Left to Lapse (An Adele Sharp Mystery—Book Seven)

by Blake Pierce

  He sighed, staring through the window, watching the passing countryside. “I didn’t kill anyone,” he said.

  “Mind if we check your luggage?” she said. “We can get a warrant.”

  It felt like a shot in the dark, given his previous reactions to them, but now as he stared out the window, he almost seemed mesmerized, as if entranced by the passing terrain.

  He grunted and shrugged.

  “Is that a yes?” Adele pushed.

  Isaac Lafitte continued to stare out the window, watching the tranquil greens and blues.

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” Leoni murmured.

  Adele nodded and got to her feet, turning toward the door, but Isaac grunted, still staring out the window. “Not you—the one who opened the window. I have nothing to hide.”

  Adele slowly lowered back into her seat. Leoni gave her significant look, raising an eyebrow in greeting to his single curl of hair.

  “I’m fine,” she answered the unspoken question. “Go on—I can handle this.”

  Leoni shrugged, but then left, making sure to leave the door propped open as he moved back toward the first-class sleeper car to search Lafitte’s belongings.

  “So you ride trains often?” Adele asked, hoping to keep Lafitte in this new, calm, lulled state.

  He continued to ignore her, staring out the window. Then, as if the question had only just reached his ears, he murmured a soft reply. “Often as I can. Daily. It helps.”

  “Helps?”

  “Yes,” he said, turning to her now. As he looked away from the window, his eyebrows lowered again, as if he were somehow stepping into a frigid room without a sweater. He clenched his teeth. “Helps. Damn you all. Can’t a grieving man be left in peace?”

  “Grieving? Why are you grieving, sir?” Adele pressed. “Your wife?”

  He stared at her. “You know about Claudia?”

  “I was told. She passed away last year, didn’t she? A heart attack?” As she said this last part, she watched his reaction closely.

  But there was nothing except a flash of grief across his countenance and a muttered prayer beneath his breath and he returned to staring out the window.

  A few moments passed, with Adele unsure what else to say. It made sense he’d be grieving his recently deceased wife, if he wasn’t behind her death. Heart attacks weren’t exactly uncommon—perhaps it was a coincidence… But why would someone ride a train so often?

  It helps… he’d said. Helps with what?

  Adele heard a soft clearing of a throat and she glanced back to find Agent Leoni had returned, carrying a brown bag with him.

  Isaac Lafitte turned, and his face reddened. “What are you doing with that?”

  “You said we could search,” Adele reminded him.

  He hesitated, his eyes flickering as if in recollection. “Did I really?”

  Leoni nodded sympathetically, but held up the bag toward Adele. “This was the only item in his cargo hold. No toxins—no poisons. A small bottle of pills, though.” He held up an orange container with a white lid and gave it a little shake.

  Lafitte noted this and it seemed as if he were now being confronted by an old enemy. “Pshaw,” he spat. “Throw those away for all I care. They make me dull—muted.”

  “What are they?” Adele asked.

  Leoni answered first though, “Mood stabilizer,” he replied, softly. “My mother used to take the same sort—though a lesser dosage.”

  “Joy-stealers,” Lafitte added, shaking his head. “I’m supposed to take them twice a day. Bah! Riding the train is better. It keeps me sane. Those devil things,” he said, pointing at the pills, “make me forget. Forget her…” He trailed off and looked out the window again. In a murmur he added, “I wouldn’t have them if my daughter hadn’t made me promise.”

  Adele looked from Lafitte, feeling a flash of sympathy herself, and regarded Leoni. “Nothing else?”

  Leoni shook his head, gently placing the satchel next to Lafitte. “I confirmed with my own people as well.” He nodded toward the man staring out the window. “He’s been riding trains daily for nearly a year now. Almost every day.”

  Lafitte glanced at them after a moment, his eyes widening in surprise as if he hadn’t realized anyone else was in the room with him. “What?” he snapped, as if someone had interrupted him on a phone call. “What do you want? Who are you?”

