Left to Lapse (An Adele Sharp Mystery—Book Seven)

by Blake Pierce

The killer would have a reason, a gripe, a grudge. Some hidden hatred. And while Johnson seemed particularly loathsome of Agent Renee at this moment, it wasn’t like he didn’t have cause. She hadn’t detected any other motive. So far, all he’d done was deny and shout for a lawyer.

  No motive, then.

  So why kill?

  “I don’t know,” Adele murmured, quietly. “I don’t think it’s him.”

  At that moment, a voice suddenly echoed off the intercom, reverberating in the still room. “We are now approaching our final destination. Please stay away from the doors until we’ve come to a complete stop. Thank you for your patience during this delay. In addition, we’d like to offer any passengers who want to travel with us in the coming month a deal for half off their next ticket in way of a thank-you for your continued patience.”

  The voice crackled over the speakers and then went silent.

  Adele shifted uncomfortably, staring at the black speakers above the windows. Soon, they’d be disembarking. There was no more time. But there was also no motive. No time left to find another suspect.

  “Excuse me,” she said, suddenly, looking across at Mr. Johnson.

  He stopped studying the floor long enough to glance up and present her with a scowl. “What?”

  “I’m sorry for any inconvenience, truly. Things…” she half glanced toward John, but returned her gaze to Mr. Johnson, “may have gotten a bit out of hand.”

  He jangled the handcuff against the rail, waving his one hand. “You think so, do you?”

  “Look, I’m sorry,” she said, firmly. “But please understand, we’re trying to catch a serial murderer. Three people have died, and we’re running out of time. The killer is on this train, right now.”

  John interjected, “And you’re speaking to him right now.”

  “Maybe so,” Adele continued, picking up speed. “But if you maintain your innocence,” she addressed the reserve conductor, “then I need your help with something.”

  “My help?” he asked, somehow conveying a snort in the two short words.

  “Yes. The deaths, they occurred on the three trains you’ve been on. All of them in a different country.”

  “And?”

  “And,” she pressed, “is there anything else we might be missing about the location? We’ve already had a death in Germany… But… But I can’t shake the notion that the killer might strike again.” She frowned, shaking her head. Then, more to herself than anyone, she murmured, “We’ve been operating under the assumption the killer is attacking one per country, and once per day… but what if we were wrong about that?” She looked at Mr. Johnson. “Is there anything else you might have seen? You were on the first two trains. You’re on this one.”

  “I told you already,” he snapped. “I didn’t even know someone had died.”

  “Ridiculous,” John said. “Adele, come on now. He’s playing you. Don’t listen to him.”

  The conductor seemed caught between his anger with John and the lifeline Adele had just tossed him. It took him a moment to consider, but then he said, “When?”

  “Excuse me?” Adele asked.

  “When did the victim die?”

  “The woman—Margaret,” said John. “She had a name, you know.”

  “Most of us do,” the conductor retorted. “When did she die?”

  Adele said, “About four hours ago. Is that relevant?”

  “Four hours? Just after we crossed into West Germany? In the Black Forest, yes?”

  Adele hesitated. “I think so, yes.”

  The conductor shrugged. “Well, there you have it. Another switch.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “A switch,” he said. “A rail shift. The first two deaths occurred right before or right after a switch in the tracks.”

  Adele stared, feeling her lips go suddenly numb. For a moment, she felt a prickle along her back, and she swallowed. “A switch? You’re sure?”

  “I noticed it with the first two heart attacks. Didn’t know they were murders. Some of the wait staff thought the switches were cursed.” He shrugged. “We all noticed, though. It’s at the switches these people are dying.”

  Adele looked off out the window. She could see buildings now, see streets and alleys as they pulled closer to the train station. Soon, the killer would be able to slip away. Without a controlled environment, his escape seemed imminent. But this new theory… the switches? Could that be it? Was the killer somehow connected to the track changes?

  “The next switch,” Adele said, suddenly. “When is it?”

