Chapter 8 - THE THIRD WOMANCamille watched the footage again.
Then again.
Each time, the same image appeared.
Étienne leaving the building.
A woman following him.
The necklace.
The envelope.
The face.
Her face.
Thomas examined the timestamp.
“This was recorded the night Claire died.”
Camille nodded.
“I know.”
“Where were you?”
“At a friend's apartment.”
“Can anyone confirm that?”
“Yes.”
Thomas looked at the screen.
“Then the woman is either Juliette or someone deliberately made to resemble you.”
Camille stared.
“Juliette told me she only learned about me six months ago.”
Daniel frowned.
“That doesn't mean she wasn't involved.”
Camille turned sharply.
“Don't accuse her.”
“I'm not accusing her. I'm saying we don't know enough.”
Geneviève remained silent.
Camille noticed.
“What?”
Her grandmother looked at the image.
“That necklace.”
“What about it?”
“I gave it to Élise. She returned it before you were born. I've kept it ever since.”
Camille frowned.
“But the woman is wearing it.”
Geneviève touched the chain beneath her blouse.
“Mine is still here.”
Thomas leaned forward.
“Could there be a duplicate?”
Geneviève hesitated.
“Yes.”
Camille looked at her.
“You said it was a family heirloom.”
“It was. But my mother had two daughters.”
Camille stared.
“You have a sister?”
Geneviève nodded.
“Madeleine.”
Camille remembered the letter in Locker 146.
Madeleine, if anything happens to me, protect the girls.
“Madeleine.”
Geneviève's expression changed.
“You saw her name?”
“In Mom's letter.”
Geneviève covered her mouth.
“Oh, Élise.”
Camille leaned closer.
“Who is Madeleine?”
“My younger sister.”
“Where is she?”
Geneviève looked away.
“I haven't seen her in twenty-eight years.”
Camille felt another wave of frustration.
“Why does everyone in this family disappear?”
Geneviève accepted the question silently.
Then she spoke.
“Madeleine worked as a midwife at Saint-Antoine Medical Center.”
Camille froze.
“The hospital where we were born?”
“Yes.”
“Was she there that night?”
Geneviève nodded.
“She helped deliver you.”
Camille stared.
“And Juliette?”
“Yes.”
Thomas looked up.
“Then Madeleine could be a critical witness.”
Geneviève shook her head.
“She vanished in 1998.”
“Was she reported missing?”
“Yes. But the investigation went nowhere.”
Camille looked at the footage again.
The woman beside Étienne was younger than Geneviève, but older than Camille.
The poor video quality made her age difficult to determine.
“Could that be Madeleine?”
Geneviève leaned closer.
Her expression changed.
“I don't know.”
Camille studied the woman's face.
The resemblance was undeniable.
But perhaps it was not her twin.
Perhaps it was another woman from the same family.
Thomas enlarged the image.
The woman's hair was dark.
Her posture was slightly stooped.
And there was something unusual about her left hand.
Two fingers were bent inward.
Geneviève gasped.
“What?”
“My sister injured those fingers in a childhood accident.”
Camille stared.
“So it's Madeleine?”
Geneviève nodded slowly.
“I think so.”
Daniel leaned back.
“Then she's alive.”
Camille looked at the screen.
“And she was with Étienne the night Mom died.”
Thomas paused the footage.
“We need to find her.”
They spent the next several hours reviewing records.
Madeleine Laurent had disappeared after resigning from the hospital.
Her last known address was in Rouen.
No employment history.
No recent medical records.
No registered telephone number.
It was as though she had vanished completely.
Then Thomas found something.
A property deed.
A small house in Normandy.
Purchased in 2001 by a woman named Madeleine Laurent.
Camille leaned forward.
“She's been living there?”
“Possibly.”
“Then we go.”
Thomas checked the time.
“It's almost midnight.”
“I don't care.”
Daniel looked at her.
“Camille, you haven't slept.”
“My sister is missing. My mother may have been murdered. And the woman who delivered me was standing beside the man responsible.”
Her voice hardened.
“I'm done waiting.”
They left Paris before dawn.
The drive to Normandy took nearly two hours.
Rain fell steadily against the windshield.
Camille sat in the back seat beside Geneviève.
Neither spoke much.
At one point, Geneviève reached for her hand.
Camille hesitated.
Then allowed it.
Forgiveness had not arrived.
But perhaps understanding had begun.
The house stood at the end of a narrow country road.
White walls.
Blue shutters.
A neglected garden.
No car in the driveway.
Thomas approached the front door.
He knocked.
No answer.
Daniel walked around the side.
A moment later, he called out.
“There's a light on inside.”
Camille moved closer.
Through the window, she saw a kitchen table.
A cup of tea.
A pair of reading glasses.
Someone had been there recently.
Thomas tried the door.
Unlocked.
They entered cautiously.
The house smelled of lavender and old paper.
On the kitchen table lay a photograph.
Camille picked it up.
Two newborn babies.
Wrapped in identical white blankets.
One wore a pink hospital bracelet.
The other wore a blue bracelet.
Camille's hands shook.
“It's us.”
Geneviève leaned closer.
Tears filled her eyes.
On the back, someone had written:
Camille and Juliette. October 17, 1996.
Thomas examined the room.
“Someone left in a hurry.”
Daniel pointed toward the hallway.
A chair lay overturned.
A broken glass glittered on the floor.
Camille felt dread rising.
Then she heard a faint sound.
A whisper.
From behind a closed bedroom door.
She approached.
“Hello?”
Silence.
Camille opened the door.
An elderly woman sat on the floor beside the bed.
Her hands were bound.
A strip of tape covered her mouth.
Geneviève cried out.
“Madeleine!”
Camille rushed forward.
Thomas removed the tape.
Madeleine gasped.
Her eyes widened when she saw Camille.
“Oh, my God.”
Camille knelt beside her.
“Are you hurt?”
Madeleine shook her head.
Then she grabbed Camille's wrist.
“You have to leave.”
“Who did this?”
Madeleine's face twisted with fear.
“He knows.”
“Who?”
“Étienne.”
Camille felt cold.
“Where is Juliette?”
Madeleine began crying.
“He took her.”
Camille gripped her hand.
“Where?”
Madeleine looked toward the window.
May you like
Then whispered the words that changed everything.
“To the hospital where you were born.”
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