  Adele sighed, exhaling a long breath. She stared at the man; did she really think a man of this mental capacity could kill without detection? The murders were planned, careful, speaking of a shrewd, sharp mind. There was nothing sharp about Mr. Lafitte.

  At last, massaging her temples, she said, “Mr. Lafitte, we may have more questions for you in the future, but you’re free to go. Mr. Lafitte? Hello?”

  But he seemed lost in his own thoughts, his eyes transfixed by the blurring countryside. Adele hesitantly rose to her feet, with Leoni standing next to her. For a moment, they both glanced uncertainly toward the seated train-hopper. But he had his luggage clutched close to his chest, his chin now pressed against the soft leather on top.

  “I…” Adele trailed off. She shook her head. “Have a good day, Mr. Lafitte.”

  She turned, following Leoni from the compartment.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Margaret Moulin arose and moved from the first-class compartment to stretch her legs. She smiled at Bella, her traveling friend and companion and confidant. The young woman gave a little wave back, smiling as she did, then turned to her boyfriend, who sat in the lounge chair of the first-class compartment next to her. Margaret could almost sense their topic of conversation shifting as she moved from earshot. She knew they would be discussing her, because Margaret herself had few other preferable topics of conversation besides the lives of those proximate, but not too close.

  She hesitated as she moved into the adjacent rail car. This one was empty, with most of the seats removed and signs on the walls advising the car was temporarily out of use for remodeling. Something about the empty space fascinated her. She wondered what sorts of stories would accrue over the years, the decades, delicious secrets and salacious rumors uttered in every corner eventually.

  She smiled to herself at the thought. Only an hour or so ago, she’d been talking with Bella about the strange man who’d wandered through the first-class compartment and stared at her. What an odd duck. Probably smelly, too. He’d had the look of a nasty sort. It wasn’t easy to tell, but in the eyes… or the clothing, and especially the shoes.

  Margaret felt certain the character of a person could be immediately discerned by the state of their wardrobe. The older the clothes, the more shabby the shoes, the less reputable the person.

  She’d stake her reputation on her little scale of gradation.

  Still, there had been something in that man’s eyes… the way he’d watched her. It hadn’t felt lecherous—a look she’d become accustomed to while traveling for business among dirty people. Rather, there had been a hunger there of a different variety…

  And a rage…

  She shivered at the recollection, suddenly feeling very alone in the empty train car poised for remodeling.

  She picked up her pace, moving across the space toward the opposite exit which led to the dining car. A drink. She needed a drink—not that she imbibed as much as Bella did. The poor thing, drinking at all hours of the day. How her boyfriend, Richard, put up with it, heavens knew. Then again, Richard himself was not unfamiliar with a beverage or two. And if her sources were to be trusted, he’d started seeing another girl on the sly.

  She smiled to herself, grateful she wasn’t as caught in her vices as Richard or Bella. Really, it was magnanimous of her to befriend them.

  As she neared the divider between this car and the next, leading to the dining space, she pulled up.

  A dark, lumpy jacket had been left, draped just in the shadows of the doorway.

  She looked over her shoulder, her spine suddenly prickling. For a moment, it felt as if
she were being watched. She shivered, but the compartment behind her was empty.

  For the faintest moment, she thought she glimpsed a silhouette flash across the glass divider door leading back to the first-class compartment.

  She froze, her heart in her throat. But no one came through the door. She relaxed, breathing a bit easier now, and turned.

  A man stood in front of her.

  Not just a jacket, but a person, she realized. He’d been hiding in the shadows.

  Her eyes widened and for a moment she caught a scream. “What are—” she began.

  Then her eyes widened further as she recognized the man in the jacket. The same man with the raging eyes who’d been ogling her back in the first-class compartment. He’d been waiting for her.

  “I—I don’t—” Her voice began to rise, but before she could scream, his face stretched into a smile and he lurched toward her, one hand clamping over her mouth.

