by Blake Pierce
Compassion—what a stupid vice.
The police officer snarled, taking a couple of steps towards the killer, gun-raising, but then a pitiable sound of pain emitted from his fallen partner. The cop cursed and spun on his heel, racing towards the injured man now and moving towards his fallen partner. He wouldn't give pursuit. Two for the price of one. Stupid canvas.
He heard yelling. The sound of more sirens in the distance.
A smile, now, tempted his lips. For an impromptu performance, that had gone wonderfully. He continued to run forward, teeth set, moving rapidly. He couldn't afford to move around in daylight anymore. He would have to find a place to hunker down, to hide. An alley, a parking lot, some unsuspecting apprentice's car. Maybe even someone's house.
The thoughts continued to swirl through his mind, compelling him forward, and he raced away from his latest work of art. Sloppy, quick.
But even the greats had to sketch sometimes.
He supposed he couldn't get on that boat now. No, hang tight. Stay low. Wait for nightfall. And then make a new plan.
CHAPTER THIRTY ONE
Adele stood across from the CEO of Sightseeing Incorporated. They had taken him to a stateroom. Large windows overlooked the river, and the CEO was shaking his head while muttering darkly beneath his breath.
Every time John tried to speak to the man, he would just insist, "Lawyer."
Adele stood in one of the larger rooms she'd seen on the riverboats. A stateroom, according to the crew who'd allowed them access—normally reserved for of the overseeing company managers. Two king-sized beds faced across from a private bathroom with a jacuzzi.
Adele could feel her mind spinning. The man cut a less intimidating figure than she'd anticipated, but she wouldn't discount someone because of their size. Not again. Besides, he could easily have hired someone.
She felt a flash of frustration and fury. She thought of her father, of the attack.
She needed to focus.
She swallowed, considering it from all angles. "Sir, I need you to answer my questions. I understand you're frustrated. I understand you don't like that you're in cuffs. But we're trying to do our jobs. You were connected to two of the victims on your boats. You were on the same boat where the third victim was killed," she said, emphatically but still with her voice under control, "that very night. You were seen."
The small, hunched man turned in the seat, near the bed, shaking his head. "So what?" he said, also calm, controlled. The worry and muttering seemed to slip from him all of a sudden like a duck shedding water off its feathers. He seemed to have reached some sort of decision, considering his options, planning a strategy, and now executing. And his strategy seemed simple enough. "Lawyer."
Adele swallowed, leaning back against the door, the carpet thick beneath her feet. She could hear the sound of murmuring outside the door. They'd been followed by some of the crew. Everyone seemed to be waiting, poised. Passengers had been milling around as the CEO was arrested, and crew members had stared in horror.
"Sir," Adele said, quietly, "I can't impress on you how serious this is. I need you to give me an account of your movements over the last few days."
"Lawyer."
She thought about it for a moment, and said, "Truly? Because funnily enough, it was a lawyer who told us about you.”
The man looked at her and snorted. "You're stupid if you think I killed anyone."
Adele glanced at John. At least he was speaking to them. She didn't mind being insulted if it meant they could make progress.
"Look," she said, quietly, "you need to give me something more than that. Maybe I am stupid. But the evidence is pointing towards you. You were on the boat where the victim was killed last night," she said, tapping one finger against another. "You didn't register your name, and you have a habit, I'm told, of moving from boat to boat. Anyone would see that as opportunity." She tapped a second finger. "And," she said, her voice hardening, her eyes narrowing. "Most of all, you had motive with two of the victim's daughters. One of them, the Everett motor company, pulled out of your touring venture last-minute, leaving you high and dry." Adele spoke confidently, having already read a couple of articles online from business tracking blogs. "And also, you used to work for the same company as the third victim's parents. You were in charge of the restaurant's finances. But they fired you."
"I was a scapegoat," he snapped. "And so what? Once you get to a certain income bracket in Germany, everyone knows each other. That's not the same thing as motive. If I killed everyone who cut me during a business venture, half of Germany would be dead."
Adele shook her head. "You're going to have to do better than that."
"Lawyer."
"Try and help me to help you. We have a killer out there if it's not you."
"Lawyer."
Adele huffed in frustration and clenched a fist against her thigh. Staring at the small man, she could feel her own temper rising. Perhaps it was the lack of sleep, the exhaustion of it all. Perhaps it was frustration at her father, frustration that she couldn't help him. Perhaps she was simply angry. Maybe, in her gut, she'd already indicted this man for the deaths of three women...
And now he was lawyering up. Hiding behind a bigger kid on the schoolyard.
She could feel her temper, could feel John's eyes on the side of her face. Her bunched fist began to tighten. "Don't test me," she snapped. "Fine. You want a lawyer? How about Mr. Larsen. He seemed to be a real big fan of yours."
