by Blake Pierce
The Italian glanced back at his computer, then his eyes flicked to her phone. “Did you try searching?”
Adele shook her head, but considered this. It wasn’t a bad idea. Nowadays, almost everything could be found on the Internet. It was like having an entire library in her pocket. She glanced through the phone, cycling toward the Internet browser. Then, focusing on the riddle in her mind, she picked out the key phrases.
“If you use quotation marks around phrases,” said Agent Leoni, “it’ll search for the entire phrase, rather than just the words.”
Adele nodded as she typed in the first line of the riddle. “Round eyes in round hands.” She pressed enter and searched the results in the engine. Nothing. She skipped to the next page of the search results, and then the next.
But nothing stood out.
She frowned, focusing, and then picked at the next conspicuous phrasing. A bit more confusing, in her estimation, but important too. The final line of the riddle. “My heart is cast in stone…” This time she typed it again, putting the phrase in parentheses. She pressed enter.
As she did, she began to scroll the results, and she found Leoni watching her this time. She glanced up, and this time he was the one to look away quickly.
He stared adamantly at his computer as if he hadn’t been watching her and Adele felt a flicker of excitement in her chest; she smiled coyly, but didn’t comment. Instead, she glanced away from the handsome agent and returned her attention to the phone’s search results.
The first page didn’t carry much. The phrase appeared in a few places, though. A couple of search aggregators and generation machines topped the results. But then, on the second page, she paused. Adele tapped her fingers against the phone, and the webpage opened.
“Hello there,” Adele said. She frowned, scanning the page. She texted the link to her partner and waited as the Italian agent brought up the website. “See that?” she said.
She waited a moment, as Leoni caught up. Before he replied, she said, “It uses almost the exact phrase. Even with the same punctuation. See, right beneath the picture on the bottom. My heart is cast as stone.”
Leoni paused, looking at his computer screen, but then blinked. “It says cast as stone. Not in stone.”
“Semantics,” she snorted.
“Maybe.” He scratched at his chin. “It is the same phrasing for the most part.” They both looked up at each other, eyes locking. “You think this site belongs to our killer?”
Adele returned her attention to the screen. “It’s a blog.” She scrolled to the bottom, clicking through, and found the About tab.
There was no photo, but the section described, in that small portion: For the true appreciators of culture and critique.
“A conservationist,” she said. “Blog is in English. But he’s not native.”
“What makes you say that?”
“A couple of the sentences used—too proper, not colloquial. I can’t be sure, though. The blogger doesn’t say where they’re from.”
“Well, if they use the same phrase maybe they’re the one who wrote the riddle. A conservationist might have all sorts of grief against the tourist industry.”
Adele lowered her phone slowly and said, “I’ll see what I can find. If we can track down the owner of the blog, maybe we can find our guy. And if not that, at least the next location before our killer strikes again.”
***
Darkness now invaded the small café, and glimmering blue light reflected through the open windows, casting shadows across Agent Leoni in even more interesting patterns. Half his face was now illuminated by a glowing blue, intermingled with the buzzing yellow from the traffic lights outside. Agent Leoni had a phone pressed to his cheek, and Adele watched as he talked in his language, speaking quickly, and yet, somehow, even though she couldn’t understand the words, still maintaining an air of ease, of calm.
She waited, and Agent Leoni continued to yammer away.
She glanced back toward the café owner, who, for the last two hours, had been eyeing the sign on his front door, which depicted the closing hours. They were already fifteen minutes past. But the store owner didn’t have it in him to kick out federal agents.
A couple of times, though, seeing the lights still on in the café, customers had tried to come through, but the store owner had shooed them away, ignoring their pointed looks toward Adele and Leoni sitting in the back.
For her part, Adele would’ve been happy to leave, barring a lead. Just any lead. One step.
The conservationist had included specific words. The same phrase from the riddle, she’d found also on the blog he’d run. A heart cast in stone… what did that even mean? On the blog, it had simply been referencing the tourist industry. Suggesting the hardheartedness of the museum curators. The blogger hadn’t seemed fond of them.
