Left to Fear (An Adele Sharp Mystery—Book Ten)

by Blake Pierce

  "Martha Velz; who, actually, I happen to know.” He raised his eyebrows significantly. “Like I said, in Germany, everyone of a certain bracket knows everyone. She's the daughter of a wealthy production agency who funds German movies. A bit of an actress too."

  Adele set her teeth, "And which boat is she going to be getting on?"

  The CEO shook his head, frowning. "She's already on a boat. Has been for a day. This is her second night. River Metro Ten," he said. "It's departing Ingolstadt in fifteen minutes."

  This time, he didn't look at his phone to say this, as if the departure schedule were simply memorized off the top of his head. Impressive. Eloquent, smart, persuasive. Adele wasn't sure she could trust this man. And yet her instincts were telling her this wasn't the killer. She couldn't let him go. They had to keep an eye on him, but it wasn't like they could do anything until backup arrived to take Mr. Rohm to the police station for further questioning. And in the meantime, Martha Velz was in danger. If what the CEO was saying was true, she was already in her second night on a ticket bought for her by the killer.

  "Alright, dammit," Adele said. "How do we contact this River Metro Ten? There a phone number?”

  The CEO hesitated, but then said, softly, "I'm helping, aren't I?"

  "As noted."

  "I didn't have anything to do with this."

  “Just keep helping."

  "I have the captain's number right here. Do you want me to tell him to dock the boat?"

  Adele hesitated. Rohm wasn't behaving like a guilty man. "Ingolstadt that's not far from here, is it?"

  The CEO shook his head. "No, but River Metro Ten is going to be passing us, heading in the opposite direction."

  Adele hesitated. "And you say it's leaving the dock in fifteen minutes?"

  The CEO frowned but nodded once.

  "What are you thinking?" John murmured in her ear.

  She kept her own voice low but could feel her excitement rising. If the CEO really was innocent, and she was beginning to think so, then the killer would be hunting his next victim. Only one name matched; a wealthy, young woman with three nights booked. Only one potential target remaining. Which meant, whether Adele liked it or not, Ms. Velz was bait.

  "I need you to call that boat," Adele said, quickly, "and tell them to keep an eye on Martha Velz. Put crew with her or something and take her to her rooms. Make sure she's safe. At least two people watching her at all times. And watching each other."

  "Noted." The CEO began to raise his phone. "Anything else to help the fine law enforcement officers from France?"

  "Yes. Tell them to continue on their route, but to come past us. I don't want this bastard to get a chance to go overboard. And I don't want him to get off on some dock if he thinks something is up. Have them come past us, directly. How long will that take?"

  "Maybe an hour to reach us. They're supposed to have another stop before they get here."

  "Tell them to skip it. If the killer is stuck on that boat, we're going to be able to find him.”

  "Think we should warn Ms. Velz directly?" John said.

  Adele nodded adamantly. "Yes, tell the captain to tell her. For now, though, make sure they don't dock a second time. They have to come towards us, past our own boat."

  The CEO sighed, leaning back, staring up at the ceiling of the stateroom, but then he completed the call, and someone answered nearly instantly. Adele heard a voice in the background. Mr. Rohm said, "Look, Dodd, you're not going to believe this, but I have some special instructions for you. Listen closely."

  CHAPTER THIRTY THREE

  Adele braced one hand against the rail, her hip pressed hard into the metal bar. She stared up the river, watching, wide-eyed at the approach of River Metro Ten.

  Was the killer on board? She frowned—more importantly, was Martha Velz still alive? She gritted her teeth, and called over her shoulder, “John, any word about them yet?” She glanced back towards where Agent Renee was standing with his phone pressed to his cheek, his eyes narrowed. He winced, shaking his head. “Nothing,” he called back. “They can't find her, Adele. Martha is missing.”

  Adele wet her lips with her tongue, feeling the spray from the water below. Their own vessel moved slowly, lazily against the current.