Her tone, her temper, and then suddenly dropping that name seemed to jar something. The CEO blinked. He was a small man, but that didn't mean he was stupid. His eyes shifted from John to Adele, and he considered things for a moment, tracking. "That bastard," Mr. Rohm said suddenly. "Is he the one who put you up to this? I'm telling you I didn't have anything to do with the deaths. Just a coincidence. Why would I kill their kids? I've been fired before. That's no reason to murder anyone. Besides, have you heard anything about that restaurant business? Half of them are going under. Their overhead is too high. This touring company was a blessing in disguise. I should be thanking them, not killing anyone."
He made the case well, emphatically, and his hands, though they were handcuffed in front of him, where he sat, seemed on the verge of gesticulating as if Rohm wanted to spread his arms. Perhaps not a very powerful presence physically, but this man was no stranger to orating.
"I'm sorry, but that's not enough. Why didn't you register your name on the manifest?"
He snorted. "I'm the CEO. I don't have to buy a ticket. It's one of the few perks of the job. I'm not the only one who does it, either. Anyone on the board has access."
Adele shifted uncomfortably. She didn't like the idea of other potential suspects out there, moving like ghosts on the ships, without anyone to say one way or another.
"I'm sorry," she repeated, "but that's still not enough."
He heaved a frustrated sigh, "How can I convince you? It isn't me. So fine. Let me help you. You need something. You're desperate if you're coming after me. I'll make it easier. What can I do?"
A negotiator as well it would seem. She knew to be careful where such people were concerned. There was nothing inherently wrong with negotiation, but those who were good at it often could wield words to their target's demise.
"I don't need anything from you. Except for you to tell me what you been doing this last week."
"What I always do. Keeping an eye on the business."
"On the boats?"
"That's my business. What do you expect?"
"I expect you to tell me what connection you had with the first victim.”
"Who?"
“Zeynep Akbulut.”
"I'll be honest with you agent. I'd never even heard of that girl until I saw it on the news. And my first reaction was grief—I have children of my own. Two daughters and a son. But after I heard the news, I knew the threat it would pose to my business. And hang on," he said, in a wheedling, careful voice, "don't take that to mean I'm j
ust being callous. I'm explaining to you that I have a lot of money tied up in the success of these boats. I'm part owner. Did you know that?"
Adele blinked. "I assumed as the CEO you might have some stake."
"And did you know that our revenue is in half, today, compared to the last few weeks? All because of this horrible business with the murders?" He pressed, like a boxer who'd realized he's cornered his opponent. He was staring at her, fixated, trying to measure her, to figure out a weakness.
"What's your point?"
One finger sprang out, though his hands were still cuffed. "First, I don't know anything about Ms. Akbulut. Second, though I was connected, briefly, with the parents of these other two wealthy girls, that doesn't mean anything. I'm connected with a lot of wealthy people. And besides, getting fired from that restaurant business was the best thing that ever happened to me. I'm twice as wealthy as I was then." A third and final finger sprang out. "And lastly, why would I kill these women on my own boats? It's ruining them. It's tanking the business."
Adele shook her head. "I don't know why. I just know what the evidence is saying."
"You need to take a closer look at that evidence."
He was good. Convincing, earnest, sincere. Equal parts angry and reasonable. He played the aggrieved victim well. But this was a powerful man. Powerful men often knew how to present themselves to get what they wanted. She wouldn't allow his spin on things to convince her. She needed to look at the evidence.
But then again, was the evidence in his favor? It was true that he would move from boat to boat. It was true he did so anonymously. It was also true he had been very careful to dodge her question about his whereabouts the last few days. But on top of that, even if he had been on all those boats, he only had connections to the first two victims. Adele didn't know of any connection with Zeynep. It was also true that Rohm was financially invested in the success of the touring company. Why would he ruin that?
He didn't seem like an impulsive man. He was holding his temper in check as best as possible. He seemed to be angry, but not rageful. Was a self-controlled man the sort who'd let some violent urge ruin their own business? Would he be the sort of person to kill for vengeance or pleasure? Did he write that note, taunting the parents?
It was a note targeted primarily at Zeynep Akbulut's parents. If he was really trying to hurt the two families that had wronged him, why had he spent most of his time in that note only talking to the victims he had no connection with.
A red herring?
Adele felt a hand brush her shoulder and looked up towards John. The tall Frenchman's palm was warm as he leaned in and whispered, "Still no call back on connections with the Akbuluts. It's been twenty minutes since I called it in. That's not promising."
Adele nodded quietly, and she said, beneath her breath, "That's fine.” She turned and took a couple of retreating steps towards one of the large windows. Beneath her breath, in a ghost of a voice, she murmured, so Rohm couldn't hear, “John, I'm worried it's not him."
Renee winced. "I was afraid you'd say that. You always say that."
Adele could feel the trickle of worry along her spine. "If it's not him, that means the killer is still out there."
The CEO had gone quiet, and was breathing a lot less heavily now, simply watching, trying to listen. "I can help!" he volunteered from where he was cuffed. He leaned forward on the chair, his legs not even reaching the ground. "Anything I can do. I can help. I don't want another person to die. For their sake even more than my business."
