by Blake Pierce
Adele chuckled. “By the fire, in those leather chairs. Hard to beat that.”
“Oh my, how time flies.”
The knock on the door became a bit more insistent.
“Hey, Robert, I gotta go. Are you doing okay?”
“Adele, I’m stronger than you think, too. Now go—you have a case to solve. And while it’s fine if you don’t, I think you will.”
“That’s a lot of faith.”
“You’re worth it.”
The knock on the door was still quiet, still polite, but it echoed out for a third time and Adele called, “Sorry, coming! See you, Robert.”
“Talk to you later, Adele.”
She hung up and answered the polite, quiet knocking on her hotel room door, exhaustion weighing heavy on her. Now, though, she found the swirling anxiety had faded somewhat, and she breathed a bit easier.
She opened the door to reveal Agent Leoni standing in the hall. He had an egg carton– textured coffee holder, with an espresso in one of the slots, and a Styrofoam cup in his other hand. He took a steaming sip and then placed it back in the holder.
“Good morning, Agent Sharp.”
Adele pushed down the final remnants of her anxiety, breathing slowly through her nose. She then frowned suspiciously at Leoni, glancing past him and then toward the cup of coffee.
“Espresso,” he said. “Last night you said that’s what you wanted.”
Adele scratched her chin. “I’m not used to having my partner bring me coffee,” she said.
Leoni gave that easy laugh of his. “It wasn’t the least bit of a bother. The car is out front.” He nudged the coffee holder toward her, waiting expectantly.
She accepted the beverage graciously and then stepped out into the hall, already dressed, ready for the day. She pressed her pocket, making sure her phone was present, and then shut the hotel door, checking the handle to make sure it had locked.
“I’d like to drive this time,” Adele said.
“Be my guest.”
He walked next to Adele, allowing her to set the pace. Together they moved down the stairs and out the door, to the waiting car. As Adele situated into the driver’s seat, she adjusted the mirrors and checked the rearview.
She noted Leoni watching her with an amused expression.
“What?” she said.
He shook his head. “Are you always so jumpy?”
She raised an eyebrow at him.
“You looked like you thought I had a sniper hiding behind me. Is coffee really such a threat?”
Adele chuckled sheepishly at the handsome Italian. “Just used to a different pace is all. You also didn’t put up a fight when I asked to drive.”
Leoni looked at her, bemused. And she quickly switched track. She cleared her throat as she pulled away from the curb and said, “The Vatican precinct has the list of potential high places, yes?”
“A lot of names on the list.”
“Last night, were any crimes committed on the suspected list?”
Leoni checked his phone and looked at her. “Not that I’ve been made aware of. What’s our next step?”
Adele squeezed the steering wheel just a bit too tightly, watching her knuckles turn white against the plastic. “I can’t be sure,” she said, softly. “It all seems so difficult. The riddles don’t make sense. Not unless we know what they’re referring to.”
“Maybe the riddle is just a red herring,” said Leoni.
“Maybe. But the first riddle did lead to the Sistine Chapel.”
“In a way, yes,” said Leoni. “But only retrospectively, looking back. I think the killer is playing with us. He has all the pieces, and he wants us to play his game. I’m not sure it helps if we agree to.”
Adele moved past the slow truck in front of her, whisking away from the vehicle. As she maneuvered on the road alongside the truck, she was reminded of the visit the previous month to the candy factory. There had been trucks there too, kicking up dust, causing her to nearly choke on the polluted air.
The factory had been a lead in the case. A lead she couldn’t let go. Adele knew her place was back in France. She knew that spending any more time away from Paris would eventually come back to haunt her. She was tough, strong. Stronger even than she wanted to admit. And yet she didn’t feel like it, not now. She found herself picking up speed without even realizing it. She was now swirling through traffic, moving quickly in the direction of the precinct.
“Agent Sharp,” said Leoni, quietly, from next to her. “You’re going ten over the speed limit.”
