Left to Fear (An Adele Sharp Mystery—Book Ten)

by Blake Pierce

  CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

  "I'm serious," Adele said, pointing her finger at the small, toady man for emphasis, "if you know anything, you need to tell me."

  Mr. Larsen had now donned his suit in place of pajamas. His hair was combed again, but his cheeks were tinged, as ever, with a faint red flush. He stood across from Adele on the second deck, towards the back of the boat, refusing to budge an inch. Behind him, the sunlight reflected off the water, and birds flew over the churning liquid, moving near the boat and then retreating, as if searching for food.

  "Like I said, I don't know of anyone smuggled aboard," the liaison insisted. "And you need to listen to me." He returned her finger jab. "Let the passengers off the boat. You've kept them overnight. Some of our crew have already been working for two days. They're exhausted. We don't have enough rooms for everyone. This isn't right!"

  Adele lowered her hand, but felt it bunch into a fist. After all her admonishing of John's temper, she could understand why he operated the way he did. Still, she knew causing a scene wouldn't help anything. She couldn't resist, however, from allowing an edge into her voice. "You don't lecture me about what's right. It's your fault that third woman died to begin with!"

  The man didn't look convinced by this argument. His eyes flashed. "Maybe it's your fault? Maybe if you were better at your job, we wouldn't be in this situation. Regardless, you can't keep—"

  Before he could finish, his phone began to ring.

  Tempers were rising, but at the sound, it was like a bell at the end of a boxing round. Both Adele and Mr. Larsen loosed soft little sighs as if to gather themselves. Larsen pressed the phone to his ear. "What?" he snapped.

  Adele watched him as he listened. Then, a smile began to twist his lips. He looked at Adele, and the smile became a taunting grin.

  "What is it?" she snapped.

  He lowered his phone, still smirking. "I think you're going to be getting a call soon."

  No sooner had the words left his lips, then Adele's phone buzzed. It wasn't a call. But a message. From the executive. She glanced down, read it, and her expression took on the opposite form of Mr. Larsen's. She scowled as deeply as he leered.

  Agent Sharp, let the passengers off the boat. Judge's orders.

  She tried to hide her frustration, but it was difficult in the face of Mr. Larsen's glee. "You're going to cost people their lives," Adele said through pressed teeth.

  "And you are costing people their jobs, their time, their resources, and sleep," Mr. Larsen returned just as zealously. He moved over to the railing, glancing down, and waving a hand. "Looks like the police got the good news as well. Finally."

  Adele watched in frustration as what looked like a sergeant approached the police blocking the exit to the ship, and talked with them in low voices. The passengers, nearest the exit, with bags and purses and overnight cases, watched hopefully. A moment later, an exchange passed between the passengers and the sergeant, and a collective sigh of relief arose from the pedestrians. One by one, they began to move past the police officers, heading down the gangplank onto the dock.

  Adele clenched a fist, watching one man, then another, and a couple, and then a family, and then two more passengers as they moved off the ship.

  Soon, word would make the rounds, and everyone, crew, employees, and passengers would find a way off.

  There was nothing she could do about it. She glanced back at the message from the executive and considered calling him. But what would that help? If the judge had given an order, there was nothing she could do.

  "Well, well," Mr. Larsen said, making no effort to conceal the happiness in his tone. "You have cost my company quite a bit of money as it is. Let's be glad this nightmare is behind us."

  "What are you going on about?" a gruff voice said. "Adele, did you see that? Passengers leaving."

  Adele turned to find John scowling and approaching the two of them. His shadow stretched behind him, caught by the same sunlight illuminating the river and the seabirds.

  "Executive's orders," Adele said, gritting her teeth in frustration. "Mr. Larsen, here, says he doesn't know of anyone who might've stowed onto the ship."

  "Forget what he says," John muttered with a grunt, completely ignoring Mr. Larsen now, and circling Adele to position himself so he blocked sight of the small man completely. "I found something very interesting. The CEO of Sightseeing Inc. was on this boat."

