by Blake Pierce
He replied in French, a thick accent making it difficult to understand. “Yes, what is it?”
Adele switched to English and said, “I’m with Interpol. My name is Agent Sharp. We would like to ask you a few questions if you don’t mind coming with us.”
The moment she spoke English, the man’s eyes flicked away from Paige and regarded Adele. He had seemed annoyed at first, but at Adele’s words, his face turned pale. He began to shake his head, backing slowly away. “This is a mistake,” he said in English. He had a clear American accent. “Whatever you think I’ve done, I want to assure you,” he said, trailing off, “it’s just…” He glanced between the two women.
Agent Paige said, “Don’t move,” in a low growl.
But Waters looked back at Adele. “You’re American?” he asked.
Adele nodded. “Yes, but I’m here with Interpol investigating—hey!”
Before she could finish, Gabriel Waters let out a squeak of fright and began to back away. As he scarpered, he knocked over the DVDs and the chips, shaking his head and waving his hands.
“I’m afraid you need to come with us!” said Adele. She found herself slowly drawing her weapon. The man took one long look at her, then spun on his heel and bolted.
Adele and Paige shouted in unison and burst toward the door. They both tried to enter at the same time and ended up blocking each other instead. Adele backed off and Agent Paige pushed her out of the way with a snarl and barreled into the unit. She broke into a sprint, racing after the man down the hallway.
Instead of racing the same direction, Adele turned, pulled back out of the door, through the front entry, down the porch, and toward the side of the apartment where she had spotted the open window.
A second later, she watched as Gabriel Waters threw himself through the window and let out a loud grunt of pain as he landed on his ankle on the cobblestones between the hedges. He turned toward Adele, yelped, and began sprinting around the side of the apartment toward the back. He lashed out, toppling two bins and sending a stack of splintered wood scattering across the ground.
Adele kept her weapon holstered and hotfooted after him, shouting for him to stop—cries which he ignored.
A pause. Then Agent Paige also emerged through the window. The older woman moved quickly, with agile motions, dropping nimbly to the cobblestones. Paige leapt over the toppled bin and shattered wood and sprinted after Gabriel Waters, who was heading for a brick wall in the back of the alley garden.
Adele and Paige were nearly neck and neck, both of them shouting directions, both of them racing toward Gabriel’s frightened form.
Adele put on an extra burst of speed, but Gabriel made a sudden juke to the left, which Adele tried to follow. The garden was kept in as nearly poor condition as Gabriel’s apartment, and Adele spotted the tangled hose too late. Her foot caught and she struggled to maintain her balance, but the distraction sent her tripping over a hedge protruding from a pile of mulch.
Adele rolled away from the shrubs, somehow maintaining her footing. Mr. Waters was slow, though, lagging from a limp to his right ankle from jumping out of the window. A nearby horn honked loudly—whether due to traffic or the spectacle, Adele didn’t know.
Each step of the suspect accompanied a curse. Waters tried to wheel away from Paige, but found Adele had cut off his escape back to the front of the apartment. He turned and flung himself at the wall, trying to drag himself up the brick structure. But his injured ankle wouldn’t follow his commands.
Agent Paige surged forward, kicking out his injured leg, then shoving him to the ground with a quick jab, and her weapon snapped from its holster. “Stop moving!” she screamed.
Gabriel tried to rise, but he found Paige’s foot in the center of his chest, holding him down.
He licked his lips, glancing at the gun. “This is all a mistake,” he said in frantic English. He tried French when Agent Paige didn’t lift her foot. “This is a mistake,” he repeated, but Adele’s reluctant partner only pushed her foot harder against him, eliciting a groan of pain and stemming the tide of words, English or otherwise.
Paige growled, “Don’t move, and keep your hands where I can see them.” The older woman glanced over to where Adele approached, then back at Gabriel. “A step slow,” she said, with a smirk.
“Good job,” Adele muttered through clenched teeth. “I’ll cuff him if you keep him down.”