Now, though, as Adele glanced from the owner of the café, and her eyes traced over to Agent Leoni, flicking down his sharp features toward where his hand held the phone, she saw him lower the phone and fix her with a look.
“They were able to track down that blogger.”
She swallowed and took a quick sip of water. “How? Phone number?”
Leoni shook his head. “No, from the IP address. The Internet signal.”
Adele rolled her eyes. “I know what an IP address is.”
Agent Leoni turned one side of his mouth up in a half smile. Again, the shadows moved and rearranged across his face, and the light coming through the window above shifted with the motion. He leaned back in his chair, but the metal and wood seemed to respond with quiet indifference. No creaks, no groaning, no sound at all.
Leoni waited a moment, his phone lowered, and then got another buzz. He lifted the device and answered in Italian. Adele found herself growing impatient from anticipation.
Then Leoni clicked the phone. He began rising. “You were right—not a native English speaker,” he said.
“Oh?”
“He’s in Albania.”
Adele stared.
“It’s only one country over.”
She found her pulse quickening and didn’t blink. “Maybe he killed his victim here, then fled.”
Leoni slowly nodded. “It’s possible. It’s also worth noting, he’s at the ruins of Apollonia. They were able to narrow the Internet signal to a Wi-Fi hub on public land.”
Adele felt the prickle across the back of her fingers, and she rubbed her knuckles cautiously. “He’s in the ruins now?”
“Yes. On a computer. It looks like he’s connected to his website; he hasn’t moved in the last hour.”
Adele glanced up at the darkening skies. The conservationist had used almost the exact same phrase as the riddle on his blog. It wasn’t a common phrase. Was the connection that obvious? Not only that, a conservationist of this nature was interested in maintaining old and holy sites. The sort of person who might have a bone to pick with the tourist industry coming through, stomping all over the ancient grounds. The sort of person who might want to make a statement. The sort of person unhinged enough to murder?
There was only one way to find out.
She said, “How long to book a flight?”
“I already looked,” Leoni replied. He didn’t glance at his phone again, suggesting he’d committed the information to memory. “Already booked. We can be there in three hours if we go now.”
Adele cursed. “We’ll get there near midnight. Will your agents be able to track him if he moves?”
Her Italian partner flipped a wary eye toward the café owner who was watching them. He said, slowly, “As long as he connects to the Internet, they should be able to. Maybe a hotel, or if he stays late wherever he is right now.”
Adele frowned. If they got this one wrong, there would be nothing stopping the killer from striking again somewhere else. Another body would drop, defenseless, helpless… They had to be right.
Adele gritted her teeth. “Let’s go. You drive.”
Agent Leoni offered her a h
and to help her from her seat. She felt his firm, warm hand against her elbow. His fingers didn’t have the same calluses as John Renee. Perhaps he wasn’t as accustomed to using his trigger finger. Nor was he as accustomed to combat. He had the hands of a thinking man.
She smiled at this characterization. He wasn’t as tall as John. But he was ridiculously handsome, and he had a carefulness about him. He was nice. Kind. He seemed to care about her perspective. As if it wasn’t just a habitual personality trait, but rather a virtue or core conviction.
She took his hand, and he led her out of her chair. He pushed the chairs back beneath the table, nodded in gratitude at the café owner, and the two of them strode out of the café, moving quickly through the door, out into the darkening night, beneath the buzz of safety lights, and the twinkle of stars inserting themselves over the fog of cloud and light pollution.
The conservationist was one country over, only a few hours away. If he stayed put, this whole headache might be over by bedtime. But what was he doing there? Adele ran the riddle over in her mind again and again. She didn’t know enough about the Apollonia to decide if the riddle fit. Was he planning his next murder so soon? Were they going to be late?
For a moment, she considered contacting the local police, asking them to keep an eye on the blogger. To restrain him. But then she decided there was no sense spooking the man. Besides, the killer had only struck after hours. They still had time.
