Page 83 of Where the Snakes Sleep

“He was questioned.”

“What did he say?”

“He denied knowing anything.”

Ryan’s gaze flips between the files and the distant fields visible through the study windows. “Do you believe him?”

That question lands like a stone. I pause. “I believe Alberte knew more than he admitted.”

Ryan leans back, processing. “But you don’t think he killed them?”

“No. His behavior afterward makes more sense to me if he was frightened of Henri than if he was protecting him.”

“Explain.”

“During the investigation, Alberte became increasingly difficult to reach. People who knew him described him as agitated. Withdrawn. He stopped appearing at places he had attended routinely for years.”

“Then he ran.”

“Yes.”

“To America.”

“Yes, within months.”

Ryan rubs his palms over his thighs. “That does make him look guilty, I guess.”

“It did.”

“Is that why everyone here hates him?”

“Partly.” I close the folder halfway, then reconsider and leave it open. “He didn’t even attempt to clear his name; neither did he accuse Henri. He did not cooperate with the people who wanted answers. To many people here, that meant one of two things. Either he was involved and fled consequences, or he knew what happened and chose himself over the missing.”

Ryan winces. “That’s brutal.”

“Yes.” I roll the word around my tongue. “Fear makes people act shamefully when viewed from safety.”

He goes quiet, and I imagine him thinking of his own life—what he’d left behind. Finally, he asks, voice tight, “What happened to the investigation?”

“Very little.”

“That’s not an answer.”

I bite back a retort. “The lead investigator died about a month in.”

Ryan’s head snaps up. “Whoa—What?!”

“Inspector Fournier. A snakebite while hiking.”

A long, stunned silence. “You’re kidding.”

“Officially, it was accidental.”

Ryan laughs, but it’s hollow. “That is the least accidental-sounding accident I’ve ever heard.”

“The region does have venomous snakes,” I offer. “I’m only stating the official finding.”

“So you think Henri…?”