Left To Hide

by Pierce, Blake

  It had taken some convincing, but Adele felt confident her father’s identity would remain shielded from the local law enforcement. Not even Agent Marshall knew about his arrival. Adele had told the young German agent she was out for a run.

  “You’re sure there’s a place here for him?” she asked, still watching her father through the windows.

  The woman behind the counter continued to clean and nodded as she did. She didn’t look up, but said, “If you say they were murdered, then I’m happy to help. Just so long as you keep your end of the bargain.”

  Adele tapped her fingers against the smooth, lacquered surface of the circular table, admiring the many polished stones set in resin beneath her fingers. “I’m going to do my due diligence,” she said. “I’ll make sure this doesn’t land at anyone’s feet who wasn’t involved.”

  “That includes Joseph, right?” said the barkeep. This time she did look up, lowering her hand from where she’d been maneuvering a few glasses and arranging them for the day.

  Adele inhaled. “Like we discussed. He just needs a place to stay for a couple of days. Let him blend in as a tourist.”

  “Who is he exactly?” the woman asked.

  Adele smiled, shook her head. It would’ve cost too much to get a room for her father. She also hadn’t wanted to go through the German authorities and tip them off to his arrival. He was the ace up her sleeve. She watched as her father took the steps, approaching the stilted bar overlooking the valley beyond. For a moment, she saw him pause and survey the forests and the mountains. The faintest wisp of a smile curled beneath his drooping mustache. A God moment. That’s what he called it whenever they were in nature.

  Seeing her father happy made Adele happy. A rare occurrence.

  Adele glanced back toward the barkeep. “Look,” she said, “I’m going to go where the clues take me. But I do owe you for this. As long as you keep your bargain, I’ll keep my end.”

  Adele wasn’t sure why, but she trusted the woman. The barkeep had said her name was Heather. She had a dimpled smile when it was displayed, and a cynical view of the world which Adele understood. Her father would be staying in a room above the bar, pretending to be a tourist along with the others, mingling with the customers and seeing what he could find.

  Heather continued to arrange the glasses, and then turned to cleaning out the sink from the night before.

  “He’s a detective is all,” said Adele. “A specialist. Don’t worry about it, just make sure no one knows he’s here. If they do, just tell them he’s a distant relative, a tourist. Just like everyone else.”

  “I have a suspicion that’s exactly what he isn’t,” said Heather. She shrugged again. Currently, she still had the two piercings in her ear, and the one in her nose. When work hours came she would remove them and cover the holes with makeup. A rigid structure. Common rules of the resort had to be followed, or it was grounds for termination. Adele had sensed some of the discontent exhibited the night before. Adele didn’t like manipulating people, but Heather, in her cynicism, didn’t seem the sort that could be manipulated. Just the sort that might be trusted. In a country like Germany, with politicians and wealthy folk involved, in the Alps, there were very few Adele could rely on. Even with Heather, it was a risk. But right now, Adele had a murder to solve. And she was running out of options.

  The small bell jangled over the door, and it swung in as her father stepped into the well-lit room. He grunted, nodded toward his daughter. “Adele,” he said.

  “Sergeant,” she said in return.

  Her father smoothed his mustache.

  “You’ll be staying upstairs,” said Adele. “Need a minute to settle?”

  Her father grunted and nodded. That was the extent of his greeting. They hadn’t seen each other in weeks. Then again, her father had never been the most affectionate man. He was here. He’d come. That was a start. She had to give him credit.

  Her father approached the barkeep and hefted his backpack. He waited expectantly, allowing the question to remain unspoken. The woman examined the walrus-shaped man, and then, seemingly approving of his silent presentation, she, too, without words, grunted and nodded toward the stairwell curling up at the back.

  “First door,” she said.

  For Adele, it was a strange interaction. The silent gestures, the few words. Perhaps Heather was the daughter her father had never had. The cynicism, the outlook, the distrust.