  River Metro Ten, however, was baring full steam ahead. The CEO had already advised the captain of the other ship to come alongside the stalled boat.

  Adele inhaled, held the breath and then loosed it, her hand still tight around the railing, her knuckles as white as snow. She could feel her heartbeat hammering, could feel the eyes of the passengers, the crew above and behind watching the spectacle. No backup this time.

  Just her and John, and two moving boats. They couldn't alert the killer they were coming. Couldn't let him know they were on to him.

  If she was right, then the killer was stuck on board, right where she wanted him.

  It had seemed a good plan at the time, but now... Martha Velz was missing. The crew had called back—they hadn't found her in her room, or in the dining compartment. They'd checked the lower decks as well.

  Nothing.

  “Damn it,” Adele muttered. What if she was too late? What if the killer had already struck...

  She couldn't afford to think like that; she needed to focus. Especially for what she was planning to do next.

  “John,” she said, her throat dry all of a sudden, “You ready?”

  “Hell, Adele, you sure about this?”

  “Just be quick,” she said. “And...” She glanced down at the churning water between the two boats and winced. “Don't fall in the crack.”

  John muttered darkly behind her. “Heaven forbid any of us fall in the crack.”

  “Shut up. It's getting closer—get ready!”

  River Metro Ten continued its approach, heading along with the current. She could glimpse faces on the other boat now, glimpse lights flashing from windows, could hear music softly pulsing from the nearing vessel.

  “Almost!” she called.

  The opposite boat's rail swished by like the metal on a train track. It was moving far faster than she would have liked. Her hand only tightened further on the railing, and she grit her teeth, counting down in her head. Just do it, she thought to herself. No idling. Just jump.

  She hadn't wanted the killer to have a chance to get ashore. Hadn't wanted to alert him.

  But this...

  Maybe this was a mistake.

  The railings were now passing each other. Two tracks of metal and glass and thick hull. Eyes on the deck above, eyes on the deck behind her.

  River Metro Ten was larger than any of the other boats she'd seen so far. Even now, as she braced, she glimpsed an entire swimming pool on the first deck, towards the prow, beneath a concave gap. Bright red and white umbrellas extended above the pool. Was it her imagination, or could she smell chlorine?

  She waited a second longer, feeling her anxiety pulse through her one last time.

  One... Two...

  On three, she'd go, no matter what.

  John suddenly lurched past her, yelling as he did. The tall Frenchman struck the opposite rail, hard, and let out a loud gasp of pain, but at the same time, he hung on, and tilted his body, depositing himself over the rail.

  Adele said, out loud, if only to summon her last nerve, “Three.”

  And she jumped.

  For a moment, as she launched over the railing, propelling herself across the gap in the water, she felt a jolt of terror. What if she missed? What if she landed between the two giant boats? What if she was caught under the enormous—

  Thump.

  She struck the rail, hard, gasping, the wind knocked from her lungs. For a moment, wincing, she worried she'd broken a rib. But just as quickly, the throbbing sensation faded, and Adele managed to cling to the opposite rail. River Metro Ten's guardrail was colder, in her assessment, and thicker. The lager boat loomed up and around her. A couple of older women in bathing suits—far too revealing to match well with the
accumulation of wrinkles and cellulite scars—had gone still, both of them holding small glasses of red drinks with miniature umbrellas.

  One of them, who'd been sucking on a cherry, opened her mouth so wide, the small fruit fell out, and hit the deck.

  John, gasping, reached his feet first and hurried over to Adele. She wheezed, ignoring the attention of the nearby passengers, while allowing John to help her over the rail and onto the deck.

  It took her a moment, breathing in, slow, out—exhaling longer. She waited, trying to calm her nerves, and then, she straightened, forcing down her swirling emotions, forcing down the slew of what-if scenarios sparking through her mind.

  They'd made it. That's all that mattered.

  And there was a killer on board—his potential victim now missing.

  “John,” she said, still breathing raggedly.