She jolted, blinking, as if rising from a dazed sleep. She shook her head, breathing softly through her nose, and glanced back at Leoni. “Sorry,” she said, quickly.
He smiled at her and gave a friendly little nod. She slowed down, studying Leoni, and said, “If we don’t play his game, how do you think we should catch him? You’ve done this before, so what would you suggest we do?”
Leoni scratched his cheek. “The restoration of the Sistine Chapel was a controversial one,” he said, softly.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, maybe there’s more to the locations than face value. Maybe the killer is hiding a needle in a haystack. The other kills might just be a distraction. Maybe only one of the victims is the real target.”
Adele wrinkled her nose. “The other kills are camouflage, is that what you’re saying?”
Leoni shrugged one shoulder, his eyes glued to the speedometer now that Adele had slowed down. He gave a soft, grateful sigh and then looked at her. “Is it true you were nearly killed last year? By a suspect?”
Adele blinked. She hadn’t been expecting this. A second later, she felt a flutter of outrage. Not at Leoni, as the question was innocuous enough, but at whoever had spilled the details of the case.
“Who told you that?” she said.
“It was part of the briefing, when I was told I would be your partner.”
Adele frowned. “And what did the briefing say?”
Leoni cheeks had turned a tinge of red. He glanced in embarrassment out the window and quickly shook his head. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s just, well, I had a similar interaction a few years ago.”
Adele’s mouth felt parched all of a sudden. She’d of course had a number of close calls in recent years with suspects. A number of interactions, often involving Agent Renee. She missed John. She wished she hadn’t told him to give her space.
She sighed. Most likely, he was referring to the killer who had tied her father up in his home back in Germany. There was just something about her family that seemed to attract these psychos. Was it her fault? Was it her parents’? Her father was the reason she was now involved in law enforcement. Maybe it had all started with him.
She shivered as she remembered the cold room. She remembered her father tied to his chair, and remembered the killer, threatening her, forcing her to sit on the bed. She remembered her radio, clicked on, providing directions to Agent Renee. And she remembered John, taking a one in a million shot through a glass window and killing the murderer.
But she also remembered something the killer had said. He’d mentioned the Spade Killer. He’d mentioned the man who’d murdered her mother.
He had done so laughing, goading, taunting. Clearly he had enjoyed holding information over Adele’s head. At the time, she hadn’t known what to make of it. But he’d said something. Something that had stood out. He’d mentioned something about where Adele worked. She wasn’t sure if he’d meant Paris, or the DGSI. More and more, Adele was beginning to wonder if the killer who had taken Elise, who had carved her up and left her on the side of a park path, might actually have had ties to law enforcement. It would explain why it was so hard to find her. It would also explain why it was so hard to track down the murderer. They might have connections others wouldn’t; authority and power behind the scenes to make things happen that a normal citizen couldn’t manage.
She shivered. Now her eyes were glued
on the road, fixed through the windshield, occasionally glancing at the water streaks on the inside of the glass.
“It was nothing,” she murmured. “A brief interaction. Nothing happened. The killer’s dead.” She added this last part with a grim resolve.
Leoni shook his head. “Apologies, I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m sorry.”
But she returned the look. “You don’t need to apologize to me.” She hesitated. “You said you had a similar experience?”
He hesitated, and was now looking through the window out at the passing tree line. “It’s nothing,” he replied, hesitantly. “Not a big deal. It’s just,” he paused, “well, I said it was a few years ago. But it all started before that. It was my father. I was only a child when he left—we weren’t close. Someone shot him in a gas station, though. The news reached my desk, and I begged for the case against my boss’s better judgment.” He gave a soft sigh, shaking his head. He looked at her now. “Honestly, I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”
Adele studied him, trying to read him. Was this a fake vulnerability? Was it a play of some kind? She knew vulnerability could be a weapon, just as much as it could be an invitation. But Leoni didn’t seem cold. He had a warmth about him, an openness, and a kindness. He said, “Well, I eventually found the guy. It took a while. But I tracked him down. Known mob. He had retired from the crime life and was living on some farm.”