“I need you to break every speed limit there is,” she said, sharply.
Agent Leoni nodded as he sidled into the driver’s seat, and Adele joined him.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The crown jewel of the Apollonia, the monument of Agonothetes, stood as little more than a stone gateway into nothing; the Greek ruins in Albania cut a wistful shape against the black night. Old buildings facing the even older archway of a once impressive structure, now abandoned by walls and ceiling, left resolute as a threshold into the sole unknown.
Night had long since fallen by the time they reached the ancient structure. Adele and Leoni excited their taxi, moving beneath the darkness of night. The destination would have been closed to the public by now. Adele regarded Leoni, who strode next to her, his heels tapping against the sidewalk as they hurried forward past fluttering red flags attached to sentry light posts throughout the area.
“Is he still there?” Adele said.
Leoni glanced at his phone and nodded. “Locals still pinging his location. According to my GPS he’s still here.”
Adele frowned toward the darkened silhouette of the Apollonia. She ran the riddle over in her mind, trying to make sense of the connections.
Round eyes in round hands… stone…heart… Did it fit? She wasn’t sure. On the flight, she’d looked up the old ruins, but had found little of use. It had once housed a school for philosophers… Round eyes in round hands… Did that make sense? Adele huffed in frustration; for now, her focus lingered on stone-gouged steps up to the old ruins.
Adele checked her handcuffs at her belt and then her fingers slid to the holster on her hip, her fingers against the rough metal of her handgun. She glanced over to make sure Leoni had also brought his service weapon.
The blogger, according to Leoni’s sources, was from London although born in Germany, and had visited Italy, then come to Albania the previous night. Adele had already been, on the drive over, sifting through his posts. All of them were written around the tourist attractions and monuments in Europe—though some in Africa as well. The blogger, a man by the name of Dr. Francis Boler, had a bone to pick with the “commercialization of ancient wonders.” He’d been railing against the industry for nearly three years on his website.
In the night, the place was shadows cast in elongated streaks by the buzzing lights above; Adele and Leoni marched to the crest of the old city, seeing the shadow lumps of the Odeon Theater and the Church of St. Mary. Adele felt her heart flutter a bit as she stepped amidst the old stone ruins, illuminated only by the lights from the heavens, and the second-hand glow from the more civilized fringe of roadway. She moved forward, glancing at Leoni, who kept his eyes fixed on his GPS, both of them intent on arresting Dr. Boler. The same phrase from the riddle had been on his blog—same punctuation. Even killers made mistakes. Adele had yet to meet one who hadn’t.
Then, stepping through the stone ruins, reaching the monument, Adele came to a halt, her eyes narrowed.
Her hand still rested on her firearm, and she reached out, tugging Leoni to a slow stop as well.
He glanced at her and flicked up an eyebrow. Sweeping beams from flashlights crisscrossed the sky, spreading through the clouds and flitting down again across the old, dusty ruins. The flashlights emanated from a small gathering of people in front of the oldest arch with ribbed columns.
A single, wire-thin man stood in front of the monument, one step up from the others like a preacher on a podium. He waved his own flashlight wildly about, gesticulating—and, as Adele and Leoni neared, meandering down the trail to the old ruins, she heard the man’s voice echoing out into the darkness.
“We come here at night,” declared the man with a British accent, waving his light, “to honor Apollo. Some say the name of this city is found in other origins, but the Greeks knew the truth! The sun is gone, the sky is bedded, and the moon peers bright! The sister of Apollo, it is speculated by those who think as I do, would visit this place in the dark, hiding from her brother’s ire to pull tricks on his devout. Who recalls her name?”
A hand rose from the small gathering—no more than ten people. The person, like the others, hadn’t spotted Adele or Leoni yet. She called out, “Artemis!”
“Yes, good, Ms. Ramona!” declared the skinny speaker. He wore a jacket like a cocoon, seemingly enveloping his thin frame. He continued to wave his light about, sweeping it over his captive audience.
