by Blake Pierce
Adele hid a soft chuckle and waited patiently on the porch. A few moments later, the lady reappeared. In her hand, she had a small iPad. She held it up for Adele. In the other hand, she had two glasses of iced tea held by the lip—the ice clinked appetizingly against the glass and the cool, amber liquid.
“Take your time, dear. I’m still going to be cleaning inside. Holler if you need me. Don’t run off with that thing; it’s expensive.”
Adele nodded quickly. “I won’t, I promise.”
“I believe you.”
And then the lady, still limping, moved back in, her pink shirt fluttering as she exited the porch once more, leaving Adele with a glass of iced tea and the small iPad displaying the recordings from the Ring device.
Adele scrolled through the files and found the day in question. She went back to the start of the morning from the previous day, and then settled in, sipping on the iced tea, and playing the video at four times the pace. Her eyes remained fixed and anytime she felt the urge to blink she paused the video. It would take a while, but it was worth it. Soon, she felt certain, she would find something. The killer had to have taken a straight shot. A direct drive from the wine-making shop, to where he had dumped the body. It was the only possibility.
And so Adele waited, watching, her eyes fixed on the screen.
***
Afternoon arrived, witnessing Adele still sitting on the white bench, facing the rope swing dangling from the tree, and scrolling through the iPad.
The old woman popped her head out of the screen door for the second time in the last hour. She had a plate of cookies and extended them to Adele.
Adele looked at the chocolate chip cookies and winced. “Sorry, I shouldn’t.”
The woman looked downright offended. “You should; a skinny girl like you. Come on.”
Adele chuckled, but then, with a gracious nod, accepted one of the cookies. She took a bite, and decided to never turn down cookies from old ladies ever again. It was the single most delicious thing she’d ever tasted. For a moment, she felt a strain of sadness. Adele thought with a pang what her own mother would have been like if she was allowed to reach a certain age. Would she have been able to make cookies this good?
Instead of retreating back into the house this time, the lady moved out onto the porch. The four-year-old boy who Adele had spotted from before was now peering through the window, just above them, sitting on the windowsill in the kitchen and watching her watch the iPad.
The bench creaked a bit, as the lady leaned down onto it and sat. Her pink shirt pressed against her, and she heaved a steady breath.
“Are you all right?” she said to Adele.
Adele looked over. “I’m fine, still looking. I found a few cars, but none of them fit our description.”
The old lady nodded once. She had a glass of iced tea in her own hand, and took a long sip.
“Don’t you sort usually work in pairs?” she asked.
Adele, her eyes still glued to the iPad, felt a buzz in her head, the ache of staring at a screen so long, but still had the wherewithal to nod once. She saw no harm in maintaining decorum.
“Well, what did your partner do? He piss you off?”
Adele chuckled. “What makes you so sure it’s a he?”
“Pretty girl like you? No other option.”
Adele looked over, and then grinned. “Maybe. That’s very kind of you. You’re quite beautiful yourself.”
The older woman laughed. Now shaking her head, and causing her iced tea to clink with the cubes against the glass. “Mighty heavens what a bald-faced compliment.”
Adele continued to scan across the iPad.
“Mind if I give you a prayer?” the woman said.
Adele felt taken aback for a moment. She looked over. “A prayer?”
The woman shrugged. “Helps me when I’m trying to find things. Lost my keys the other day, I prayed, two minutes later, I found them. Lost Elijah last week, prayed, found him. He was beneath one of the orange trees out back, trying to smoosh flies into the fruit. Slow but sweet, like I said.”
Adele stared, and laughed. “Well, can’t see how it would hurt.”
The old woman nodded once. She didn’t close her eyes and she didn’t bow her head. She instead looked across the road, toward the path. In a stern, serious voice, she said, “Good Lord, there is a pervert roaming around. I hope you help this pretty young lady catch them. Thank you and amen.”
Adele took another sip from her iced tea, her eyes still scanning the image in front of her. She could feel the exhaustion from sitting in one place for so long doing the same thing. But it was too important to give up now.
“FBI you said?”
Adele nodded.
“Good for you.”
“Thanks.”
The woman took another long draft from her iced tea. She looked out toward the tree, down the path, her eyes flitting over the pulsing sprinkler.
Adele looked at her, then looked back. “Is Elijah yours?” she said. She could still feel the eyes of the young boy in the window.
The older woman shook her head. “Well, he is mine. But wasn’t. Was my daughter’s. He’s my grandson. But my daughter ran off and left him with me. Haven’t heard from her since.”
Adele winced. “I’m sorry.”
The woman shrugged. “Well, not much you can do about things like that. Besides, probably better for Elijah. My husband will be home soon, too. He loves the boy. They both get along.”
Adele smiled. “What’s your husband’s name?”
The woman hesitated, then wrinkled her nose. “I mean this in the politest way possible, but I do not trust federal agents. Not even pretty, nice ones like you. So for all intents and purposes, let’s just say my husband’s name is John Smith. And I am Jane Doe.”
Adele chuckled. “John Smith and Jane Doe, and Elijah. Sounds like a perfect family.”