  Mr. Johnson paused for a moment, his eyes narrowing as he examined her. Then his gaze flitted down to the water bottle she’d given him. He looked determinedly away from John, as if intent on ignoring the Frenchman. And, with a sigh, the reserve conductor said, “Just past this station, actually. We’re rolling up on one right now.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

  Adele could feel the train chugging along beneath her, but with it came a rising sense of anxiety to match. She turned to John, her mouth numb with the words cajoled from her lips. “I… I don’t think it’s him.”

  John rolled his eyes. “Adele, come on,” he insisted. “Of course it is. Look at him. He was on all three trains. He attacked me. He has the toxin.”

  “You attacked me, and it’s insulin!” Johnson called.

  “I don’t think it’s him,” Adele repeated, in a whisper. “And I might be wrong, but if I’m right about him, then the killer is going to strike again, very soon.”

  “You’re buying this crap about the switches?”

  “It makes sense, doesn’t it?”

  “Not coming from him, it doesn’t,” John said, jutting his chin.

  “John,” Adele said softly. “I know we haven’t seen eye to eye lately… But can you trust me on this one? I’ve been right before.”

  At these words, John hesitated. His expression seemed set in stone, but as she held his gaze, a light almost seemed to flicker behind his eyes, and his countenance morphed, slowly, and his eyes softened. He gave a half nod and muttered, “On your head be it…”

  “Fine. I’ll take all the blame. Just, please, this once…trust me.”

  John hesitated, but then his shoulders sagged. He shrugged. “You’ve been right before. If I can’t convince you, then fine. So what do we do? We’re already pulling in.”

  Leoni looked up from where he’d collapsed on his ankle. “I can look after the conductor,” he said, wincing. “If Adele’s right…”

  The two DGSI agents looked at the Italian and nodded slowly.

  John, though, if only to underscore his point, gestured out the window. Adele could even hear the screech of the train against the tracks as it began to come to a full stop. Out of time. Any moment now, the killer would make good his getaway. She had to make a call—they didn’t have time to search the train again. No time to look through all the cars.

  A final shot in the dark—she had to pick a target.

  “First class,” she murmured. “He’ll be near the victims. He’s killed three wealthy folk already—he’ll do it again. And we’re nearing the switch,” she said and glanced toward Mr. Johnson. “If what he says is correct… First class,” Adele said at last. “We have to go, come.”

  She turned and began moving away from the body beneath the tarp, and the reserve conductor chained to the rail. John, for his part, didn’t seem so reluctant anymore. It wasn’t that he liked being bossed around. Adele knew, however, that if there was one thing she could rely on John for, it was that he would have her back. No matter what. Even if he disagreed. For all his sharp edges and unconventional methods, he was loyal to the end.

  She could feel him moving next to her now, striding toward the glass partition that led to first class.

  Just then, all of a sudden, everything went black for a moment. Adele fell still, stunned. A brief passing thought suggested she’d fallen unconscious. But she could still feel the train shaking beneath her, and could even h
ear John’s breathing at her side. A second passed, then another, and then the train emerged from the darkness, light streaking the windows at her side once more.

  “What was that?” Adele said, frowning.

  “A weather sheath,” said the conductor. “It’s a tunnel. There’s going to be another one before you finally come to a—”

  “It’s going to go dark like that again?”

  Johnson, though, seemed bored with answering all these questions, and was now plucking at the handcuff around his wrist.

  Adele could feel the train slowing nearly completely now. If they passed through another one of these makeshift weather-protection tunnels, time would be up. Already, the killer, if he was bold, could try to escape by hopping off the slowly moving train and disappearing into the city.

  Now was the time for boldness in return.

  With John at her side, she shoved into the first-class compartment, shaking off the sudden shock of the darkened train car.

  The whistle of scraping wheels against the track was soon replaced by the quiet mutter of voices in the first-class compartment. People sat in the chairs facing the windows, while others sat in the cushioned seats, sipping from wineglasses or poking at snacks brought to them on the trolley.

