Page 84 of Where the Snakes Sleep

“I think the timing deserves suspicion.”

Ryan runs a hand through his hair. “This gets worse every time you explain something.”

“I warned you.”

“No. You absolutely did not! You gave me vague little riddles!”

I stifle a grin. “I did no such thing.”

Ryan glares at me.

After a minute, he asks, “What happened after the cop died?”

“The investigation continued, but momentum declined. Le Mas closed. Approximately six months later, the estate was sold to a development consortium based in Lyon.”

“And Henri?”

“Gone.”

“As in fled?”

“As in no reliable public record after that period. Publications stopped. Institutional affiliations ended. No public forwarding address. No confirmed death certificate.”

Ryan looks toward the security monitor. “So if that car is connected to him…”

“He may still be alive.”

Ryan glances back at me, his face pale. “Do you think he waited for Alberte to die?”

I choose my next words carefully, but not deceptively. “It is one possibility. I have also lived here for several years thus far and have never noticed anyone suspicious.”

Ryan’s shoulders slump. “Maybe whatever my grandfather had was insurance against Henri coming after him.”

“Potentially.”

Ryan’s breath catches. “Like a guarantee? Like—He runs to America and somehow makes sure Henri knows that if anything happens to him, the evidence comes out.”

“You could say that.” I fold my hands on the desk.

“But if Alberte was in America and the evidence was left here, why would that stop Henri? Couldn’t he have just searched the cottage himself? And like how would the evidence ‘come out’ if Alberte was so far away from it?”

“That is precisely the problem,” I say.

Ryan’s forehead wrinkles. “What is?”

“The assumption that the cottage itself was the insurance.”

He stares at me for several seconds, waiting for me to elaborate, and when I do not, impatience sharpens his features. “Camille. Explain.”

My focus remains on the pages in front of us. “I am thinking.”

“Think faster.” He makes an aggrieved sound and folds his arms.

I ignore him and lean back in my chair, studying the open file between us. The old pages have become so familiar that sometimes I no longer see documents when I look at them, only the conclusions I formed years ago. Ryan, in contrast, sees every inconsistency freshly, without the burden of two decades spent fitting each fact into theories that have calcified through repetition.

“If Alberte possessed evidence against Henri,” I begin, “then the value of that evidence depended largely upon uncertainty. Henri did not necessarily need to know where the original records were. In fact, it would have been considerably safer for Alberte if he did not.”

Ryan hums thoughtfully. “Because if Henri knew exactly where everything was, he could just take it, like I said.”