by Blake Pierce
John glanced at Adele. “What’s he saying?”
“He says it is private property.” Adele, in German, called out, “Mr. Rosenbaum sent us. He said you’re not allowed here. We would like to ask you some questions.”
The man hesitated, his gun still hovering. “Where are you from again?” he asked. His gun inched even lower.
“Adele,” John said, serious as a grave, “tell him if that gun aims at us, I will put a bullet between his eyes.”
Adele quickly relayed the information. The trespasser glanced from John to Adele. His eyes narrowed again. “Interpol? What do you want with me?”
Adele said, “Just lower the gun, and we can talk about it.”
For his part, John maintained his aim, his posture rigid, his finger strained white against the trigger—but, true to his word, he didn’t fire. The trespasser’s rifle still aimed skyward.
The man took a moment to reach a decision. For a moment, Adele thought it would be a deadly one. His gun hovered. The rabbit draped from his hand. But then he seemed to see something in John’s gaze that he didn’t quite like, and, with a groan, he extended his hands, bent at the waist, and slowly placed his weapon and his dinner on the ground.
Before he even completed the motion, Adele was moving quickly across the ground, John at her side. John was yelling, incoherent sounds, controlling the suspect with noise alone.
Adele was saying, “On the ground! Remain on the ground!” Her handcuffs were already in her grip. She reached Heinrich and circled behind him, ignoring his insults and dark muttering. And, with John’s help, she cuffed him. John kicked the gun away, and the rabbit too, grunting in distaste.
Then, with Heinrich in cuffs, Adele dusted off his coat and said, “Sorry for the hassle. Tell me if the cuffs are uncomfortable. And please follow us.”
“Bugger off,” the man muttered in response.
They led him away from his bus, his dead rabbit, and his rifle.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The second time around in the Black Forest police station interrogation room, Adele felt prickles across the back of her arms. Interviewing the trucker in the same room had held an entirely different atmosphere. Now, tension thrummed on the air. Across from her, Heinrich sat, his hands cuffed in front of him. He moved his arms, and a quiet scrape of metal broke the silence.
Agent Renee had excused himself for this interview, and Adele secretly thought he was tired of having to wait for the translation. Last she’d seen him, he’d been chatting up one of the sergeants, a woman ten years his senior, but who’d seemed to appreciate the attention and understood a modicum of French.
As Adele adjusted her sleeves and stared across the interrogation table, she tried not to let her annoyance at John’s behavior show. What did she care who he talked to?
“Heinrich Gardner,” said Adele, “is that your name?”
She glanced at the folder in front of her, making a big deal of flipping the manila cover, examining the contents and closing it again. She held it open long enough that he could see his own photo, upside down.
“Best as I can remember,” he replied.
“I see here you had issues with trespassing before. Mind telling me why that is?”
Heinrich moved his arms again, causing the handcuffs to scrape across the metal table once more in a jarring fashion. Adele didn’t allow her expression to betray her irritation at the noise.
“I move around a lot,” said the suspect. His wild, uncombed hair seemed even more cartoonish beneath the bright lights of the interrogation room. His grizzled, stubbled features were streaked with dirt, and Adele could still detect the ripe, sour odor of unwashed clothes.
“I heard from other campers at the grounds that you harassed some of the women, is that true?”
Heinrich’s hands twisted against each other at this point. She heard a quiet tapping sound, and glanced down to notice his foot bumping rapidly against the metal table leg.
He fidgeted and said, “There’s no crime against talking to people, is there? If I looked like that agent you came with, it wouldn’t be called harassing, it would be called flirting. Not my fault I don’t suit people’s taste.” He flashed a smile, revealing a couple of missing teeth.
“There is no crime in talking to anyone,” said Adele. “Kidnapping, though…” she said, trailing off. She let the word hang, scrutinizing his expression.