  His hand gripped her elbow, and she wasn't sure if he was steadying her, or himself.

  “Let's not do that again,” John muttered.

  Adele shook her head. “We need to find her, John,” she said, shrugging off his hand. “Before it's too late. Did the CEO say where her rooms were?”

  John nodded, wincing. “Yeah. Room thirty-four. Third level. Want me to check?”

  “Yeah, you go there. I'll start looking in other places.”

  “Crew said they couldn't find her.”

  “Damn it, we will!” Adele pushed away from John now, moving up the deck, eyes narrowed. “Just go check her rooms!” she called over her shoulder.

  She didn't look back to see the expression on his face. Now wasn't the time for sentimentality or discussion. Now was the time to find a potential victim, and then the predator himself.

  Were they too late? Was Martha Velz, even now, stowed away somewhere, dead? Had she been thrown overboard?

  Adele moved faster, practically jogging now, accidentally stepping on the fallen cherry, crushing it into juice as she made her way in the direction of the swimming pool. Where would the crew not have checked?

  She could only think of a few places. Bathrooms, for one, perhaps. They'd already checked Ms. Velz's room, the dining hall, and other public places. But they'd also been told to check the bathrooms, and as of yet, no call—which meant no body, living or otherwise.

  So where else might Martha Velz be?

  Was she hiding or dead, or oblivious to the whole thing?

  Adele moved faster now, still jogging, breathing heavily, her side aching from where she'd careened into the rail.

  ***

  Perhaps he was a killer. Disputing it seemed incongruous with his nature. Was it really so bad? Killing had always been a part of human endeavor.

  He twirled the rose between his fingers, staring at it for a moment, eyes narrowed. Not quite frowning, but his lips didn't smile either.

  Expressionless, emotionless.

  The anger was gone too, now. It had been rising, swirling, but now—all at once—it had vanished. Almost as if he'd been lied to. He wasn't left with peace, but rather a grim emptiness. Something... something in himself had also been killed along with those young women.

  He stared at the rose, plucking one petal, eyeing it, and then lifting it to inhale. It barely smelled at all, though; perhaps that was due to the overpowering odor of chlorine. The splashing and giggling of swimmers around him gave him a bit of a headache. How much would he have enjoyed, once upon a time, coming on a boat like this, enjoying a pool.

  He wondered how many of the children splashing around, screaming and scooping water, and diving after toys, knew how lucky they were.

  He twirled the rose once more, and then examined the small note he'd written. Only three words this time... The emptiness had sapped him in more than one way. Even the taunting had lost some of its flavor.

  Our deepest condolences, he'd written.

  Perhaps he should have said “my.” But no—he preferred it this way. Three simple words. The same words on the card they'd sent him.

  And besides, he wasn't alone. She was watching over him, from beyond. She was part of all of this—it was on her behalf after all. She'd been treated like scum and died in her own vomit.

  And now, because of it, he was setting things right once more.

  He stared at the drink tray on the small table next to him. Three glasses empty—but even they didn't help the emptiness.

  Each of those drinks had cost more than a week of groceries not too long ago.

  Times had changed...

  He waited, watching for a moment across the pool.

  There she sat. Martha Velz, chatting with an older man next to her, clearly uncomfortable. She wore a modest bathing suit with a sundress over it. Her cheeks were lathered in sunscreen, despite her darker complexion, and her eyes kept moving off to the side as if looking for some way out.

  He waited impatiently, feeling his temper rising.

  The old man kept gabbing, but finally, extricating herself from the conversation one inch at a time, until there was a ten-foot gap between them—and the old man still kept yammering—Martha winced, gave a little excuse and a sidelong glance, and then moved, heading towards the steam rooms.

  He watched her leave through hooded eyes.

  Maybe he didn't need to kill her too...

  The anger was gone, stolen from him somehow. Emptiness was all that remained. Live or die, what did it matter?

  He watched her move towards the steam room, pushing in past a couple heading the other direction.