Gabriel was larger than both of them, but the threat of the gun and their combined presence made it a quick collar, and soon, they had him in handcuffs, leading him out of the alley garden and toward their parked vehicle.
“Mincy,” said Gabriel, whispering quietly, “my cat. Someone needs to feed her.”
Adele thought for sure Agent Paige would scoff at this, but instead, her partner pushed Waters forward and said, “I’ll let an officer know.”
The two of them reached their vehicle, pushing Gabriel in the back, his hands still cuffed as Adele called in on the radio, reporting the arrest. Eventually, they pulled away from the curb, circling the arrondissement. Adele noticed the mother in the adjacent unit to Gabriel’s, peering through the window, staring after them.
Adele returned her attention to the rearview mirror, examining the suspect. He didn’t have the look of a killer. He looked like he hadn’t showered in a week; his shirt had stains, and she could almost smell him from here.
She felt an uneasiness as she regarded him.
This man had spoken with both of the victims before they’d been murdered. He had to know something.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Agent Paige wiggled Mr. Waters’s phone beneath his chin and then dropped it. The suspect protested with a shout as his device thudded against the surface of the metal table. “Careful!” he exclaimed. “You’ll break it!”
Agent Paige pointed an accusing finger at the phone, glaring through slitted eyes. “That’s what you used to communicate with them?” she demanded. “What’s the password?”
The phone rested on the table, glinting beneath the naked bulbs pulsing white throughout the room. Adele shifted uncomfortably, standing against a wall mirror at the back. Slight cracks ornamented the plaster beneath the mirror, and flakes of white paint were scattered on the ground under her feet, but Adele kept her eyes focused on Mr. Waters, studying the suspect.
He still had the look of someone who hadn’t showered in a week, but his teeth, she noticed, were in immaculate condition. Whenever he opened his mouth to speak, she noticed a glare of resplendent white.
“The password,” Agent Paige insisted. She jabbed her finger against the metal table again, and loomed threateningly over Gabriel Waters.
The American shifted uncomfortably, his hands still cuffed behind him, encircling the metal chair. He shot a pleading look over at Adele.
Adele paused, then said, “I’m not gonna lie to you, Gabriel, it isn’t looking good.”
Mr. Waters’s eyes darted between the two agents, and he nervously licked his lips. “I-I can explain,” he stammered, then trailed off. “What, what exactly is it you think I’ve done?”
He spoke in a sly, hedging sort of way that immediately put Adele on guard. She said, “I can’t help but notice your English is better than your French. How long have you been living outside Paris?”
The man shrugged one shoulder, and then winced as his handcuffs scraped against the back of the metal chair. “What does it matter?”
Adele clicked her tongue. “I’ll tell you what matters. How long have you been here? There’s some discrepancy with your papers.”
Mr. Waters stared at the phone on the table, grinding his perfect teeth. Agent Paige waited like a gargoyle, her ominous shadow cast by the naked bulb in the ceiling.
“I…” he began, hesitantly. “I just… I didn’t do it. Whatever you think I did.” He trailed off again, glancing up with a desperate look in his eyes.
“Two women were murdered,” Adele said, biting off each word with venom. “You contacted both; don
’t play with us. We know you had something to do with it.” She pushed off the wall and moved over to join Paige by the table, flanking Waters’s other side.
But at her comments, the suspect looked up sharply. “Wait, hang on, what did you say?”
“You heard her,” Paige growled in careful English.
Mr. Waters shook his head wildly and his voice went up an octave. “Murder? I didn’t have anything to do with murder. Hold on—no, I’m serious, what are you even talking about?”
Adele pointed at his phone. “Amanda Gardner. Stephanie Riddle,” Adele rattled off. “Both of them American. Young. Pretty. Is that how you like them? Their kidneys were missing. What do you do with them? Eat them?”
Gabriel Waters’s face had turned the same color as the white walls, and at the comment about the kidneys, his lips took on a greenish tinge. He rapidly shook his head now, shifting violently back and forth in his chair as if his whole body were trying to protest the accusation.