  Adele blinked. She felt her throat go dry. "The CEO?"

  "Hang on?" said Mr. Larsen, hurriedly. His head peeked around John's large shoulder. "Eicke Rohm?"

  John glanced back. "That's what the captain called him. They had dinner together two nights ago," John continued, facing Adele once more. He paused for a moment, then frowned, glancing back at Larsen. "Do you mind?"

  "Not at all," said the lawyer, making no move whatsoever to distance himself. John reached roughly back, pushing the man away. "They had dinner together," he continued, "one night before our third victim was killed. And he apparently likes to move from ship to ship. He has fun sailing around, using rooms or having food without paying."

  Adele stared, her dry throat now spreading, until her whole body felt like it was tingling. "You don't think he had anything to do with it, do you?"

  “That asshole?” muttered Mr. Larsen, “Probably.”

  Adele stared at him. “Excuse me?”

  The liaison just waved a hand, dismissing the comment.

  John, meanwhile, shrugged his bowling ball-sized shoulders. "I don't know. But you said to look for someone anonymous on the boat. Well, there you have it. Nothing more anonymous than a man who doesn't register, buy a ticket, or pay for anything. And, by the looks of things, no one wanted to tell me about him, because they were worried he'd be incriminated in the murder."

  "You're saying Mr. Rohm is a suspect?" Larsen said from behind John, where he continued to linger.

  "I said do you mind?" John demanded, spinning around now. The tall man looked back at Adele, raising an eyebrow.

  “Is that all?” she insisted.

  "One other thing; a small one. But I don't know where in the hell he is. He isn't in his room. I checked. It's empty, tidy. Nothing left behind. But according to the crew, he was still on the ship last night."

  "So he was here the evening of the murder?"

  "Exactly."

  Adele watched the lawyer for a moment, studying his expression. Normally a conversation like this wouldn't happen in front of a someone so intimately connected with the company run by one of the suspects. But she needed a clue, some help, and watching him, she could see his eyes flicking one way, then the other, the gears in his mind spinning and whirring.

  "What do you know about Eicke Rohm?" Adele said, slowly. She watched Mr. Larsen closely. Had it just been her imagination? No. There. His eyes flashed again. This wasn't a man particularly fond of the CEO. She knew jealousy when she saw it. It was in the tightening of his jaw, the clenching of his fist against nothing else besides the mention of the man's name.

  "It's very possible that he was on this boat," said the lawyer, slowly, choosing his words delicately. "But that doesn't prove anything, as I'm sure you know. Being on a boat that he runs isn't a crime."

  "No, but killing people is."

  "I see." The liaison licked his lips, like a hyena eyeing a lion's meal, wondering if now was perhaps a chance at the feast. He considered his position a moment longer, and then looked up at John. His tone was carefree, dismissive, even. But his words resonated. "I understand why you might suspect him. Especially with his connections to the victims' families. But I can assure you—"

  "What connections?" Adele said without batting an eye.

  The liaison made a made a big show of wincing and putting a hand to his mouth as if he couldn't believe what he'd said. "Connections? Did I say—I meant to... oh my. Well, silly me. Look, it's probably nothing at all."

  Adele shared a look with John. "Was Mr. Rohm connected to the victims?"

  The li
aison again made a big show of minimizing what he'd said by shaking his head and flicking his hands up, but at last, he said, with a little shrug, and a soft, nearly whispering voice, "I don't know much. I do know, though, and this is public record, I might add, that the Everett family, from the German motor company, had agreed to invest into the touring boats. However," the liaison tapped his fingers together, glancing down, and shaking his head, "a real pity. Truly."

  "What's a pity?" Adele pressed.

  The liaison winced. "I really shouldn't say."

  Adele just went quiet, watching him. She knew he wanted to say. Men like this couldn't resist the opportunity to stab someone they didn't like in the back. The CEO, whoever he was, had clearly gotten on Mr. Larsen's bad side. Then again, she wasn't sure the man had anything but a bad side.

