CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Rachel had crawled into the stuffy confines of the police archive for three days in a row. She had progressed back to the early 1800s and isolated the single container of microfiche that held the first and second decades. The film in this one was not as tightly packed as the more recent ones, and she hoped she’d be able to scan through the documents on every sheet within another day or so, to determine the relevant frames. But for now, her eyes ached, her head ached, and even her stomach ached from the dizziness brought on by the rapid back-and-forth swing of frame after blue-and-white-negative frame in front of her eyes. It was time to go home and relax.
She had intended to walk up the hill to Châtelard, but when she turned the corner outside the police station the