“Hang on, hang on, just one second—no, that’s not it. I swear, I didn’t know anything about killings. Kidneys? God… Just harmless chatting was all. I didn’t—Christ—didn’t kill anyone!”
Paige jutted her finger into the side of his cheek, her forefinger indenting his flesh. “So you do admit you had contact with them?”
Gabriel growled in frustration, trying to move his head to avoid the offending finger. “I have contact with a lot of women, okay! It might happen that some of them were killed, but that had nothing to do with me. Yes, I’m American so some of the women I talk to are American! So sue me. There’s no crime in texting someone.”
Adele gritted her teeth. “No, but there is a crime in murdering them and taking their organs. You’re expecting me to believe that it’s just a coincidence the two women you were talking to ended up dead?”
By now, Waters was sweating. Quiet droplets of perspiration slipped down the inside of his cheek and twisted toward the tip of his chin. “Hang on; I can explain.”
“I’m waiting,” Adele said, scowling. She felt sick to her stomach, but couldn’t quite say why. The crimes were gruesome, but she’d seen worse. Something about Waters’s reaction, though, left her feeling ill. Almost… almost as if he were telling the truth.
She shook her head, trying to suppress the sense. He had to be the killer. He had to be. “Why did you run?” Adele snapped.
Waters jerked his head away from Paige’s jabbing finger again. “Is this bad cop, bad cop? Just give me a second. Let me think.”
But Paige leaned in on the other side and snapped in French, “No thinking! Tell us. You ran. That’s an admission of guilt.”
The perspiration grew worse, and Gabriel Waters’s lips were now trembling. He let out an involuntary squeak and fluttered his eyelids. “I-I…” he stammered, “I just—I don’t know what to say. But it’s not-it’s not what you think. I didn’t run because I killed anyone! I didn’t even know you were there about the women I’d been chatting with. Yes,” he added quickly, “I did talk to a couple of American girls—I talk to a lot of Americans. I have twenty conversations going right now!”
He pointed toward his phone with his chin. “Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. I don’t even know who you’re talking about. If two of them are dead it’s the first I’m hearing it.”
Adele crossed her arms over her chest, taking a step back and studying Waters from a distance. He cut a pathetic silhouette against the mirror behind him. The door to the interrogation room was shut, and he was trapped with the two agents. Gabriel Waters had the look of a liar, but he at least seemed to be telling the truth about the women.
“What’s your password?” Adele said.
Waters shook his head. He opened his mouth, but didn’t speak, and instead shook his head again.
“What is your password?” Adele repeated, enunciating her words.
He muttered something beneath his breath, but then a bit louder, after clearing his throat, he said, “If you let me type it in…”
Reluctantly, Paige fished a key from her pocket. “If you try anything,” she said, snarling, “I will shoot you dead.”
Mr. Waters wagged his head, but waited patiently, almost eagerly, for the agent to unlock his cuffs. Adele listened to a quiet click then a rattle; Gabriel Waters’s right hand emerged from behind his back. His left followed, still dangling with the cuffs. He wiggled it toward Paige expectantly, but she glared in return.
“Your hands are free,” she said. “The cuffs stay on. Open the phone.”
For a moment, Waters glanced toward the door. Adele tensed, her hand moving to her holster. But then Waters sighed and he lifted his phone; with his free right hand, he tapped in the password.
He handed it over with a slight droop of his hand toward Agent Paige. Then, as the suspect massaged his free wrist, Paige took his phone and began scanning through it.
After a few minutes, she snorted in disgust and held it up so Adele could see. “He’s not lying,” she said. “He has at least fifty message chains with women. Their names seem American. Most the texts are in English.”
Adele looked at Mr. Waters. “Why are you communicating with all these women?”
Gabriel flashed a white smile, shamelessly eyeing Adele. “Why do you think? A man can get lonely sometimes, you know? It isn’t like French women are super excited to be with an American. So I have to sometimes go fishing someplace privately stocked, if you know what I mean.”
Adele wrinkled her nose. “I’m not sure I want to. Fishing metaphors aside, you’re telling me it’s purely coincidence you were texting both Amanda Gardner and Stephanie Riddle when they died?”
