Left to Kill (An Adele Sharp Mystery—Book Four)

by Blake Pierce

  She felt her foot tapping against the carpeted floor of the elevator. Her mind spun. Twenty-six dead. Perhaps more. The same MO. Same victim type. Twenty-six dead. And Amanda was awake. They’d been informed a day late that Amanda was awake.

  “John, make the elevator go faster,” she said, growling to herself.

  “Wish I could,” he muttered.

  It felt like an eternity before the elevator stopped, the doors dinging again. They opened on the third floor. One below the fourth—Amanda’s.

  Adele bit her lip in frustration as a gurney was pushed in, two nurses maneuvering it. They apologized politely, but then proceeded with the business.

  “Move,” John snapped. He pushed past one of the nurses, and then Adele reluctantly followed. It took them a moment, but then they followed signs to the stairwell. John pushed open the door, and together, they took the steps three at a time, hurrying to the top and then pushing through the stairwell onto the fourth floor.

  Another nurse behind the admissions counter raised a hand. “Can I help you?

  But Adele ignored her. She hated the ICU. She hated hospitals. The scent of cleaning fluids and sickly sweet chemicals wafted on the air. She found she was breathing shallowly, as if worried she might inhale too deeply and swallow a germ swirling about the place.

  Still, she maneuvered with John. The nurse was half on the phone now, eyeing them both, frowning.

  “Interpol,” Adele called over her shoulder, and the nurse hesitated, lowering the phone.

  She strode directly toward the door where Amanda Johnson had been kept. She spotted the same clipboard in its glass folder in front of the door. The same opaque window, darkened. She spotted the many machines inside with lights and beeping numbers.

  And, by the door, she spotted two BKA agents, their arms crossed, watching as John and Adele approached.

  “Is she still awake?” Adele said, breathlessly, as she pulled up in front of the agents.

  Like a couple of snuffling hounds, one of the agents and John both stared at each other, stepping close, then leaning their heads back, their shoulders dipping forward.

  The movements didn’t seem so intentional, more like subconscious gestures. And yet, Adele could feel them on the verge of aggression.

  “Is Amanda awake?” she repeated, firmly.

  The second agent in front of her shook her head. “Sorry, but we’re done with interviews for the day. She needs some rest. She’s tired.”

  “So she is awake? You’ve interviewed her?”

  Through the glass door, Adele spotted the form of the American girl struggling; there was a nurse trying to restrain her, and a doctor next to her with a needle in his hand.

  “What are they doing?” she demanded. “Hey, let me in,” she said.

  But the BKA agent held out a hand. “I’m sorry, Agent Sharp, right? We were told you’d be coming by soon. Look, you can speak to her tomorrow. She needs to rest. Doctor’s orders.”

  Adele’s eyes narrowed. “But you’ve already spoken with her? Is that right? You’ve had nearly twelve hours to talk with her. How many times have you interviewed her? How long did it take you to decide you got what you needed then finally let us know she was awake?”

  Adele found, without even realizing, she was now jabbing her finger against the other agent’s chest. The blonde-haired, blue-eyed woman glanced down, frowning. “Please step back, and come back tomorrow. They’re sedating her. She’s not cogent.”

  John growled. The second, male agent crossed his arms and glared at John.

  “I’ll tell you what,” said Adele. “I’m going through, and if you want, you can shoot me.”

  She shoved past the woman, grabbed the door handle, and pushed. The man, the second agent, tried to grab her wrist. It was a brief flurry of motion. But John twisted the man’s hand behind his back and shoved him, sending him stumbling to the ground.

  The BKA agent spun around, cursing, his hand darting to his hip. John stood over him, like a caveman, staring down, breathing heavily. “Don’t even try,” he snarled in French.

  There was something in John’s eyes that scared Adele for the brief moment she saw it. His chest heaved, his nostrils flared, his hands stretched at his sides. “Stay down, don’t touch her,” he growled in French.

  “You’re making a mistake,” the blonde agent said in German to Adele, but Adele ignored her.

