The Sanatorium(55)

Elin nods, turning Felisa’s words over in her head, one thing in particular troubling her: the disagreement between Laure and Adele.

When she speaks to Cecile, she needs to ask her if she was aware of it, if other people had picked up on it.

Her only concern is that it will confuse things further. Each time someone speaks about Laure, the picture Elin has of her in her head shifts ever so slightly. It had started off clear, but now it’s muddied.

Impossible to resolve.





43





None of the staff saw anything?” Lucas tugs off his fleece, hangs it over the back of his chair. Rolled-up sleeves reveal tanned, sinewy forearms, two battered cotton bracelets on his right wrist. Lime green, blue.

“No. I’ve spoken with everyone. They were helping with the evacuation, the remaining guests in the lobby, getting ready to leave. They all have an . . .” Elin hesitates, not wanting to use the word “alibi.” “They’re all accounted for.” Every single one, she thinks, replaying the conversations in her head. All plausible, verifiable alibis. The guests too.

How is it possible?

Reaching for her coffee, she swigs, hard. The hot, bitter liquid scours her throat, but it feels good, the caffeine punching through the fog in her head.

“They chose exactly the right moment.” Cecile rubs at her nose with a frayed tissue. Her face looks drawn, her eyes sunken.

Elin nods. “Now we’ve established that no one saw anything, we need to check CCTV. Are there cameras for the pool, the surrounding area?”

“Yes. I’ll speak to the director of security. It won’t take long.” Cecile pauses, as if she’s about to say something else, but changes her mind.

Lucas walks toward the window. “Anything else you need, please ask. Whoever did this, I want them caught, quickly. What happened to her . . .” Elin sees his jaw twitch. An absolute revulsion.

Tension is radiating off him. Half-moons of damp mark his underarms, his lower back. He’s obviously stressed, but despite that, Elin is able to pull the final pieces of him together. What she’s read, glimpsed . . . it’s genuine.

This, his private space, reflects both sides of him, the contradictions she’s picked up on before—the businessman and the laid-back athlete.

The room is understated: pale walls, a highly polished wooden desk. A chrome coffee machine sits in the corner. Above it, a shelf houses a single row of books—climbing and alpinist titles on one side, glossy design and architecture on the other.

Artwork takes up the right-hand wall: old-fashioned anatomical drawings of the heart framed in white. Precise, graphic etchings.

Her mind jumps to the article she read—his childhood stay in the hospital.

It all fits, but despite that, Elin feels a slight sense of discord at the visible contradiction. In a way, he’d be easier to explain if one of the sides wasn’t real. The thought is disconcerting.

Cecile fiddles with her empty coffee cup, running her finger over the rim.

“Can you tell exactly when Adele was killed?” The words spill out fast, laced with panic. “So we can understand if whoever did this is still here, or if it’s possible it was someone on the buses.”

“I can’t say definitively,” Elin says evenly. “We need to wait for the postmortem.”

“You must have an idea.” Cecile’s voice pitches higher. “You must know, from your job, when someone died.”

“Cecile . . .” Walking toward her, Lucas’s tone is sharp.

“What?” Cecile’s voice tips into hysteria. “She must, mustn’t she? At least have an idea?”

Lucas looks at his sister, lips drawn into a tight line. He’s embarrassed, Elin can tell, by this show of emotion. “Please.” A hand on Cecile’s arm. Another warning look. “We have to be calm.”

Elin notices the intimacy of the gesture, and also the slight condescension in his tone. She can tell that this exchange is a familiar pattern of behavior; they’re used to these roles, how the conversation will play out.

Lucas’s demeanor reminds her of Isaac’s in moments like this: deliberately benign, which only ever serves to amplify the situation rather than defuse it.

“Calm?” Cecile looks at him, chin lifted. “Lucas, one of your staff has been killed. In your hotel. I wouldn’t be calm if I were in your position, I’d be terrified. They’re probably here now, waiting to pick off somebody else.”

Elin clears her throat. “Look, we have no proof that the killer, if they are among us, wants to hurt someone else. We don’t know Adele’s personal circumstances. Something like this, it’s usually done by someone close to the victim, with a definite motive. Partner. Friends. Family.”

“But what about Laure?” Cecile’s foot is tapping the floor. An erratic rhythm. “She’s still missing. Whoever did this to Adele could have her, couldn’t they?”

“She’s still missing?” Lucas’s features tense before he rearranges them into a neutral expression.

Watching his reaction, Elin’s curiosity is immediately piqued. “Do you know Laure well?”

Lucas sits down, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. He shuffles some papers on his desk, as if he’s using the time to compose himself.