“Wait, what?” Mr. Gardner stared at her. “Kidnapping? What are you going on about?” His cheeks flushed, and a slight red tinge crept over his face. “Was it Mr. Rosenbaum? That bastard has had it out for me forever! Has he said I’ve been kidnapping? He’s a liar. In fact, I bet you he’s the one who’s been kidnapping. Yes, actually, in fact, I’ve seen him kidnap people!”
Adele blinked, and her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “You’ve seen Mr. Rosenbaum kidnap someone?”
Heinrich shrugged like a child caught in a lie. “I mean, if he’s saying I am, then I’m saying he is.”
Adele sighed, massaging the bridge of her nose. Clearly, there was no love lost between the campground owner and Stinkeye.
His lazy eye was drifting again, off to the right, but his other fixed on her, firm, unyielding.
“And the complaints I’ve had of you talking with women? Harassing them at midnight by their cars?”
Heinrich didn’t blink, and he didn’t look away. “It’s lonely up in the mountains. Can you blame me for looking for some companionship? I never forced anyone to do anything, and there’s no crime against talking, is there?”
Adele shook her head. “I guess not. And Mr. Rosenbaum, you say you’ve seen him involved in kidnappings?”
“I’m saying, whatever he’s accused me of, he probably did.”
“Thank you, very helpful. One other thing, does the name Amanda Johnson mean anything to you?”
Again, she studied his expression, her eyes burrowing into the side of his head. But if the name registered in any way, Heinrich Gardner covered perfectly. He curled his lips in a sort of shrug, and shook his head once. “Never heard of her. Sounds hot. If she’s looking for a friend, give her my number.” He flashed another yellowish grin.
Adele breathed through her nose above tight lips.
“And how long have you been living in that bus?”
Heinrich snorted. “Long as I can. Few months.”
Adele raised an eyebrow. “Only a few months?” She thought of when Amanda had gone missing. “And before that? Where were you then?”
Heinrich smirked. “Four months ago? Probably spending some time warming up the cots behind bars.”
“You were in jail?”
He shrugged. “Only a few weeks at a time.”
“Do you know the dates?”
Heinrich shook his head. “Wasn’t in much of a state to remember anything.”
Adele frowned, trying not to betray her thoughts. If Heinrich was telling the truth, and he was in and out of jail around the time of Amanda’s kidnapping, then he couldn’t be the guy.
“Anything else you can tell me?” she asked, but it felt like fishing without bait.
Heinrich simply ignored her now. Adele sighed, muttered a quiet thank-you, then got up to leave the table.
“When can I get out of here?” he called after her.
“That’s up to the police to decide,” Adele called back. “And,” she turned, looking at him, “stop trespassing. Someone’s going to get hurt.”
The man hunched a bit, folding in on himself and staring at his hands, muttering grumpily to himself. Adele turned and exited the interview room, more deflated than when she’d entered.
Outside, John was waiting, a bag of chips in his hand. His other hand held his phone, and he frowned.
“What?” she said.
He raised an eyebrow at her. “Interpol’s trying to get a hold of you,” he said.
Adele cursed and fished her phone out. Two missed calls. “I had it on silent for the interrogation.”
John nodd
ed toward the one-way window. “Is that our guy?”
Adele turned and examined Heinrich’s hunched form. He was still muttering quietly to himself, picking at his fingernails and scraping the handcuffs against the metal table as if somehow he found the grating sound soothing.
“I don’t think so,” said Adele. “He’s skeezy, but I don’t think he’s a killer. Says he has an alibi for the time when Amanda disappeared. Jail time. We can check it out.”
“Gut instinct?”
“He’s not our guy,” said Adele. “You saw his bus, look at the state of him. He can’t maintain himself; I don’t think there’s any way he could conduct a sophisticated series of kidnappings, carrying out a strategy and a plan for potentially years without getting caught. There are too many eyes on him. He’s not exactly inconspicuous. The campers know him. The campground owner knows and dislikes him. No, I don’t think he’s our guy. Besides, if I had to bet on it—his alibi is going to check out.”