  If Larsen was aware of her growing contempt for him, he didn't show it, and instead, after a bit more playacting, he gave a long sigh, his nostrils flaring, and he said, "It's really a pity. But, they ended up pulling out." He winced and shrugged. "And I'll remind you, this is all public record. I never had anything to do with that, legally speaking."

  Adele shook her head. "You're telling me that Anika's parents were going to invest in Sightseeing Incorporated?"

  "I'm not telling you that. I'm just saying they got cold feet on a business decision."

  "And the CEO. He was in charge at the time?"

  The liaison shrugged, in a noncommittal way, but nothing about it suggested he wanted to do anything but communicate an emphatic yes!

  "You said he had connections with a couple of the victims. Who else?"

  Here, though, the liaison just glanced off to the side, and he scratched at the side of his chin, and said, "You should probably take that up with someone else. I wouldn't want to involve myself with Mr. Rohm's past companies."

  "Past companies?"

  The greasy man grinned now, wagging his head. "Certainly had nothing to do with my company that I currently represent. If it did, I wouldn't say anything."

  "Of course not," Adele said.

  "Wouldn't dream of it," John added.

  "Exactly. But," he said, emphasizing the word, "I did hear rumors, before starting here, that Mr. Rohm," he cleared his throat, and added, "a man that doesn't seem to know how to keep his hands to himself at Christmas parties when other people's wives are around," his eyes narrowed, "also had an altercation with his last place of employment. It just so happened to be with a Board of Directors overseeing a famous culinary enterprise. A chain of restaurants, in fact."

  Adele shot a look at John, and then back, sharply at Mr. Larsen. "Are you saying the CEO used to be employed by Abigail Havertz's parents?"

  "Christ, Adele," John said, "that gives a motive for two of the victims."

  It still left Zeynep, but perhaps there was a motive there as well. Or maybe he'd simply chosen her as camouflage, to try and disguise his true victims. But what were the odds? This CEO seemed to go out of his way to piss people off. Mr. Larsen clearly wanted nothing less than the man's job. Not only that, he'd been slighted by the second victim's parents, when they pulled out of a deal. Adele would have to double check the reliability of the information, but if it was indeed public, it wouldn't be hard to search for it online. And on top of it, if Mr. Larsen was telling anything even close to the truth, then that meant Mr. Rohm had once worked for the company run by the third victim's parents.

  "What happened on his last job? Adele asked, eyes glued to Mr. Larsen.

  The liaison placed a hand to his mouth, and winced, in a playacting way, shaking his head. "I feel like I've said too much. I was just trying to help."

  "What happened?"

  The liaison was now grinning again, and he made a tutting sound. "I hear he was fired. That would make me mad. After all the work I put into a company. If they just up and fired me, as some sort of scapegoat," he clicked his tongue, "it would make me murderously angry."

  "Adele," John said, peering over the railing, "they're leaving."

  "I know."

  "Do you think he's gonna be among them?"

  Already, a large group of passengers, who'd been roused by the rest of the crew, were making their way down the dock. At least thirty of them had reached the gate at the far end. There was nothing Adele could do to keep them any longer. If the CEO had given a fake name, he was slipping away, even as they spoke.

  "Do you see him?" Adele said, suddenly, pointing at Mr. Larsen.

  The lawyer looked over the railing, and sniffed, shaking his head. "I can't tell."

  Adele cursed, and began to move hurriedly towards the stairs, stepping down, and racing towards where the passengers were now streaming out onto the dock. Nearly seventy more passengers, who'd been in the rooms, along with employees, grateful to finally be released, were queuing up, preparing to leave. She tried to move past, but a couple of the passengers yelled, and screamed at her, "back of the line!"

  "Police!" she retorted.

  But the passengers were packed like sardines, bags and suitcases in hand. They seemed loath to relinquish their spot to anyone, regardless of a badge. They'd already spent a night trapped on the boat, and clearly, their sympathies towards law enforcement had dwindled.

