The Sanatorium(99)

A hunch. She sounds like an amateur.

“You want to put yourself at risk over a hunch?” Mouth twitching, he exchanges a glance with Cecile. “The police might be up today. The weather is meant to be improving. I’d prefer to sit it out as we’ve been advised.”

He doesn’t mention what he now knows about her job, her lie, but he doesn’t have to: the knowledge sits between them, weighing heavy.

“Sitting it out could be a problem.” Elin takes care with her words, keeping her tone flat, unemotional. “My worry is, she’s out of control. What she did to Will was unplanned, spontaneous. There’s every chance she could do the same again. Once she knows the police are here, the situation could escalate rapidly.” The end of the sentence is drowned out by the sound of the wind.

She feels her mobile buzz in her pocket. Pulling it out, she can see that Isaac’s calling. She replaces it; she’ll call him back.

“You really think Margot’s capable of all this?” Cecile asks.

Elin puts the envelope down, her hands not quite steady.

This is what I’ve been waiting for—their reaction to the image.

“I think she’s capable,” Elin says softly, “because of this.” Pulling out the first photograph, she places it on the desk. “This is Margot’s motive. I can’t think of a stronger one.”

Cecile recoils, a hand coming up to her mouth. Lucas is harder to read, his expression fixed.

“What is it?” He rubs a hand across his jaw, ruffling his beard.

“This photograph was taken here. We think one of these women is Margot’s relative.” Elin flips the photograph over. “The numbers on the back match the patient number on the medical file we found in the same envelope, as well as the number on one of the bracelets.”

“But what are they doing to these women?” Cecile reaches for the image, her eyes glassy. “It doesn’t look like a normal operation.”

“I don’t think it is. These women came from a psychiatric clinic in Germany. There’s no legitimate medical reason, as far as I can tell, for them to have been transferred here, to a tuberculosis sanatorium.” Reaching into the envelope, she pulls out the medical file belonging to Margot’s relative. “We’ll know more from this. I couldn’t understand it all.”

“I can translate.” Cecile reads in silence, then starts to speak. “It says she was admitted to the clinic for psychiatric issues after the birth of her fourth child. The family doctor referred her there after counsel from her husband. It details her medications, treatments.” She frowns. “There’s no mention of a transfer here, though.”

“I don’t think there would be. I think this was done in secret. Off the record.” Elin turns the image over. “It’s written quite clearly. Sanatorium du Plumachit.” Reaching for the envelope again, she pulls out the photograph of the grave, passes it to them. “We found this among the photographs too. It looks to me like it was taken here. Near the hotel.”

“A grave,” Cecile says slowly. “You think these women were buried here?”

Elin nods. “You didn’t know anything like this went on here?”

“No.” Cecile’s face darkens. “There’s nothing in the archive about this.”

“Lucas?” Elin waits for his reaction. Any tells, signs of deceit. “You had no information about the graves when you were planning the build?”

Tilting his head away from the image, Lucas shakes his head.

Elin realizes that something feels strange about his reaction; his expression seems too neutral, too detached.

Focusing on him, her mind whirring, she doesn’t realize that Cecile is saying something to her.

“Sorry?”

“I was saying, it happened so long ago.” Cecile frowns. “What’s it got to do with Adele and Laure, Daniel? Why kill them?”

“I don’t know,” Elin admits. “Only Margot can tell us that.”

Cecile’s eyes are still picking over the photograph. “Seeing this, I think you’re right. If this is about what happened in these photographs, who knows what she might do next. I think you should try to find her. Confront her.”

Lucas looks uneasy. “I don’t know . . .”

Elin catches his eye, her gaze unwavering. “This might be our only chance to get on the offensive, catch her off guard. So far she’s been one step ahead. If we move now, we might have the advantage of surprise.”

Lucas nods, turns to Cecile. “Can you head to the dining room to supervise while everyone has breakfast? I’ll go with Elin.”

“Shall we—” Elin pauses, feeling her phone vibrating again in her pocket. She pulls it out. Isaac is ringing again. “I’m just going to take this,” she says, moving toward the corner of the room. “Hello?”

“Where have you been? You didn’t answer your phone.”

“I was showing Lucas and Cecile the photographs.”

“You should be reachable, Elin. You know that.”

Elin’s about to reply and then trails off, taking in his somber tone. “What’s wrong?”

There’s a pause.

“Isaac? Is it Will?”

“His blood pressure . . .” Isaac’s sentence falls away, as if he’s struggling to find the words. Elin feels sick suddenly, hot all over. “It’s dropped a little. Sara’s not sure if it’s an infection or internal bleeding. She says it’s unlikely given the location of the wound, but she thinks we need to get him to a hospital.”