  John couldn’t understand them, and they couldn’t understand John, but the posture of aggression, the clenched fists, was telltale enough. The woman gestured at her partner, who was still on the ground, trying to push up, and gave the faintest shake of her head. She held up her hands, allowing Adele entry into the room.

  Adele pushed through, her anger still swirling her chest. These idiots had delayed twelve hours. Twelve hours ago they could’ve talked to Amanda. Twelve hours ago they could’ve figured out what was going on. The only witness. The only one. Ha Eun had been killed in the night. Dumped hours ago. They’d been invited late to that scene as well. What if they’d been allowed to speak to Amanda first? What if BKA had actually done their job and filled in Interpol? Perhaps Ha Eun would still be alive.

  Adele couldn’t suppress the anger. So she allowed it to swirl through her, sensing the emotion.

  “Stop,” she snapped.

  The nurse trying to restrain Amanda glanced up and frowned. The doctor with the needle looked over. Both of them, both men, glanced toward the BKA agents through the door.

  “Look, you can’t be here,” said the doctor. Dr. Samuel. The same man from before, the older fellow with graying hair. He flicked the needle a couple of times and pushed on the thumb press. A small droplet of liquid seeped out the top, pushing out any remaining air.

  “Give me a second,” snapped Adele. “Can she talk?”

  Amanda, though, was shaking, trying to pull at the IVs in her arms and muttering in English. “Please, don’t make me. Get me out of here. I can’t stay!”

  Adele’s eyes snapped to the woman. “Amanda,” she said also in English. “Ms. Johnson, can you understand me?”

  “Please don’t hurt me! Please, number seven. Seven. Roll call. I’m seven!”

  Adele winced, still unsure. “Amanda?”

  “Agent,” the doctor snapped, “I must insist, you’re causing her distress. Leave!”

  Adele ignored him again and stepped even closer to the bed. She held out a hand as if calming an unruly animal. Her fingers hovered above Amanda, but she didn’t touch her. Instead, she said, “It’s going to be okay. It’s going to be fine. Amanda, can you hear me?”

  The girl’s wide eyes fixed on Adele. The many scrapes and bruises on her face stood out against her pale skin. She was trembling now, and the IV bag next to her was dripping. Her fingers scrambled at the tape securing the needle to her arm. The nurse, with gentle but firm fingers, tried to wrestle the needle back into place.

  “Look,” Amanda gasped, “you can’t. I’m number seven. Please, I won’t break the sticks. Don’t break the garden. If you break the garden they break your bones. These are rules. You have to understand. They’re just rules. Roll call!”

  “Agent,” the doctor said, sternly, “she’s not coherent. She’s been questioned for hours. That’s the extent. She’s tired. She needs rest. You could cause irreversible damage. Get out of here.”

  Adele pointed a finger at the doctor. “Do what you have to do!”

  The doctor cursed her beneath his breath, but nodded to the nurse, who held Amanda down again.

  “She doesn’t like being restrained,” Adele said, quickly.

  But the nurse ignored her. The more he pressed her, the more Amanda fought and struggled, shouting out. “No, number seven. Please, don’t hurt them. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t mean to step on the plant. I didn’t see it. Please, no, we have to be let out. Not another month down here. Not another month. We need to be let out. Just for some fresh air!”

  “Let out? What do you mean?” Adele said quickly.
r />   The doctor continued with his efforts to sedate his patient but Amanda still struggled the more the nurse pressed on her.

  “She doesn’t like being restrained. If you touch her,” Adele said quickly, “she’ll keep fighting.”

  For the first time, the nurse hesitated. The doctor was trying to find a way to push the needle into the IV bag. But the drip had been ripped from Amanda’s arm.

  “Hold her still,” the doctor commanded.

  The nurse redoubled his efforts. He was large, strong. Amanda was a small thing, weakened, starving by the looks of her. And yet, she fought like a wild animal, trapped. She didn’t give in, and kicked and screamed.

  “You’re hurting her,” Adele said.

  “Agent, get out of here!”