  “What are we looking for?” John pressed, his voice low.

  Adele answered honestly. “I don’t know yet. Just keep your eyes peeled.”

  They stood at the front of the first-class car, and Adele could feel the eyes of the passengers fixed on her. She glanced around, surveying the passengers. For a moment, her gaze landed on the old man by the window. The one who had often smiled when she’d come through. He had a strange way about him. His eyes would always track her, when he didn’t think she was watching. She began to move toward him, but then heard a sudden spark of laughter. Her eyes darted toward where Richard and Bella, the two friends of the third victim, were chuckling to each other and muttering beneath their voices as they pointed toward some other woman sitting in the back of the car. For two friends who had lost a loved one, they sure didn’t seem too broken up about it. Adele now took a step toward them.

  And just then, she heard a grumble from the back of the compartment. The woman who’d been the subject of Richard and Bella’s derision was arguing with the valet, trying to exchange a pack of opened peanuts, it seemed, for pretzels.

  The valet looked flustered, and was shaking his head.

  The woman with the peanuts flung them at the valet, and a few of the nuts bounced off his red uniform.

  For a moment, the valet’s countenance darkened. Gone was the bumbling, stuttering young man. Gone was the timid, frightful staff member, wanting nothing more than to be left alone. For a moment, Adele glimpsed a snarl twist the valet’s lips. The young man didn’t look so young anymore. Maybe she’d been wrong about twenty. Maybe mid-twenties. He had a boyish face, but there was nothing innocent about the look of sheer loathing twisting his features now as he regarded the woman who’d thrown the peanuts. One hand was trembling as it reached toward the pretzels the woman had demanded. But it wasn’t trembling from fear or embarrassment. His knuckles were pale, with the white fury of sheer rage. Adele stared, rooted to the floor, feeling John brush past her as he moved slowly along the first-class cabin, glancing at the passengers on either side. But Adele only had eyes for the valet.

  He’d said he’d heard a noise. He’d said it had been a crash. The old man had corrected him.

  At the time, Adele had wondered if perhaps she’d missed a clue. But now, what if he’d been simply trying to throw her off? To confuse the investigation? But why would he want to do that?

  She stared at him, watching as he shoved the pretzels into the hand of the peanut-flinging woman.

  Then, slowly, as if sensing the attention, the valet’s eyes shifted away from the woman in the back of the first-class car. He looked slowly up, his head rotating, tilting, and his eyes suddenly settled on Adele’s. For a moment, they stared across the cabin. None of the other first-class residents seemed to notice. Not even John seemed to spot the interchange. Adele could feel her breath coming slow. She was staring into the eyes of someone she didn’t recognize. She’d had a conversation with the valet. Had interviewed him. But something else was now staring back at her. Something she didn’t fully recognize. The sheer hatred, the loathing that had flashed across his face for that brief glimpse, wasn’t so brief after all. She could see it now, etched deep, carved into the core of his eyes. Not a light, not a glow, but a stony, frigid fixture. A hatred so bone deep that it cut through anything else that might have been displayed in the windows to the soul.

  And she was staring right at it. The valet didn’t look away at first. And then, as if suddenly breaking from a reverie, he seemed to realize who was looking back at him. He glanced down and rearranged some of the peanuts, shifting his head a bit and glancing sheepishly side to side. But the effect of the mirage was failing now. He was trying to play dumb. Trying to play timid. But the church mouse had already revealed itself to be a wolf. She wouldn’t fall for it again.

  And so she didn’t look away. She knew.

  And as she stared at him and began to pick up her pace, marching across the first-class compartment, he knew too. She could see the recognition dawning in his eyes. Could see the realization of the futility of pretense. He stopped rearranging the glistening packets of peanuts, and instead stared right back at her. One of his hands crept into his pocket, and Adele’s own went to her hip.

  “Sharp?” John said, suddenly, as if noting something in her posture.