  Maybe she didn't deserve to die...

  Three was enough, wasn't it?

  Martha paused for a moment in the door, shooting a nervous glance towards where the old man was still watching her, waving cheerfully. She waved back, and then turned, disappearing into the steam room.

  At the same time, two uniformed crew members moved through the small black gate circling the pool. They began to circle the tables and sun chairs and swimmers, frowning and glancing at their phones, then at faces.

  He froze for a moment, feeling his nerves rising again.

  Fear.

  Fear was as good as hatred for now.

  He got to his feet, as casually as possible. Were they looking for him? How was that possible? Clearly the crew were searching for someone.

  No time to wait, they were drawing nearer. By the looks of things, they hadn't found their target—not yet. They kept looking, glancing at swimmers, making them uncomfortable.

  He moved, lazily, stretching his legs, as casually as possible, heading directly for the steam rooms.

  CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR

  Adele paused by the small, black gate which opened to the swimming area. The same older women from before jostled past her, doing their best not to spill their drinks as they moved towards a couple of sun chairs.

  Adele frowned. Two employees were moving through the swimmers, checking phones and faces. By the looks of things, they hadn't found Martha Velz either.

  Adele gave a little huff of frustration.

  Not the pool, then. In the water?

  Adele scanned, but most the swimmers were young children. She shook her head, eyes settling on the passengers around the pool, watching for any odd reaction at the employees. A couple of young women in bikinis looked uncomfortable at the scrutiny and covered themselves with towels beneath their umbrellas. But neither of them matched the description of Ms. Velz.

  An older man, who was smiling, with far too much sunscreen on his nose, began to question one of the employees, chattering away with a wide grin. The employee tried to move off, but the old man kept following him, still talking.

  Nothing there, either.

  Just then, Adele spotted someone in a swimsuit rise from a sun chair. Next to the chair, there was an empty tray of drinks. The man in question had a scar on his back, near his left kidney. A donor? A recipient?

  His back was to her, his hair dark, but not particularly distinguishable. He wore an expensive watch, and his shoes, which he hadn't taken off, seemed similarly valuabl
e.

  But why was he leaving his shirt and small backpack next to the sun chair, untended? Did he have family nearby?

  Didn't seem like anyone was watching the items. He wasn't heading for another drink, either, as the waiter was on the opposite side of the pool.

  Adele watched with mounting curiosity as the man strolled the edge of the pool towards another black, exit gate on the opposite side.

  An employee with a phone began to move towards the man all of a sudden.

  The fellow with the expensive watch paused, bending to one knee and tying his shoe, his back still to Adele. He ignored the employee, face down.

  Of course, the employee was looking for a young woman, so he didn't even notice the odd behavior.

  But the man's shoes were both tied.

  Why was he ducking, then? Unless...

  He didn't know who they were looking for—and Adele desperately wished the crew had been told to be more subtle about it...

  But what was the man hiding his face for?

  Once the employee passed, the dark-haired fellow with the fancy shoes moved out the small, black gate, and towards a wooden door marked Steam Rooms.

  He slipped inside, his shirt and small bag still left untended behind him. And there... beneath the chair...

  Adele felt a slow shiver prickle up her spine. A single, red rose petal discarded on the damp ground.

  “Excuse me,” said one of the employees, waving at her. “Excuse me—are you with the police? I have a question about this search.”

  Adele cursed. Perhaps standing in a full suit by a swimming pool wasn't the best of covers. She ignored the employee though, racing towards the steam rooms, feeling the prickle along her spine turn to a buzz.

  It felt like walking in a cloud. Adele winced, feeling the sudden damp against her cheeks, her shirt, her trousers. She narrowed her eyes, waving a hand in front of her face to clear the steam, but even then it only seemed to swirl the puffs of vapor.

  “Martha?” she called out, hesitantly, quietly.

  She spotted movement towards the back of the room, but then the motion ceased, and another gust of steam obscured her vision.