John nodded. “Checks out. Officers searched his bus home. Found nothing, no evidence. Couple of dirty magazines and a bottle of hand lotion.” John glanced through the glass and wrinkled his nose. “But nothing unusual.”
“So no leads,” she said.
“No leads,” he replied.
Both of them shared a disgruntled, quiet look. Then Adele sighed, lifted her phone, and returned the call. The name read Ms. Jayne.
She stepped past John, moving into one of the break rooms, which for the moment was empty. She stood against the back wall, waiting patiently as her phone rang.
Then the camera connected, and she found the small image of herself in the bottom right, and a full image of a gray-haired, bespectacled lady. The woman on the screen seemed the opposite in every way to Heinrich Gardner. Where he had been dirty and unkempt, Ms. Jayne was clean and well maintained. She was a bit heavier than most field agents, but had intelligent, searching eyes.
“Hello,” Adele said, clearing her throat, her tone injected with the energy of someone communicating with their boss after a long day—a bit too chipper, too eager; pure compensation. “Are you trying to contact me?”
The image moved, but Adele couldn’t hear anything. Quickly, she turned off silent and increased the volume. “Sorry, what was that?”
In crisp, clear tones that somehow communicated an air of control, of certainty, Ms. Jayne said, “It’s good to see you again, Agent Sharp. Apologies for not contacting you sooner. Do we have any leads on the case in the Black Forest?”
Adele shook her head once. “I’m afraid not. I just got out of an interview with a suspect. Doesn’t look like he’s our guy.”
The Interpol correspondent paused, and silence stretched between them. For a moment, Adele wondered if perhaps she had lost connection.
But then Ms. Jayne spoke. “I see.”
Those words hung still in the air, and someone moved into the break room, heading toward the coffee pot. Adele fixed them with such a glare that the police officer raised an apologetic hand and moved quickly back out of the break room, coffee left unattended.
“We’re working on it,” Adele said. “It’s only been a day, give us some time.”
The correspondent nodded, a curt, short motion, as if she couldn’t be bothered to wag her head like normal people.
“It’s worth noting, Agent Sharp, that word is circulating in the agencies. The list of names that you came up with, people who have gone missing in the area, has been passed from agency to agency. Part of Interpol’s role is to keep all parties apprised of our operations.” She cleared her throat. “At least, where prudent.”
Adele winced. She wasn’t sure what this meant, but waited for Ms. Jayne to explain.
“Long story short, a lot of other agencies from victims’ home countries are wanting in on this. I’ve had calls from Switzerland, France, Belgium, and England. America is starting to get involved, and I’ve received calls from at least three different FBI field offices.”
Adele winced again.
“All that to say, I know you do excellent work. You’ve proven that. But I’m going to need you to rise to the occasion on this one. We can’t have everyone getting involved. Too many hands on deck. But the longer it takes, the more difficult it will be to prevent them from hopping aboard. Understand?”
Adele nodded, swallowing a lump in her throat. With each dip of her head, she felt a mounting weight of pressure settle on her shoulders like a thick blanket.
Adele thought of her promise to the Johnsons—to Amanda’s parents. She’d given her word. They were counting on her. She had to solve this case. Nations away, the parents grieved; here on the ground, Adele had to do the work. If she couldn’t solve this case… then perhaps she couldn’t solve…
Solve what?
A smothering sensation filled her, and she had to close her eyes briefly, to stave off a sudden headache. When she opened them, she saw Ms. Jayne unblinking, staring through her clear spectacles and waiting.
“We don’t have any leads yet,” Adele said, a rasp in her throat. “But we can find one. We’ll solve this. We both know what happens when too many people get involved. Especially across agencies.”
Ms. Jayne replied, “I believe you’re right. But either way, you’re on a timer, Adele. I can only hold back the dogs from the other yards for so long. It wouldn’t look good to Germany, or Interpol, for us to require the help of these other agencies. One thing that I’ve learned coordinating is that ten generals leading an army creates a disjointed battle.”
