For the first time in my life, I feel completely besieged. Forced to surrender. By ten p.m., I have decided to call the police. I am just about to pick up the phone when I see Francis walking around the Agora with Ahmed and heading toward my office. I run out to meet him. The look on his face is unlike anything I have ever seen.

“Annabelle!” he calls, instinctively realizing that something is very wrong.

“I’ve done something terrible,” I say, and I fall into his arms.

*  *  *

And I tell him about my confrontation with Vinca Rockwell.

“I need you to be brave,” he whispers when I have finally finished, “because there’s something I have to tell you.”

I thought I had already stared into the abyss but, as Francis tells me about the death of Alexis Clément, about how Thomas and Maxime are involved, I start to gasp for breath. I am completely at a loss. He explains that, since they were already at work on the new gym, he and Ahmed have walled up the body in the new building.

He takes me into his arms and tells me that he will find some way out of this, reminds me of the ordeals that we have already faced together.

*  *  *

He is the one who comes up with the idea.

He is the one who points out that, ironically, two people disappearing will seem less suspicious than one. That Vinca’s murder might make it easier to disguise the murder of Alexis and vice versa, if only we can find some way to link them.

For two hours, we try to come up with a plausible scenario. I tell him about the rumors of the affair and the letters Thomas found that give credence to the story. Suddenly, Francis feels hopeful, but I don’t share his optimism. Even if we can make the bodies disappear, any investigation will still focus on the lycée, and the pressure on us will be unbearable. He agrees, weighs the pros and cons, even suggests confessing to the murders himself. This is the first time in our lives that we are prepared to surrender. Not for want of strength or courage but simply because there are some battles that cannot be won.

Suddenly, in the silence of the night, we are startled by a loud hammering. We turn toward the window. Outside, banging on the glass, is a girl whose face is haggard and distraught. It is not the ghost of Vinca Rockwell come back to haunt us. It is Fanny Brahimi, who is staying in the dorms over Christmas vacation.

“Dean Degalais!”

I shoot Francis a worried look. Fanny lives in the same building as Vinca. I am convinced she is about to tell me that she has just found Vinca’s body.

“It’s over, Francis,” I say. “We’ll have to call the police.”