And then the woman said, “Hey, you missed one.”
Adele looked sharply back. She saw the very end of a vehicle moving out of screen. She stopped and spun the video back. She strained, staring close, and then watched.
She went stiff.
A white van flashed across the screen, moving from one end to the other.
She replayed the clip. Then again.
Jane Doe said, “Find something?”
Adele felt a prickle across her spine. She zoomed in on the van’s license plate. A white van, and the license plate was visible. She read it again, again. Then pulled out her phone, taking a picture of the plate itself and texting it to John.
“Thank you so much,” said Adele. “I really appreciate your time.”
“Happy to help. Just don’t bother the neighbors.”
Adele nodded quickly. She gave a little wave toward Elijah, who was still sitting on the windowsill. She handed the iPad back to the woman and then hurried down the road, breaking into a jog and heading back toward where she’d parked the car.
Her phone began to ring. She picked it up, breathing heavy.
“Adele,” said John’s voice.
“You get that picture?” she replied.
“Got it. What is it?”
“Send it to Agent Carter. Get them to run those plates, and get us an address real quick.”
John breathed. “Is that the van?”
“Damn right it is. Come on, get it to Carter, and meet with me up at the wine-making shop. I’m about a ten-minute jog out.”
“Hang on, did you say jog?”
“John, just hurry up. Meet me there.”
Then the phone clicked, Adele stowed it, and broke into a run, down the dirt path, along the hilly trail, moving quickly, her hair brushing around her as she ran.
It was the same van, she was sure of it. The van, at the time, had a body in the back. The van the killer had used to kidnap the third victim.
“I’ve got you now,” Adele muttered. She picked up the pace, hastening back toward the parked car.
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR<
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“Come on, let me,” John demanded.
“No,” Adele said for the third time in as many minutes.
“You’re too slow,” he protested.
“And you’ll kill us by crashing; just sit down and be quiet. I’m going as fast as I can.” Adele hastened, driving quickly, following the GPS barking out from John’s phone.
She looked sidelong at him. “You sure that’s the right address?”
He glanced at his phone from the passenger seat and looked up, his eyes narrowed as he peered through the windshield. “Sure as shooting.”
“Excuse me?”
He looked over and grinned at her. “It’s an American expression I learned this morning.”
“Dammit, John, focus. Is that the right address?”
He nodded at her. “If the plates you gave me are right, that’s where the van is from.”
“Rented?”
John tapped his fingers impatiently against the window. He muttered a few choice words as a semi-truck pulled out, merging in front of them. But then he looked back at her. “No, not rented. Owned. Young fellow.”
“Does this fellow have a name?”
“Ken Davis,” said John. “Lives about fifteen minutes from here.”
“Right, well, that’s the van.”
“I believe you. Sure you don’t want to switch?”
“John, shut up. I’m going as fast as I can.”
Fifteen minutes more complaining, fifteen minutes more in which Adele felt like strangling her partner. Any thought of kissing him had faded, replaced by the urge to duct tape his mouth.
At last, though, she pulled to a stop, careful to avoid the curb and the mailbox. She gave a pointed look at John as she parked like a normal, decent human being outside the front of the house.
It was an old condo, split down the middle. The left side marked A, the right side B.
“Which one?” Adele demanded.
John looked at his phone. “B,” he said, quickly.
John and Adele exited the sedan and moved up the sidewalk toward the condo. John went left, and Adele stayed on path with the main door. She watched as John sidestepped around a couple of trash cans, and then leaned on his tiptoes, peering through a window into the garage. He looked over his shoulder and called, “No van.” He gave a grim shake of his head.
Adele’s eyes moved from the driveway, which was empty, toward the red door set on the left side of the building.
She hesitated, looking toward the garage, then flicking her gaze to her partner.
“Maybe he’s hiding it somewhere,” she said.
John shrugged. “Maybe it was stolen.”
Adele balked at the thought. If the van had been stolen, it would be as good as going back to square one. No, she had to hold out hope. She moved toward the red door and looked at the golden letter B emblazoned over the doorknocker. She reached up and tapped on the door.
She waited, listening. No sounds came from within. She looked back at John, who was sidestepping the garbage cans once more.
She knocked on the door again.
Still no answer. John shrugged at her. He moved over toward the garage, and began sliding his hands along beneath the door. He seemed to be looking for a purchase to pull. But the door was also sealed shut.
John emitted a string of curse words, then approached the front door as well. He scratched at his jaw, glanced toward the neighbor’s door, and said, “Do you hear that noise? I could swear I heard screaming.”
Adele winced. “I don’t think we should just break the door, John.”
Before they could reach a decision, though, there was the sound of squeaking tires. Both of them turned and looked towards the end of the street, and watched, their mouths unhinging as a white van circled down the road, turned up the cul-de-sac, and approached the very condo they were standing in front of. Adele and John blinked at each other as the van was parked in the drive.
The door closed with a thumping sound, and two feet emerged beneath the vehicle. Adele watched as the figure stepped around the front, and a young, skinny teenager began moving toward the condo door, whistling to himself. He wore a black T-shirt, far too baggy, with a big white skeleton on the front. He had his pants too low, and his hair was buzzed close to his head. Still, his features were sharp, and would have been handsome if he’d spent even a second focused on looking presentable rather than tough. Instead, he failed at both.