  Vaguely, she wondered if bringing him here perhaps wasn’t the best idea after all. It took a few minutes for her father to settle. He was a clean, neat man. She knew he wasn’t the sort to live out of a backpack, no matter how long he stayed in a place.

  He would unpack, clean up, and then return.

  And so, in the intervening minutes, she stared out the glass window, peering into the valley below, her gaze scanning the treetops, darting over the snowbound hills and rocky outcrops. After a few moments, Heather disappeared behind the bar into a back room, likely to change into her uniform for the day and address her earrings.

  Her father returned a bit later, approaching the circular table and sitting down with a great huffing breath, placing his hands on his knees.

  He wore a jacket, unzipped, and beneath it he had the same sweater as before.

  “Well?” he said.

  “Thanks for coming.”

  “Yes. Well, you needed my help.”

  Adele tried not to frown. She certainly hadn’t phrased it as needed. Then again, she supposed she did. Her father was a bright man. But he also knew their past. He had access to the memories she’d somehow shut out. Again, she thought of the snowbound cliff, of her family together, laughing, crowded around the fire, drinking hot cocoa. She thought of arguments at night. Anger. What had started the arguments? Had that led to their divorce? She couldn’t remember. Why couldn’t she remember?

  She stared at her father, the questions on her lips preparing to spring forth. Then she thought better of it. Best not to ambush him this moment. Her father would clam up. He was a man of few words. And fewer still if he was pressured.

  “They were murdered,” she said, “an Italian couple. Mr. and Mrs. Beneveti. Oil tycoons. Wealthy. A lot of the employees here say they were also jerks. No one really like them. Though they tipped generously.”

  Her father listened as she filled him in on the details. Some of the information was classified, and she could probably get into trouble for sharing it in the wrong places. Then again, with Interpol, she had a lot of leeway. She decided it was best in these situations to ask forgiveness rather than permission. For now, she needed her father with her.

  “Questioned any of the employees?” her father said, once she’d finished.

  “Yes. A couple. The manager didn’t like that.”

  “Think the manager is involved?”

  Adele shrugged. “He seemed angry. But I think he’s mostly concerned with the resort. There’s another one opening nearby. Very expensive one. Thousands of jobs. You know the sort.”

  Her father nodded. “I read about it in the paper. Not sure we need another one. But it is what it is. Good for the country. Good for tourism.”

  Practical, economical. Her father always had been.

  “All right,” she said. “What you think the next step should be?”

  Her father studied her. He paused for a moment in consideration. Adele could hear Heather in the back room, moving about. In a low voice, her father spoke at last, tapping a large, calloused finger against the smooth glass table. “Why did you need me?” he said. “Don’t you have your own partners to work with?”

  Adele nodded. “A German girl. BKA. I’m not sure I can trust her.”

  Her father raised an eyebrow.

  “No, not like that. She’s not involved. But I think her orders have more political incentives than they do otherwise. I’m not sure they are interested primarily in catching the killer.”

  The Sergeant circled a finger over a particularly large, polished green stone benea
th the glass. “Think they’re right?” he said. He spoke nonchalantly, carefully, as if commenting on the weather. Adele knew he spoke like this whenever he thought he might be saying something which would offend.

  At least this was an improvement. In the past, he rarely cared at all.

  “I think,” Adele began, carefully, “that jobs and money are important. People’s livelihoods are crucial. But I’m not willing to believe you can’t have both jobs and justice. A couple was murdered. Another couple is missing in France. This could go deeper than you might think.”

  Her father’s eyes narrowed. He stroked his walrus mustache and stared at her for a moment, studying his daughter. His eyes held something indeterminable. She thought, for the faintest moment, of the look of panic he’d displayed when she’d fallen into that hot tub all those years ago. It was a strange thing to see concern on the Sergeant’s face.

  “Either way,” Adele said, “my orders are to find the killer. I’m not working with BKA, and I’m not involved with the Italians. A lot of them are doing their own investigations. I’ll leave them to it. It’s why you’re here. You need to blend in.”

