting for Laure. It was me.”

“And you killed her.”

“Yes. It was easy. Straightforward. She didn’t know a thing about it. I thought I had everything in hand, but I made one mistake.”

“Leaving the memory stick on her body.”

Cecile nods. “I knew she had it on her, but I didn’t realize that she’d transferred the files to another memory stick, disguised it as a lighter. It worked. I was looking for the old one, so I didn’t find it on her.”

“That was the delay in coming up to the penthouse.”

“Yes. But it doesn’t matter now. It worked out, like it’s all working out here.” Cecile straightens, hauls Lucas to standing. “Elin, please. I don’t want to hurt you. We’re alike, you and I. Loners. Fighters. Demanding answers, justice.” Her hand is shaking around Lucas’s waist. “Putting up with selfish brothers. Let me finish what I’ve started.”

Her eyes have narrowed to slits, her fair hair now wet from the snow, plastered against her skull.

Lucas coughs, his legs buckling under him.

Elin doesn’t move; she can see the fine point of the knife pressed against Lucas’s neck. She inches forward. She has to do this carefully.

“I can’t leave,” Elin says steadily, still moving. “This is not the right way. You might think it is, but it’s not.”

“Leave.” The voice is louder now. More insistent. Tears are spilling down her cheeks.

“Cecile, I can’t. We can talk, get things straight before you decide what to do. I understand—”

“Understand?” Cecile shakes her head. Elin senses that something has shifted in her tone. She’s losing control. “No one knows what I’ve been through. No one. How can you understand, Elin?”

“I know, but I can at least try to, can’t I? If we talk it through again—”

“Talk? That won’t do anything. I need action. This”—she presses the knife harder against Lucas’s throat, making the skin around the edge of the blade whiten and pucker—“this is what I need to do. This. For me. For all those women.”

“Cecile—”

“No. Don’t even try to stop me . . .” Cecile’s voice has tipped into a scream, her eyes locked on Lucas. “All everyone does is try to stop me. From telling the truth, getting payback . . .”

Lucas’s face is paralyzed, a frozen mask of fear. Elin can tell the sedative’s wearing off—he’s finally able to understand what’s happening, how much danger he’s in.

It’s now or never.

Elin makes her move, lunges toward Cecile, arms outstretched.





90





The movement is enough to set Cecile off-balance. Grimacing, she falls sideways, her left arm flailing as she tries to right herself.

Elin feels a flicker of hope: if she can isolate her, pin her down . . .

But it doesn’t work—the angle is off.