Chapter 9 - THE DOCTOR
Dr. Vasseur worked at a private clinic outside Avignon.
His website showed a silver-haired man smiling beside a sunlit window.
Claire saw the photograph and knocked the tablet out of Alexandre’s hand.
“No.”
He moved back immediately.
“You’re safe.”
“No needles.”
“Nobody’s giving you anything.”
She looked at the nurse near the door.
“Please.”
The nurse set the medication cup on the counter and left.
Lucie picked up the tablet.
Moreau had gone to obtain warrants. Marianne was being interviewed in another room.
Alexandre sat quietly beside Claire until her breathing slowed.
“He’d come every Thursday,” she said.
Nobody interrupted.
“He said I was confused. He said if I behaved, I could go home.”
Her eyes fixed on the blanket.
“Then he’d ask where I put the copies.”
“The envelope,” Lucie said.
Claire nodded.
“I told him I burned them.”
“Why didn’t he believe you?”
“Because Valérie never believed anyone could throw money away.”
Alexandre stood and walked to the sink.
He gripped its edge until his hands stopped shaking.
Claire watched him.
“I don’t need you breaking things.”
He nodded.
“What do you need?”
She considered it.
“My own phone.”
“I’ll get one.”
“And a room with a door I can open.”
“Yes.”
“And don’t tell me what I remember.”
He looked back at her.
“I won’t.”
Later, Lucie found Marianne in the hallway.
For several seconds, neither moved.
Then her mother opened her arms.
Lucie stepped into them, furious and relieved.
“You should’ve told me.”
“I know.”
“I could have walked right into—”
“I know.”
Marianne held her tighter.
They sat on a bench while her mother explained the threats that had followed Thomas’s death.
A photograph of Lucie leaving school. A note under the apartment door. A call describing which bus Marianne took.
“I thought silence would keep you alive.”
Lucie wiped her face.
“It kept her locked up.”
Marianne nodded.
There was nothing to soften that.
At midnight, Moreau returned.
Vasseur had disappeared from his clinic.
His office computer had been wiped.
But an assistant remembered an urgent call.
A woman had asked him to collect his son.
Lucie stood.
“Mathéo?”
Moreau was already dialing.
Alexandre’s phone rang at the same moment.
May you like
Mrs. Besson was sobbing.
“They said you sent him.”