  “I can pretend to be a tourist.” He glanced out the window over Adele’s shoulder, and sighed a soft, pleasurable sound. “I could get used to this. How much does a night’s stay cost?”

  Adele told him, and her father nearly coughed. He wasn’t the sort to swear, and he reprimanded anyone who did, but still, he stared at her and descended into muttering about the state of the country and the wastefulness of its people. Adele wasn’t entirely sure she’d agreed. Perhaps, simply because her father thought it was wrong, she wanted to see the good side of it. People needed a place to relax. People needed experiences they couldn’t have elsewhere. The business, the jobs, all of it made sense.

  Just then, she felt her phone buzzing. Adele quickly fished it from her pocket. She glanced at the number, and an eyebrow quirked. Robert.

  She held up a finger, silencing her father mid-sentence as he continued to grumble about the cost of the resort, and she held the phone to her ear. “Hello?”

  Static. Then, “Adele?” It was John.

  She frowned. “John? Is Robert okay?”

  “I’m here,” said the voice of her old mentor. “I’m fine. John didn’t have your number.”

  Adele glared at the table, trying just as quickly to disguise her frustration. “It doesn’t take long to save a number,” she said.

  There was an awkward pause, then John said, “I only keep two numbers in my phone. Forget about that. We found the Swiss couple.”

  Adele’s anger faded, and she raised an eyebrow in her father’s direction. She glanced toward the back door where the barkeeper had disappeared, and lowered her voice. “Alive?”

  “Definitely not,” Robert said, his tone grave. “Butchered. Looks like a similar attack to the one the Italians suffered.”

  “Did you get the files I sent?” Adele asked.

  “The medical examiner? Yes. Murder.”

  “Also, my father’s here. I invited him in on the case. Is it all right if we speak English, so he can chime in?”

  Another longer, awkward pause. Robert said, in clipped English, “It’s good to meet you, Mr. Sharp.”

  The Sergeant grunted.

  John said, in French, “I didn’t realize we were in the habit of bringing civilians into an investigation.”

  “He’s not a civilian,” Adele replied in English, testily. “Where did you find the Swiss couple?”

  “Resort. Old abandoned buildings from the previous owners,” said Robert. “It wasn’t pretty. As in, it really wasn’t pretty. Still makes my stomach turn thinking about it.”

  Adele winced sympathetically. She glanced at her father, who was rubbing the backs of his knuckles with his calloused fingers. He raised an eyebrow to her questioningly, as if looking for permission to speak.

  Adele nodded once.

  Her father cleared his voice, and, to her surprise, there was a bit of excited energy to him as he said, “Any leads?”

  Another hesitation, but this time Robert smoothed over it by saying, “We’re looking into things. We only just discovered the bodies this morning.”

  John added, his accent in English as heavy as Adele remembered, “Could have discovered it quicker; Robert had made me dig for three hours.”

  Adele could detect the annoyance in her old partner’s tone. For some reason this made her smile.

  “We should probably narrow it down then,” her father said, either not detecting, or indifferent to, John’s surliness.

  “Narrow it down. How?” John asked.

  The Sergeant replied, “We can’t investigate everyone. Someone has to have motive here.”

  “Multiple murders. Maybe a serial killer?”

  John muttered something Adele couldn’t hear over a sudden burst of static. She said, “I sure hope not. But it was nearly two hundred miles apart. Maybe a group of killers? Moving from one resort to the other?” Adele shrugged at her father.

  He carried a look on his face she couldn’t quite place. She felt vulnerable all of sudden, embarrassed even. This was her job. Investigating—the one thing she did he was proud of. It felt strange to have him there for it. She glanced down at her phone, and then back up, and her father said, “Both of the victims were wealthy, yes?”

  “Damn rich,” said John.