Again Waters shrugged. “Like she said, I text a lot of women. If they’re American and in Paris… they can get needy,” he said, with a significant tilt of his eyebrows. “There’s no predicting what a lady will do when lonely. There aren’t that many Americans in Paris—especially not of,” he cleared his throat, “noticeable assets and age. If someone else is taking shots at the same community, that’s none of my business. I’m not killing anyone.”
Agent Paige continued scrolling through the messages, her eyebrows ratcheting up with each passing second. She snorted, and Gabriel glanced up, frowning at the expression on her face.
She smirked. “Have you ever heard of using a razor?” she asked in an innocent tone.
Gabriel clenched his teeth briefly, and his frown became fixed. “Can I have my phone back?”
Agent Paige smirked again, but at last lowered the phone to the table. Gabriel reached out to grab it, but Paige snared his wrists, twisted them back, despite his protests, and cuffed him once more.
“Honestly, as kinky as this is,” Gabriel said, “I’m telling you the truth. I’m really broken up over their deaths; Michelle and Susan…”
“Stephanie and Amanda,” Adele shot back.
“Whatever,” he said. “I’m serious, it’s real sad to hear about.”
“Oh,” said Adele, “you sound very sad.”
Gabriel began to roll his eyes, but caught the gesture and cleared his throat. “Whatever. I’m just telling you, I had nothing to do with any murders. I like a little cookie on the side, so sue me. You’re wasting your time.”
“Cookie on the side?” said Agent Paige, snorting in disgust. “Is that what they call it in America? Cookie?”
Adele glanced between her partner and their suspect. “Hang on,” she said, raising her hand. “If that’s true, why did you bolt? When we showed up, you took off. Explain that.”
Gabriel had been starting to look more relaxed and annoyed. But at this, he slunk lower in his seat once more, his shoulders straining from where they twisted behind his back. He glowered at the table and muttered again beneath his breath.
Adele tapped her fingers against the glass mirror behind her, trying to regain his attention. “Look at me,” she said. “Why did you run? You could have been shot.”
Agent Paige leaned back too, putting one arm akimbo
in an impatient posture.
Gabriel glanced between the two of them and shifted in his seat once more, still slouched low. At last, barely loud enough to hear, he said, “It was when I heard your accent that I bolted.” He looked over at Adele with narrowed eyes.
She returned the glower. “Why?”
“Not a fan of Americans?” said Paige, raising an eyebrow. “Your phone says otherwise. Want me to read you some?” Paige cleared her throat; her accent in English was strong, but Adele could still make out the words well enough as Paige read from the phone, “I want to lick you all over and lather you with honey. Just imagine, the thought of my rock hard—”
“Okay!” Gabriel said quickly. “I get it, I get it. That’s private property, isn’t it?”
Adele shrugged. “You’re in France now, friend. Mind telling why you bolted?”
Again he hesitated, and Agent Paige read, “…the thought of your lips, covering me and bringing breath from my lungs and filling the—”
“Fine! Look, I may have had a little bit—a very little bit—of trouble back stateside. I didn’t kill anyone. It’s really nothing at all. Really.”
Adele shared a look with Paige. Adele said, “You had trouble with the law in the US? For what?”
Gabriel glared at Paige still flipping through his text messages. “Practicing medicine with a suspended license,” he said.
“You’re a doctor?” Adele asked.
“Kind of,” he said in a sullen reply. “I mostly do dental work.”
“So you’re on the run.” Adele raised an eyebrow as Gabriel twisted uncomfortably in his chair.
“Sounds bad if you put it like that. I had a little bit of trouble is all. Look, this is all being blown out of proportion. I didn’t kill anyone.”
Adele studied him, then shook her head. “I don’t believe you.”
He gaped. “What do you mean? I told you everything you wanted to—”
“We looked up your name. You’re not in any American database.”
With one last glare across the table and a defeated sigh, he said, “Try Marcus Short. I’m not interested in catching a murder rap.”