Adele turned away from him now, her shoulder blocking her mouth, and she whispered, "If it's not him, we need to know."
John switched from English to French, "How should we know? He has connections to two of the victims."
She winced, considering this. But the CEO had made sense. Why would he target people on his own boats? And if it was true that he'd made more money after being fired by the restaurant company, which apparently was tanking now, wouldn't that be vengeance enough? She didn't know how these killers worked, but this seemed like a self-controlled man. At least at first glance.
She closed her eyes, standing there, feeling the warmth of the sunlight through the large windows, feeling eyes fixed on her. She could hear the sound of the crew outside, the couple of members who'd followed them waiting, murmuring to each other.
"If what you say is true," she said, reaching a decision, and turning back towards Rohm, "then you do need to help me. I want access to the information you have on all the wealthy guests from all your boats. All the young women who come from money."
CHAPTER THIRTY TWO
Adele felt like she was in a river herself, just trying to keep up with the current. The more she talked to Rohm, the more she looked at him, the more difficult it became to try and peg him for the murders. He was too small. Could he really have subdued all three of those women? It didn't seem likely. And he would have been seen. The CEO would have stood out.
She could feel her convictions about his guilt crumbling like sandcastles on the seashore beneath a sudden tide.
"Anything you need," he said, instinctively. "I have access to that information on my own phone. I can keep track of all that. I tend to go over it daily."
"Daily?"
He wagged his head, adamantly. "This company is successful because of my efforts. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. I keep a tight eye on the finances, especially after..." he trailed off and shook his head. "Let's just say I've been burned before. And," he added quickly, "I didn't kill anyone over it. I had business partners embezzle from me. And I haven't hurt them. How much less so would I want to hurt someone who kicked me out of a dying job. I wanted to leave the Havertz company anyway."
"Mutual breakup," John muttered. "It's never the case."
The man looked over, shaking his head. "Be that as it may, if you want that information, I can get it for you, quickly. It's on my phone. Just uncuff me."
Adele considered this for a moment. She couldn't see the threat, though, and she nodded once towards John.
The small man was unarmed, outnumbered, trapped in a room. Giving him his hands didn't seem too dangerous. Reluctantly, John moved forward, key out, and loosed the cuffs.
The CEO made a big deal of rubbing his wrists. He eyed John, then looked at Adele, a flash of relief crossing his face. "I didn't have anything to do with this."
"Help us, and that will help clear your name. You still have to account for your connection with two of the victims."
Instead of answering her though, he reached, slowly, into his pocket, one other hand raised in an abundance of caution. He fished out his phone, and then began to type.
It was one of those old-fashioned devices, with a keyboard built in. She watched, frowning, as he continued to jab at the small keyboard. John leaned against the chair behind the man, in the stateroom, his head beneath the light fixture. And then, John said, "What's that?"
"Financial compiler," Rohm returned. "It keeps all the ticket information. For the more wealthy customers, we also have names."
"We have comped tickets for the victims," Adele said, quickly.
The CEO frowned, looking at her. "We don't comp tickets."
She sighed. "That's what Mr. Larsen said."
"Well, you usually can't trust that bastard. But in this case, he was telling you the truth. We have nothing to do with comping tickets. That's someone else."
"What's that?" John said, just as quickly.
The CEO sighed through his nose, but then in a patient tone replied, "A search feature. It helps us narrow in on a target audience in markets. When we know where people are boarding, it gives us a better idea where to advertise the tours. We're going to be working on riverside attractions as well. I have contacts with a carnival who are going to agree to set up near Steinheim.”
"And how does that help us?"
"It doesn't. It's just how I'm going to narrow down what you want. You said you want young women who come from wealth, right? Well,
there are certain areas that are known for their wealth, and others that aren't. I'm narrowing based on that. Just hang on."
"What's that?" John said, just as quickly.
The CEO ignored him, though, this time. He said, "What ages exactly?"
"Twenties," Adele said.
"Nationality?"
"We don't know."
"How do you have access to all that information?" John said.
Here, the CEO smiled. He hid it just as quickly, but said, "You'd be amazed what the financing companies share with us. Your credit card alone has your name, first and last, your birthday, and often zip code associated with it. We know who you are, where you live, and when you were born. We can also ping the banks, querying to see what available funds are in the account. Not technically something we're supposed to do. But I know of some,” he coughed, “less reputable businesses who do it to figure out which clients to focus on re-targeting with ad spend.”
John visibly shivered at the thought, his hand moving instinctively towards his pocket, as if wondering if he should take out his wallet and fling it across the room.
Adele couldn't blame him. This stuff gave her the creeps. But, hopefully, at least in this case, too much information could help them save a life.
"Alright, here we go. A wealthy, young woman who comes from means of her own. I found one. The suite she has booked is one of the more expensive ones."
"And you said you don't comp."
"That's right.”
"There's only one name?"
The CEO wagged his head, turning his phone towards Adele. "Only the one."
"Who?"