John and Adele moved toward the young man, stepping over the sidewalk onto the driveway and blocking his path as he tried to reach his door. He pulled an earbud out of his ear and looked up, noticing them both for the first time. He blinked, and tried to take a step back. John didn’t stop him, but followed, with a lengthy stride of his own.
“Are you Ken Davis?” John said, his accent heavy.
“What?” the boy said.
Adele stepped in, and in crisp English, said, “Are you Ken Davis?”
He wrinkled his nose, one earbud still dangling from his fingers. Adele could hear the sound of metal, and loud voices blaring from the device. “Yeah,” he said, in a noncommittal sort of way, shrugging with one shoulder. “Who are you?”
Adele said, slowly, “Is that your van?”
At this point, the young man, who couldn’t have been much older than nineteen, seemed to realize he was backed into a corner. Both metaphorically and literally. Now John was between Davis and his van, corralling him toward the garage door, if only to keep his back up against something solid.
The young man stopped moving, despite John encroaching on his personal space. He lowered the earbud from his other ear and draped it over his one extended finger. “It’s my van, so what?”
Adele exhaled. “Your van is wanted in connection to a murder. It was spotted on Darby Road, about ten miles from here.”
His eyes seemed to bug, and his chin wobbled a bit. “Hang on, what?”
John snorted. “Nice try. We know it was you.”
Adele, though, wasn’t so convinced. The guy couldn’t have been much older than a teenager. Plus, she’d had Agent Carter check.
“You haven’t left the country in months,” she said.
The kid shrugged. “Have never left the country. That’s not a crime.”
Adele looked at him. “Your van was used in a murder. Who did you loan it to?”
At this, he went very silent. His eyes flicked from Adele to John, and then, in a squeaking voice, he said, “I want to speak to a lawyer.”
Adele glared. “You loaned it to someone, didn’t you? Who?”
He didn’t reply. Adele moved past John, now, looking toward the van, glancing in through the windows.
“Hey,” he retorted, “you can’t do that. You need a warrant! I don’t give permission.”
He jutted out his chin, and his tone had an edge that resonated with the words, So there!
Adele nodded, looking back. “You’re not wrong. I do need a warrant. It’s a shame.”
John looked at her, then looked at the boy. “A downright shame,” he repeated. He then moved toward the back of the van. “You’re not giving permission?” John said.
The boy shook his head firmly.
Agent Renee grunted. “That makes sense. I wouldn’t either if I was guilty.”
“I didn’t kill anybody,” the boy muttered. “Now, about that lawyer…”
John made a big show of stretching and yawning. Then, elbow extended, he slammed it straight through the window in the front of the van. Adele blinked, surprised, and the boy stared. He began to gasp and sputter like a landed fish, and John reached in, muttering, “Oops.”
Adele spotted a stain of blood down the edge of her partner’s elbow, but John didn’t seem to even register it on his pain scale. He reached into the van and unlocked it from the inside, and then pulled open the side door.
“You can’t do that,” the young man shouted, protesting.
“Technically, true,” Adele said. “But also, he’s from France. Warrant
s are a strange concept.”
John nodded, humming to himself and glancing around the interior. “Why does this whole place stink of ammonia?” he said.
Adele stepped a little closer to the van and winced. She caught a whiff of the pungent odor as well.
“I want to talk to a lawyer,” said the kid, gritting his teeth.
John was now rummaging around the front seat, muttering to himself. “Whole place smells, Adele. Someone cleaned it out. Even if there’s blood here, we’re not going to be able to get a test.”
Adele gritted her teeth. “See anything?” she said, ignoring the boy for now.
John was now leaning across the front seat, avoiding shards of glass. He sniffed a couple more times, and then one of his hands angled beneath the chair, and he began fishing around.
“It’s empty,” he said. “Cleaned out. Whoever this kid is working with—”
“I didn’t do anything!” the boy protested, sounding panicked now.
John withdrew, but then went still.
His elbow was still bleeding, but as he raised his hand, there was a smear of blood across his finger. It was thick, congealed. Not fresh blood. Cold, somehow—it had gotten onto his finger while rummaging beneath the chair.
He held up his hand, showing it to Adele. “That ammonia didn’t get everything,” he said, significantly.
Adele immediately moved toward the boy, turning him sharply and pulling her handcuffs as she did. He tried to protest, but then John came over, and Ken Davis went still, shaking his head and muttering, “This is all a big mistake. It’s all one big mistake.”
“You can tell us downtown,” Adele muttered. “Or you can tell us right here, who did you loan your van to? You haven’t left the country. But someone did. That someone used your van.”
He hesitated, then muttered, “A friend, just to move some stuff. But that’s it. He lost the keys. Someone took them. We just got the van back. Whoever took them must’ve—”
“Shut up,” Adele said. “Fine, don’t tell us. We’ll figure it out later.”
Then she spun the kid around, his hands cuffed, and began pushing him back toward their waiting car.