  Adele sighed in frustration and looked across the sea of heads. Nothing stood out. She didn't even have a picture of what the CEO looked like. He could have been any of them. That man in the low baseball cap. Or that fellow with the upraised hood. Or that guy, his head ducked, moving quickly along with a woman towards the gangplank, and passing the waiting officers.

  The stream of passengers grew longer, moving from the ship, out across the dock, to the street.

  They didn't have cars. So many would either have to take buses or taxis or call for a ride.

  Or, she considered, carefully...

  Would the CEO do that? Would he risk leaving a paper trail? After all the efforts he'd gone to remain incognito, would he want to get in a taxi? Many of them had cameras now, for security purposes.

  Or maybe, this close to the river, he'd do the next best thing.

  Adele turned sharply, away from the gathering of passengers, and away from the milling people moving down the ramp and disappearing hurriedly.

  She didn't have time to try and stop each and every one of them. She wouldn't be able. The executive had been clear. The judge's order had come in. The officers would comply, but that didn't mean she couldn't track Eicke Rohm down.

  The CEO had been here the night of the murder. He had connections to two of the victims, providing clear cut motives.

  And what if he was going to get on another one of his boats?

  "John!" she called towards where the tall Frenchman was standing near the base of the stairwell. "I need you to check: are there any boats from the touring company nearby heading back down the river?”

  John frowned for a moment, but then just as quickly, his eyes widened, and he hastily began to fish for his phone.

  Adele could feel a rising sense of certainty. If another one of the touring boats was nearby, he could board it and be gone as quick as thought.

  Rohm was their man. Now, all they had to do was catch him, before he reached his next victim.

  CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

  Their own taxi sped up the streets under Adele's insistent gaze and John's barking orders. Their driver knew French, a mercy for John and a curse for the driver who winced every time John bellowed in his ear, “Go faster—faster, damn it!”

  Adele sat in the passenger side, her hand gripping the handle above the window, her eyes fixed through the greasy, unwashed windshield of the taxi.

  Her gaze flicked to the windshield-mounted GPS unit, tracking the thin, purple line and then darting to the ETA in the bottom corner. Twenty-three minutes remaining.

  She gritted her teeth, glancing back over her shoulder. “When does River Metro Eight leave Petersworth?”

  John glanced at his phone, pausing mid-bellow, and then hissed. “Twenty minutes,” he sa
id. “Damn it. Go faster!”

  The taxi driver winced, his knuckles squeezing the steering wheel so tight, Adele thought one might pop.

  They continued picking up pace, veering through the morning traffic, down the river-side roads, and along the Danube.

  Adele could feel her heart hammering wildly. Twenty minutes until the next boat left. Maybe the CEO had taken a taxi. He would have had to risk it—to reach his boat. But he'd had a head start. He'd left before the rest of them.

  The killer wasn't done. She was nearly certain of it. Three down... but a fourth was on the horizon. He'd started writing notes, sending flowers. This taunting wasn't the action of a man who intended to hang up his murderous tendencies.

  Which meant, sticking to the MO, the killer would strike on another one of the River Metros.

  “Damn it!” Adele said, snapping a hand against her knee if only to feel something to jar her out of her mounting frustration.

  She glanced at the GPS unit again.

  Twenty minutes until arrival. She glanced at the clock. Only eighteen minutes until the boat left.

  They had shaved off a minute... But would it be enough?

  ***

  Tires screeched against the parking lot asphalt outside the dock, along with a similar sound of frustration bursting from Adele's lips.

  “John! There!” she yelled.

  A large, three story blue and white boat was moving, pulling out of port. The dock was nearly empty, suggesting a load of passengers had already been picked up.

  John shoved a crinkled fifty euro note into the cabbie's hand, but was already lurching out of the backseat, followed closely by Adele. The two of them hurried away from their driver, moving rapidly towards the ticketing booth which led to the dock.

  The ship was already fifty feet from the dock. No jumping that gap. No swimming either.

  “Damn it, John! What's the next stop?” Adele said, her pulse racing. She stared at the boat. The CEO had to be on it, didn't he? Free ride, anonymity—the perfect place to lay low from police.