Adele nodded again. “We’ll solve it.”
“Soon.”
“Yes. Soon,” said Adele. Then she nodded once, in the same way Ms. Jayne had at the start of the conversation, and, as if on cue, they both hung up in unison, the images cutting out on the screen.
Bleeding… Bleeding… Always bleeding… Adele saw the movies play across her eyes—the images of her mother. The wounds, the tortures. She thought of Amanda’s injuries. The kidnapper kept his victims for a long time… Who knew how long?
She shuddered, imagining what he might be doing to them. Imagining the ways he might be enjoying his playthings. All the while laughing at the incompetence of those tasked with putting an end to the pain.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Cold no longer settled, but rather attacked. Adele could feel the blistering air sifting through her clothing, creeping up her sleeves, down the collar of her shirt, pressing against her cheekbones.
She winced against the gnawing cold, standing out by the highway once more with John at her side. She watched as the groups of volunteers gathered beyond the traffic cones. Orange vests were returned to the coordinators. Dogs were shuffled back into vehicles, tempted with treats and provided bowls of water. The small tents that had served as a launching point were slowly torn down.
Adele heard the coordinator, the same officer from before, calling out, “Search is done for the night; we’ll reconvene in the morning. Thank you for your efforts!”
Illumination came from the headlights of the parked vehicles and the few safety lights still lining the highway. Adele glanced up, frowning. At least three of the seven lights within view were out.
She shoved her hands deep in her jacket pockets, finding her thin gloves were insufficient against the night’s frigid intent.
John nudged Adele, and she followed his gaze.
A man with a walrus mustache and thick, muscular forearms was stomping out of the forest, in front of a group of nine seemingly exhausted and bedraggled rescue workers. Adele’s father seemed ready to go another ten rounds, but everyone who’d been in his group looked on the verge of collapse.
Some of them actually draped themselves against the trees, chugging from water bottles they’d carried at their belts.
Adele’s father ignored them, marched over to the table where the jackets and whistles were being collected, returned his items, and then marched right back toward the forest.
“Dad,” Adele called out, taking a few step
s forward and raising a hand to try to catch his attention. He seemed to ignore her, and she called again, frowning, “Dad!”
The Sergeant hesitated, glancing over in her direction. Reluctantly, he left the forest edge and approached her, stepping onto the highway that was cordoned off and surrounded by caution tape and orange traffic cones.
An officer held out a hand, halting the Sergeant, and he waited testily for Adele to hurry to the edge of the cones.
“Good to see you,” she said.
He grunted in response. His eyes flicked to John, who came along as well. He glanced at the man, and his eyes narrowed, just slightly.
“Well,” said Adele in English, “it’s been a while.”
“Look,” her father replied in German, glancing toward John again. Adele knew the Sergeant was aware John couldn’t speak German. “Adele, I’m sorry, I just don’t have the time.”
“Right,” she said, hesitantly, also in German. “Well, we’re both hungry. I was wondering if you wanted to get a bite to eat with us.”
The Sergeant glanced between his daughter and her partner. He raised an eyebrow high on his sun-stained forehead, then said, “Still with this guy? Can’t fly a helicopter worth a damn from what I remember.”
“What’s he saying?” John said in French.
Adele cleared her throat. “He says it’s nice to see you in person again.”
John scratched his jaw. “Tell him to stop staring at me. If he keeps glaring, I’m gonna knock that mustache off his face.”
Adele glared at John and rolled her eyes. “Really?”
“Tell him.”
Her father had been glancing distractedly off into the forest. His French was rusty, but he’d picked up some while married to Elise. It didn’t seem like he’d fully understood John, but his eyes narrowed suspiciously and he glanced at his daughter. “What did he say?”
“He says it’s nice to meet you again,” she said.
John and her father both crossed their arms within a couple of seconds of each other, staring over at Adele.