Leoni shook his head.
“And you confronted him?” Adele said, softly.
“Damn right I confronted him. He had children on that farm, a wife. None of them even knew about his history.”
“A serial killer?”
“Old-school mobster. Not much different. They kill just as much, except for money instead of pleasure. It’s just as bad as far as I’m concerned.”
Adele wasn’t sure she agreed. But she allowed Leoni to speak.
“He wouldn’t come with me. I had a gun, but I couldn’t do it,” Leoni said, softly. “He pulled a weapon on me, and I could’ve put him down, but I didn’t. I could see one of his kids, a seven-year-old boy, watching from the door. He reminded me of myself. I didn’t want the cycle to continue, so I let the man point a shotgun at my face. He wanted to pull the trigger too. He did. He saw his son as well, but it didn’t matter. He pulled the trigger.”
Adele stared. “Not to be rude, but your face doesn’t look like it has suffered a gunshot.”
He chuckled softly. “That’s a kind thing to say, I think. But no, the gun jammed. It was a miracle. Maybe karma for what he did to my dad at that gas station.”
“So what did you do?” Adele said, staring. “You found the man who killed your parent, then you had him at your mercy. What did you do?”
Agent Leoni shook his head. “I just couldn’t get that kid out of my head. He even ran off to get their mother, who was hiding in another room with the rest of the family.”
“You let him go, didn’t you?”
“No, I did let them go. But I kept him until backup showed up. He’s still in prison. Nearly four years later. Serving a life sentence. At the trial, it was crazy how many cases they had against the guy. He’d been on the run for a long time, using fake identities and the sort.”
“Killers are killers, no matter what they pretend to be.”
Leoni shrugged, nodding, turning to glance out the window again. “Well, anyway,” he murmured, quietly, “I know what it’s like to nearly die at the hand of a suspect. Especially where loved ones are concerned.” He nodded once, glanced at her. “Sometimes it’s just nice to know there are others out there…”
He looked away again, returning his gaze through the window.
He was a strange fellow. But Adele was beginning to like him. Even so, she couldn’t shake the sensation that if she had a gun pointed at the man who’d killed her mother, witness or not, child within view or otherwise, she would put two bullets right between his eyes, and then another two to the chest, just to make sure.
Maybe that made Leoni a better person than her. But the case with her mother wouldn’t end with a prison sentence for the bastard. If anyone ended up behind bars, it would be Adele. She had made her peace with that long ago. After what he’d done to her mother, he deserved the worst there was to offer. And Adele would offer it, again and again and again.
Before Adele could continue this train of thought, she merged into traffic, and her phone began to buzz. At the same time, Agent Leoni’s phone began to emit a quiet chirping sound. A bland, professional ring tone. Professional as always. To her surprise, Adele felt a strange, niggling sense in her stomach like she was missing something important.
As the phone rang, Adele allowed it to go to voicemail. Leoni answered his.
He blinked, and then said, “Are you sure?”
Adele waited.
Leoni glanced at her. He said something in Italian. Waited, then, in English, said, “Yes, she’s here with me. We’ll be there right away. The next flight. Yes sir.”
Leoni lowered his phone, looking at Adele where she sat in the driver’s seat. “There’s been another murder.”
Adele stared, her cheeks prickling. “Was it in one of the locations?”
Leoni shook his head. “The Acropolis. In Athens.”
Adele gaped at him.
Leoni said, “We need to take the next flight to Greece.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
“What do you mean you’re not coming in?” barked Executive Foucault’s voice on the other end of the phone.
John winced, holding the device away from his face, allowing the Executive’s bluster to meet the resolute silence of the dusty window to his leased Cadillac.