  She felt ill all of a sudden, her stomach twisting in stark terror. She could only hope he didn’t defile her. What would the others say then? She remembered after the little incident where one of their mutual friends was assaulted behind a bar, it had been the talk for months…

  “Help!” she screamed. Except the hand covered her lips, and her voice came out more like a strangled gasp into his thick palm.

  He was strong, and though she tried to fight, she couldn’t move. Her eyes strained in their sockets, desperate, gaping. A flash of a needle near her check. A needle? She realized then, the man was holding a syringe.

  It plunged toward her neck once—he cursed as if he’d missed his target. Another sharp jab, and then… a hot, sluicing sensation spreading through her veins.

  It hurt, like a bee sting. She staggered and kicked out this time, hard, catching him in the shin. The man grunted and his grip loosened for a moment. She reeled back, screaming now at the top of her lungs. The man’s eyes flashed and for a moment he just stood, seemingly unfazed by her yells. But also, his eyes hungry again, as if he wanted to drink in the sight…

  Her knees felt wobbly all of a sudden. Her head spun.

  Margaret reached up, her hand at her chest; the warm feeling from her neck had now spread down her shoulders, her arms, her legs, her heart.

  It felt like something was squeezing her insides, twisting. Then the pain—unimaginable pain.

  The man grinned now, watching, then he looked up, as if noting movement beyond, and quickly turned, scampering back toward the dining car, away.

  Margaret could barely see. She dropped to the ground, gasping. Something was squeezing her chest. The man in the jacket slipped through the doorway, stepping through the shadows.

  She tried to scream again, but her lips were completely numb.

  Now she heard the patter of feet. A sudden cry of voices. Was one of those Bella’s? Dear God, she hoped Richard wasn’t there too. She couldn’t imagine the embarrassment of explaining this. They’d talk about it for weeks…

  They’d…

  The shadows moved in above her. She heard voices echoing as if from down a deep well, but she couldn’t react, couldn’t move, couldn’t speak.

  Darkness came complete.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The train stopped in Karlsruhe in Germany, just north of the Black Forest, on the other side of the French border. Adele and Agent Leoni moved toward the open doors in the dining car which exited onto a small metal embarking platform, and down some stairs to the train station.

  “Your partner will be here, you say?” Leoni asked, regarding Adele.

  She nodded distractedly, scanning the platform ahead of them. “Yes—he won’t be joining us on the train, just meeting at the station to go over case notes. Rest stop is for a couple of hours,” she said, but then glanced back to the Italian. “I don’t know if it matters, though.”

  “Oh?” His eyebrows went up.

  She paused in the threshold of the train, one foot on the first step and the other still in the compartment. Most of the train’s residents interested in moving through the station to stretch their legs or grab some food had long since left. A few still remained on the train, either sleeping, or in the case of Mr. Lafitte, his eyes fixed through the window, as if seeing something no one else could.

  Adele frowned, shaking her head at the recollection of the interview. Mr. Lafitte had initially struck her as loud, abrasive, and potentially dangerous. Now, though, after double-checking his claims with the travel company, it became clear that traveling by train was a near daily experience for the retired train-hopper.

  It all just felt so sad now. She sighed and shook her head again, regarding Leoni. “No. The killer didn’t stay on the same train last time, and I imagine he wouldn’t this time either.”

  “He?” asked Leoni. “You’re assuming a male? Poison is often a woman’s weapon, no?”

  Adele shrugged. “Perhaps—I’m not ruling anything out. My point is that we might be wasting our time here…” She shook her head and stepped off the train onto the platform. Leoni followed behind, and as he did, he reached out suddenly, steadying himself against her and murmuring, “Sorry!”

  She looked back at him and his face had gone red in embarrassment as he stared accusingly at the bottom step of the metal ladder. “Blasted thing tried to trip me,” he muttered.