  “Amanda,” Adele said, desperate. “What do you mean, a month? Let out in a month?”

  Amanda blinked, her eyes focused on Adele. She slurred her words for a moment, and still struggled against the nurse’s restraining arms. The needle pressed to her arm, but it was almost as if she didn’t feel it. Or as if the pain of something so small and inconsequential as a needle didn’t even register on her gauge. She stared at Adele. “Once a month, the children are let out to play. Even the children sometimes need sunlight. Our hands were still bound. Once a month. But if you step on the branches. If you break the branches, they break your bones. Every family has punishments. Every family. I’m just number seven.”

  Adele could see the crazed light returning to Amanda’s gaze, and she was continuing to kick and struggle.

  At last, though, the doctor managed to insert the syringe into her arm. He murmured quietly, softly, in consoling, gentle tones. “Girl, it’s going to be okay. Amanda, Ms. Johnson, it’s going to be fine. Agent, please, get out of here.”

  “Amanda,” said Adele, “anything else you can tell me? Your head. Someone hit you? You were hit when you were taken—yes? Months ago, when you disappeared, someone hit you?”

  Amanda’s gaze once again fixed on Adele. For a moment, the dim light vanished, and she blinked, closing her eyes as if straining against a headache. The doctor had pressed the syringe, emptying the contents into Amanda.

  The American girl was breathing heavily now, but her gasps seemed to quiet, her chest stopped rising and falling so rapidly. The nurse slowly released her. As he did, she seemed to relax even more.

  She was now slurring her words. “Just number seven,” she murmured. “Number seven.”

  “Amanda?” Adele said, urgent. “Who hit you?”

  Adele thought of Ha Eun, her throat slit. She thought of the list of more than two hundred names. Potential victims. She thought of the list of twenty-six names. Dead. There was still hope for the others. She didn’t know how many of them had been taken by the killer. How many of them had their own sad, traumatic story. But she did know, in this case, people’s lives were on the line.

  “Amanda, please, you’re strong. Stronger than I’ve ever been. I need you to tell me, who hit you?”

  “Can’t go out in the garden for a month. If you break her plants, they’ll break your bones.”

  Adele watched as Amanda’s eyes fluttered, then closed, and then she lay still, a stain of sweat ringing her pillow like a halo. Her body pressed into the cot, her thin, malnourished form trembling.

  The nurse glared at Adele. He looked to the doctor and took a step toward Adele, hand out as if to guide her out.

  “Touch her, and you end up on the floor too,” John snapped from the doorway.

  The nurse backed off. The doctor stared at Adele, sweat slicking his brow. The older man brushed himself off, the stethoscope now around his neck, shifting back and forth.

  “I hope you’re happy,” the doctor said. “You made that nearly impossible.”

  Adele frowned at him. “Why didn’t you tell me she was awake? Why didn’t you send your report to me?”

  The doctor shook his head. “I send it to the agents in charge. Anyone else, they can send it to. I have patients to take care of.”

  “Yeah? Well, that girl has been imprisoned for five months against her will. Tortured. Maybe having that goon smother her isn’t the best idea. Think of that?”

  She turned before the doctor could reply and stomped away. She spotted two other BKA agents at the top of the stairs, looking down the hall.

  The blond agent by the door was gesturing at these new arrivals. Backup. The one who John had knocked down was on his feet, glaring, his hand on his belt.

  “I need you to stay there,” he said, frowning at Adele.

  John pointed a finger at him, interpreting the man’s posture, and in French snapped, “If you want some more, I can give you some more!”

  Adele held out a hand. “Fine. It’s fine,” she said. She glared at the four BKA agents now closing in like wolves. “We’re leaving,” she said.

  “You can’t let them leave,” said the agent John had knocked down. He was looking at the woman also standing by the door.

  The blonde-haired, blue-eyed agent frowned. She stared at Adele, then glanced through the door at Amanda. She cleared her throat. “You’re leaving?”

  Adele held up her hands. “We’re out of here.”

  “Let them go,” said the blue-eyed agent.