Normally, agents weren’t encouraged to lease anything besides an unmarked, uncomfortable sedan. John hadn’t been allowed to keep the Corvette he’d borrowed last year, but had put his foot down with this new vehicle. Executive Foucault’s anger, though, had nothing to do with the car.
“Sir,” John said, “I think it’s a mistake to try to follow a new lead. Agent Sharp knew what she was onto. She was on the right path. If you would just let me trace back—”
“Agent Renee, if you’re wasting time and precious resources, I’ll have the full weight of my authority down on the back of your neck like a boot. You’re on a short leash.”
“Leashes and boots,” John said. “I’m not sure I can hold up under the strain.”
“Are you under the false assumption that you’re funny, Agent Renee?”
John rolled his eyes from where he sat in the car, parked outside the dusty gates. “No, sir. Perish the thought. I promise you this isn’t a waste of time. Just trust me.”
Renee heard grumbling on the other end. But, at least for the moment, no more yelling. At last, the Executive said, in his worn-out, cigarette-stained voice, “John, don’t test me. If you feel like there’s a lead, follow it. But you need to keep me apprised at all times. Understand?”
John mimed crossing his heart and said, “Scout’s honor.”
“What?”
“Just a little joke I learned back in America. Never mind. I’m confident we’re following the right path, sir.”
Executive Foucault grumbled some more, but then hung up without so much as an adieu.
John gratefully lowered his phone as well. He was being harassed and harried on all sides about his approach to this case. There was a killer in Paris. A copycat? Perhaps. Or maybe the original killer himself. A killer with ties close to the department. One of the killer’s sycophants, nearly a year ago, had almost killed one of their own agents. That same agent’s mother had been killed by the original murderer nearly ten years ago. The Spade Killer, they had called him. A psychopath known for mutilating and torturing his victims, carving patterns and intricate art into their flesh while leaving them bleeding out around parks in Paris late at night.
The Spade Killer had taken at least four people they knew of, with potential ties to at least three other cases. For the last ten years, thoug
h, the killer had vanished. Now, either a copycat, or the killer himself, had reemerged.
John looked through the window, toward the gates outside the chocolate bar packing factory.
He was no slouch as an investigator, but he knew his strengths. Adele was the bloodhound. She was the one who could find a lead from thin air. It was up to him to follow her path. To retrace her steps. He remembered the Executive chewing Adele out for a confrontation at this very facility.
Through the window of the Cadillac, John spotted trucks being loaded on docks, and the large, white vehicles pulling forward, kicking up dust. He had been forced to roll his window up, as one such vehicle had spat up a cloud of dust so large it had threatened to strangle the car.
Now, John fixed his eyes on the man sitting in the guard booth, also watching him.
The guard waved through the window, and John lowered his window again, looking out.
“Your credentials check out, the overseer will see you,” the man said.
John flashed a thumbs-up, reached out, and grabbed his ID, placing it back in his wallet. He waited as the guard finagled with something in the glass housing, and then the gates rattled, sliding open on whirring metal wheels.
John pulled his car through the parking lot, found the spot next to an old truck, careful not to chip the vehicle’s paint, and then exited the Cadillac, moving toward the office center of the old factory.
A strange place to be looking for a killer. A chocolate bar packing factory. It didn’t exactly exude ominous overtones.
But John knew Adele had been onto something. And she was a bloodhound, which meant, as a hunter, he would be best served to follow her lead. She’d stirred up something, kicking a hornet’s nest. Had it been from the altercation on the factory floor? Had it been when she’d questioned people at the shop near her apartment?
Agent Renee turned and glanced through the rearview mirror, noting the guard eyeing him.
John made a mental note to keep that man on the list as well. No one could be allowed to skate without closer scrutiny. Everyone was a suspect.
Guilty until proven innocent. That was how he would operate. For Adele, he had to know what else was going to do it. Even Adele herself, the best investigator he’d ever met, had fallen under the pressure of it all. Had escaped to Germany, taking a step back.