  “It’s him,” Adele said, breathlessly.

  And then they entered another tunnel. The train was scraping along in the station. And suddenly, everything went dark. Mr. Johnson, the reserve conductor, had warned there would be another one of these weather tunnels. But now, in the pitch-black, Adele lost sight of the valet. She cursed, feeling the cold of her weapon in her hand as she pulled it out. But there was nothing to aim at. It had been daytime, with sunlight through the windows, which meant no other sources of light were illuminating the inside of the now darkened train.

  “Adele?” said the disembodied voice of John in her ear.

  “The valet,” she hissed. “It’s the valet.”

  And then, she heard movement. The sound of a rolling cart. It seemed to be picking up speed. She could barely pick it out over the squeal of the train against the tracks. She could barely pick it out over the sound of her own haggard breathing. But there it was, a whirring sound, a blurring motion she could barely glimpse, reflected, for the briefest instant, off the glow of someone’s phone in the middle aisle.

  “Your reading lights,” Adele shouted, suddenly. “Turn your reading lights on, now!”

  The train was moving at a molasses pace, prolonging the time spent in the weather tunnel just outside the station.

  For a moment no one responded, and now she could hear the thumping of footsteps, the whirring of the cart as it came forward, careening down the aisle.

  And then the old man with the smiling face responded first. He reached up and flicked on a light. Suddenly, the low glow of orange illuminated the faintest portion of the train car. Most of the first class was still bathed in dark, but the shadows were pushed back, and light intercepted the careening snack cart. A large metal box was zipping toward them, pushed by the valet. He had a ferocious glare affixed to his face. His teeth gritted together. One hand was pushing the cart, but the other had something he had pulled from his pocket. Adele glimpsed a flash of a needle. Another reading light turned on, and it illuminated the item in the man’s hand. A syringe. A third reading light turned on, now seemingly tracking the progress of the wheeling valet.

  And then he was on them. He released another enormous shout, howling as he surged toward them. “Die!”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  John, suddenly noting the trajectory of the cart, and noting Adele was directly in the path of the careening chunk of metal on wheels, moved firs
t with a shout, lunging forward. Adele hadn’t been idle, either, though, and was quickly moving, trying to put herself between the seats, to shield herself from the cart. But Richard and Bella, the two friends of Margaret, were caught up with each other, and as Adele pressed near them for shelter, Richard grunted and stiff-armed her, shoving her away and saying, “Get off me.”

  Adele was sent back out into the aisle. John, seeing this, cursed. He lurched forward, grabbed at Adele, and pushed her bodily on top of Richard. At the same time, this brought John into direct contact with the surging cart. It slammed into his hip and sent the tall Frenchman toppling over it. John yelled in pain as he went flying, rolling across a pile of peanuts and water bottles, and then flipped over the other side. The Frenchman, despite the sudden motion, tried to snag at the valet’s shoulder.

  But he missed. The slight form of the young staff member moved quickly and then reached out and flipped off two of the lights that had already been turned on. Again, darkness filled the cabin. One light at the very back of the compartment illuminated where John had fallen, groaning, trying to push back to his feet after getting pounded by a ton of wheeled metal and snacks. For her part, Adele desperately cried, “Turn on your lights!”

  But the valet was quick, and he turned off the final reading light.

  Now, the passengers seemed confused. On one hand, they heard a shouted instruction from someone who claimed to be a federal agent from France. On the other, someone in an actual uniform, one of the staff members they were familiar with, was flipping off their lights. And so, fear and uncertainty seemed to stay their hands. And again, darkness swallowed them.

  “Just die,” the valet sneered, his voice like oil, slick and anxious.

  Adele’s own weapon moved about, but again, in the dark, it was impossible to aim until she suddenly felt a hand grip her wrist.

  She cursed, struggling, bumping against the cart that had sent her partner flying. She heard more shouting. She felt a hand shove at her again, and Richard’s voice, “Get off me!”