Adele’s fingers still traced her firearm, but then moved slowly away as she continued down the path to the old ruins. Leoni slowed next to her as well and, in the dark, sharing only in the lights from behind them up the path and before them sweeping the ruins, they exchanged a puzzled look.
Adele cleared her throat as she approached. She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, the skinny man in the enormous jacket called, “Mr. Everett, please refrain from littering in the homes of the gods!”
Another one of the spectators sheepishly issued a series of apologies, before bending over with a bobbing light in hand and retrieving what sounded like a crinkling wrapper from between his feet.
Adele, at this point, had heard enough to feel thoroughly confused. No sign of any killing as far as she could see.
“Mr. Boler!” she called out, projecting her voice in the night. “Mr. Francis Boler!”
Her voice boomed over the gathering and lights swished around as one, jarred from their lazy swirl, directing straight toward her. Adele blinked against the glare. “Lower those!” she snapped.
The flashlights dipped hesitantly.
The skinny man in the enormous coat jumped down from his perch near the pillars and stepped through the small throng of ten. In the night he struck a strange figure, like a crow, or a gangly vulture. He stared suspiciously as Adele and Leoni came within reach, stopping to face the small group.
“Dr. Francis Boler,” he said.
Leoni shared a look with Adele, and she resisted the urge to roll her eyes.
“Dr. Boler,” Adele amended. “Is that you?”
He stared at her. “What if it is? We have permission to be here. A nighttime excursion for my students—approved by the authorities.”
Adele blinked. She glanced toward the faces behind Mr. Boler. Some of them were young, but they seemed comprised of all ages, and in the fading beam of their lights they blinked out at her. “Students?” she said.
“Yes, students,” the wire-thin Dr. Boler said, blinking at her. He had taut features and an Adam’s apple twice the usual size. His hair was cut close, silver, and a thin bristle of an attemp
ted mustache streaked his upper lip.
“What school?” Leoni asked.
Dr. Boler glanced over at the other agent. He frowned. “Online. My own,” he said. “You can find a link in the Conservationist Daily. I’m verified by the journal.” He cleared his throat importantly.
“That’s your website, yes?” Leoni said.
Some of his suspicion faded as he regarded them. “Are you here for the class? It’s online registration only, I’m afraid—though I suppose I could make an exception.”
“No, Dr. Boler,” Adele said, frowning, unsure what sort of people would sign up for a cross-country field trip online with a stranger. She glanced with renewed suspicion toward the gathered students behind Dr. Boler. “I’m here about your blog. We’d like to ask you some questions,” she said.
Dr. Boler stared now. “Questions—who are you?”
“I’m Agent Sharp, this is Agent Leoni. We’re working the case of the,” she winced as the words were summoned from somewhere near a sense of revulsion, “the Monument Killer.”
Dr. Boler’s frown deepened across his gaunt and stretched features. He pulled his large coat around his frail form, tightening it as if against a sudden chill. His brow twitched and a couple of the students behind him edged in as if to listen closer. An older woman and man, a couple judging by the intertwining of their fingers, and near intertwining of their dusty dreadlocks, suggested they were unified in their disapproval of all things governmental.
For her part, Adele could feel her stomach sinking. The conservationist stood in his oversized jacket surrounded by a cloud of witnesses. Not exactly the MO of a serial killer. In addition, he was rail thin—frail—again, not the physique of someone who could drag a body up by a noose. Perhaps the group of them, all ten, were in it together?
But even at this thought, Adele realized how farfetched it was.
“What questions exactly?” asked Dr. Boler, his nose twitching, his eyebrows flicking up as he acknowledged the agents before him.
Adele was feeling more and more awkward now. The lights from the flashlights swished across the dusty ruins, the stars witnessed her increasing sense of chagrin. The village above the hills overlooking the Apollonia seemed to regard her with mock severity in the form of glaring orange lights and outlined shadowed structures.