  Her father wrinkled his nose. “Careful with your language.” Before John could retort, the Sergeant continued, “Wealthy victims, brutally killed. Feels personal. We had cases like this on the force before. The more violent, the more emotion involved. Why would they have emotion here? Would they have known the victims?”

  Adele nodded with a flush of gratitude. Her father made a good point. Somehow, this felt validating in the presence of Robert and John, though they weren’t actually here in person. Another burst of static, and Adele frowned, holding the phone a bit higher in case they were losing reception.

  “He’s not wrong,” said Robert. “Maybe it was personal. Someone slighted by them? Someone with a grudge against the super wealthy?”

  John snickered. “That puts you on the chopping block, doesn’t it?”

  “John,” Adele snapped. “Don’t joke about that. You better be looking after him.”

  “Looking after him? I just gave him a piggyback—” Before John could finish he yelped as if he’d just been pinched.

  “What was that?” Adele asked.

  “Nothing,” John said, sounding as if he was speaking through gritted teeth. “Look, we have to go. But you’re right, we need to narrow down the suspects. I think we should start with the employees.”

  “It’s a good start,” Adele’s father said. The Sergeant adjusted the hem of his shirt and glanced toward the bar where Heather had emerged once more. “If anyone has a personal grudge, it might be resort employees.”

  Robert said, “But that would only make sense if both the couples had visited both resorts.”

  Adele hesitated, scratching at her chin with her free hand. “Or,” she said, “one of the resort employees has worked at both places. There’s a chance, however narrow though it may be. Either way, we’re working with thin margins here. The couples were killed two hundred miles apart.”

  “Too many similarities to ignore, though,” Robert came back.

  “No, you’re right. Both of them wealthy. Both of them involved in the oil industry. Both of them at ski resorts in the Alps.”

  “But separated by countries,” John said. “The Italians in Germany, and the Swiss in France.”

  Adele frowned. “You don’t think there’s a political motive, do you?”

  A lingering moment. “Seems strange,” said Robert. “Why brutalize them like this? Why hide the bodies? A political motive would want the bodies to be found, yes? To make a statement? Someone trying to disrupt this new resort’s opening today would want to cause as much uproar and fear as possible. No,” he said, carefully, “I don’t thi
nk this is political. But if it is, I don’t see the angle, at least not yet. Let’s start with the employees. I like that idea.”

  Adele bid her farewells and then clicked her phone and placed it back in her pocket, zipping up the pouch. She acknowledged her father with a nod.

  “Friends of yours?” he asked.

  “Colleagues. Back from DGSI.”

  Her father grunted. “Their English was hard to understand. That one with the bad attitude had a thick accent.”

  Adele smirked at the description of John’s voice. “Definitely,” she said. “His French isn’t that much better either.” She pushed off the table, getting to her feet. “I think we need to start moving through the different employees, and finding out who might hold a grudge against the Benevetis. And check and see if the Haneses have visited this resort also.”

  Her father nodded. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Stay here, pose as a tourist. Alcohol has a way of loosening lips. Heather says you’re welcome; she’s going to keep your identity under wraps. If any employees come through, especially a boy named Joseph Meissner, see what they think of the Benevetis. See if you can pick up anything. Go with your gut.”

  “I always have.”

  Adele turned and headed for the door, leaving her father sitting in the Respite in the Cliffs, now officially part of the investigation.

  She still had questions she wanted—needed—to ask him. She had memories she couldn’t place. But they would have to wait.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  A soft, grating sound of a dull blade against a whetstone. The friend caressed the hilt of the knife, tracing his fingers over the grooves. A well-used thing. A gift from his grandfather once upon a time. His grandfather was buried in these mountains.

  The friend whistled beneath his breath, a small fire crackling across from him.

  He glanced up, peering across the tops of the trees from his purchase on the hill. He knew these mountains like the back of his blade. The perfect lookout spot. The friend peered toward the resort in the distance, his eyes tracing the glass and the concrete structures set against the tall, imposing buildings.