  Adele couldn’t quite feel gratitude, but she did feel a sense of relief.

  With John in tow, still shooting glances and growling toward the agent he’d knocked down, they moved back toward the elevator. The two other agents who’d arrived parted, allowing them through. Adele and John stepped onto the elevator, and Adele hit the bottom floor.

  In the quiet of the cabin, as they descended, Adele could hear John breathing. A heavy, rustling sound. The breath of a man with adrenaline pulsing through him. “Thank you,” she murmured.

  “He shouldn’t have touched you,” said John.

  Adele wasn’t sure what to make of this. So she simply said, “Thank you,” again.

  John squared his shoulders and brushed his hair back. He normally used gel, and a couple of strands were now dangling in front of his face, out of place. He smoothed them back and looked at her, his straight nose and strong jaw casting shadows across the rest of his face in the dim elevator lights.

  “Anything? She looked in a bad way.”

  Adele nodded. “Kept going on about a garden. How they weren’t allowed to break the plants, or they would break their bones. Not sure. But remember the forest edge against the highway? How Amanda avoided the small saplings?”

  John nodded.

  “My guess is it was a learned behavior. Something about this garden. She was very careful about small plants. She wouldn’t step on them.”

  “You really think their bones were broken?”

  “They have definitely been tortured. In the cases of some of those bodies that were found five years ago, four years ago, there were broken bones. Amanda’s arm had a badly set break.”

  John shook his head in disgust. He scratched at the scar beneath his chin, and the elevator door dinged open.

  The two of them moved through the lobby. Adele spotted hospital security standing at the counter, talking to one of the nurses. The nurse waved a hand in their direction, and the security looked up.

  “We were just leaving,” Adele called out.

  They moved through the hospital doors. John retrieved his keys from the nurse who was still drinking from his thermos. He frowned at John, but Agent Renee said, “Thank you, buddy.”

  The nurse just watched, sipping soup, as John and Adele returned to their vehicle.

  They got in the car without a word. There was the zipping sound of seatbelts and then a click. Adele leaned back as John gunned the engine and began moving away. “Where to?” he said.

  Adele sighed heavily. “Amanda was barely coherent,” she murmured. “But she was saying something. Kept going on about number seven. But also… also,” Adele frowned, staring through the window, “she kept saying something else…”

  “Saying wh
at?”

  Adele turned to John. “They.”

  John glanced at her, and Adele quickly said, “Eyes on the road.”

  He swerved sharply, avoiding a car that was merging from the hospital. Once they settled again, John said, “They? What do you mean?”

  “She kept saying that. They. They let us in the garden. They break bones.”

  “The other victims?”

  “No, it sounded like she was talking about the perpetrators.”

  “All right… And?”

  “And,” Adele said, quietly, “I think there’s more than one attacker. I don’t think our killer works alone.”

  As she spoke these words, they rang true in her ear. The two of them settled in silence in the car as lights from the street beyond the hospital roundabout zipped by. They distanced from the hospital, and as they moved from that oppressive place, Adele found herself thinking more clearly again. But now she needed a solution.

  Every investigation had a solution. She just wasn’t always clever enough, diligent enough to find it. But this time, for Amanda’s sake, for those twenty-six names, for those potential two hundred others, she had to.

  “Look,” said John, “if we’re facing more than one killer, who do we narrow it down to? Any suspects?”

  Adele strained, sitting suddenly upright in her seat.

  “What?” John asked.

  “That’s the mistake we’ve been making,” she said, breathlessly. “Heinrich and his old rusted bus. A loner. That property owner was also a loner. But what if we’re not looking for an individual? The road checks, people keeping an eye on traffic—they’ve also been keeping an eye out for individuals. But if we’re looking for multiple suspects…”

  “Well,” John said, trailing off. “We do know they’ve been operating for a while now. At least nine years.”

  “That means they’re older,” said Adele. “They have to be. If we had known that, Heinrich couldn’t have even been on our list. He would have been a teenager when the first victims started disappearing.”