  Adele watched Leoni, and the way he shook his head, flustered. His right hand, though, still pressed to her shoulder—warm, comforting, and strong all at once. Adele didn’t say anything, but allowed him to lift his hand in his own time. As he did, though, she felt a strange flicker of regret.

  She opened her mouth, uncertain what she would say, though wanting to say something. But just then, her phone began to ring.

  Adele cursed, held up a finger, and turned her back to Leoni, answering.

  “What?” she said, a bit more crossly than perhaps she ought to have.

  “Happy to hear from you too,” retorted the voice of John Renee.

  “What is it, John? We’re here. You still coming to meet up?”

  “I’m on my way now. Crossing the border.”

  “All right, we can wait. I was just telling Leoni we need to tackle this case from a different angle. I don’t think the killer is on board.”

  “Right—we. Whatever. Look, Sharp, I can pretty much verify that second part. Killer definitely isn’t on board.”

  Adele went still, staring out across the station along a row of coffee shops and small cafes in the side of the passenger areas. Through the glass walls of the station, she glimpsed the distant greens of trees and slopes in the Black Forest.

  “You sound certain,” she murmured, biting a lip. “Did he attack again?”

  “Yeah. Germany this time. The Green Coach.”

  Adele felt her stomach clamp and her breath come in a gusting rush. Another death. Dammit, she thought. But now wasn’t the time to freeze. She cleared her throat. “Also with Lockport Enterprises?”

  “No. Different owner, different country this time too. But new victim—a young woman, late twenties. Also had a heart attack, this time witnessed by at least six others.”

  Adele found her hand tightening around the phone and she resisted the urge to scream.

  “Adele, what is it?” Leoni asked from behind, as if he could sense her consternation.

  She glanced half back. “Third victim,” she said, biting off the words. Then she said into the speaker of the phone, “You still coming?”

  “Yeah, I’m hurrying. Just one thing—the train in question can’t be sequestered now. It’s currently moving through the Black Forest mountains, in the wilderness. No train station for at least another hour or two, and no access roads for emergency vehicles either…”

  Adele, though, didn’t share the frustration seeping from her old partner’s tone. She shook her head quickly, and said, just as fast, “No, that’s good news, John. Excellent, in fact.”

  A pause on the phone. Static, and for a moment she thought she’d lost him. But then, a s
econd later, John said, “Good news? How?”

  “If the train is still moving,” Adele returned, her grim smile widening, “then that means the killer is still on board.”

  “I mean… you’re not wrong. But for that to matter, we’d have to reach the train first—before emergency vehicles show up, or before they reach a station. I don’t think German authorities will go for holding back a train full of their citizens for our sake.”

  “We don’t have to worry about that headache,” Adele insisted. “As long as we can keep that train moving, then the killer has to stay put. We just need to reach it first.”

  “Hang on,” John said suddenly. “I have an idea. I know how to get to the train before it stops.”

  “What are—”

  Unable to hide the undercurrent of excitement now creeping into his voice, John said, “Just sit tight. I’m on my way.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

  Adele stood outside the station, near a parking lot the authorities had cleared a half hour before. Now, a large ring of red traffic cones cordoned off an area the size of a tennis court. Adele stood next to Leoni, her arms crossed in the chill, misty air coming in from the mountains.

  She strode back and forth, one arm bent at an angle, still crossed, but also holding her phone pressed to her ear, seemingly a permanent fixture, glued there by intent alone.

  “Yes sir,” she was saying. “I understand. We’ll tread lightly.”

  Executive Foucault was on the other line, his rasping voice continuing, “I’m serious, Adele. No unnecessary risks. We finally have the Germans playing ball. They won’t stop the train until they feel they have to. But we’re in a tight window here—very tight.”

  “I understand. But sir, I—”

  Before she continued, though, she felt a hand tug at her wrist. She glanced over, half-expecting John. But the Frenchman was running late, and she hadn’t been able to contact him since the last call. Instead, it was Agent Leoni, who was holding out his own phone and staring at it, his eyes wide.