Left To Hide

by Pierce, Blake

  The wiry, thin person pushed to a sitting position, trying to reclaim their wrist—but John refused to let go. The youth kept cursing to themselves in German. He paused, though, noticing Adele and John staring at him.

  For a moment, he stiffened, blinking in the dark. Adele noticed his dash of dirty yellow hair.

  He had a slight stubble, but not like John’s, rather more like the peach fuzz of a youth trying to grow his first beard. He had some acne marks up and down the side of his face, and in one hand, he held a hammer, and the other gripped the small bag that had preceded him through the window.

  “That’s him,” John said, snarling. “What did you do to Ms. Sophie? Here to finish her off? You bastard!” John shook him, hard, and the boy protested in pain.

  Recognizing him from the pictures, Adele called out in German, “Joseph Meissner, stop struggling—now!”

  Despite the weapons rising to attention, the boy got one look at them, and tried to reach his feet and sprint away. But John snarled like a wounded bear and yanked the boy back to the ground. “Sit!” he roared.

  “Get off me!” Joseph shouted in German. “Help! Rape! Fire!”

  “Shut up,” John said in French. “I’m DGSI.”

  “It’s a French maniac!” Joseph screamed in German. “Help!”

  John shook the boy. “Stop it,” he snapped. “Speak French.”

  Adele remembered Joseph had a grandmother near the French Alps. Sheepishly, the young, wiry boy stopped moving; he sat gasping with John still half on his chest, a knee holding him down.

  “Hey, hey, wait,” he said, “I was just here to collect the garbage and—”

  “Shut up,” John said. He grabbed Joseph’s hand and ripped something from it before dangling it in front of the boy’s nose. “You don’t think I know a bump key when I see one? The hammer too? You were on a break-in. Thief. What did you do to Ms. Sophie!”

  “It’s not what you think,” said the boy, shaking his head wildly from side to side.

  Adele came over, her handcuffs ready. With John’s help, she cuffed the boy and then sat him up, pushing him against the chalet’s wooden wall. John stared down at him.

  “I’ve been wanting to talk to you for a while,” Adele said, coldly. “Why did you bolt?”

  “Why do you think?” Joseph Smith snapped and spat off to the side. “A rhinoceros just tackled me. If you really are law enforcement, I will sue!”

  He had a sullen, petulant way about him, which immediately made Adele dislike him. At the same time, she remembered her promise to Heather. To do right by the employees. And so, she stifled any retort, and in an even tone, in the darkness surrounded by the orange glow from the chalets, she said, “We’re not here to hurt you. We need to know a couple of things. John,” said Adele, “would you mind checking his car?”

  “I’m going to check on Ms. Sophie first,” John growled. “Then I’ll check the car. Do you have him?” He prodded the boy with his foot.

  Adele nodded and watched as John broke into a jog, around the house again, back toward the front of the chalet. Adele heard loud knocking of a fist against glass. More knocking, then, the creak of stairs, and the sound of movement from within the chalet.

  Someone was still alive within the house. Ms. Sophie? Most likely. Adele felt a flush of relief, and released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “You are Joseph Meissner?” she said.

  “What of it?” the valet retorted.

  “You probably know why you’re here, then,” she said.

  He jabbed his chin at her and shook his head. “It’s nothing,” he said. “Like I said, I was just going to go through some trash. Rich people around here always throw out interesting things. There’s no crime against it.”

  “Actually, there is. Not just trespassing, but theft. You’re not allowed to go through people’s trash cans on private property. But besides that, you weren’t here for trash, were you?”

  Adele stood across from the suspect; the afternoon faded to evening, leaving them beneath dark skies with the glow from the chalets behind them, and a crackling fire from one of the neighbors’ homes.

  “I don’t know what you’re on about,” said Joseph.

  “You had a falling out with the Benevetis. In fact, some of your coworkers seem to think you had something against the wealthy. I spoke with some other employees at Respite in the Cliffs. By the sounds of things, you didn’t particularly like the clients.”

  Joseph snorted. “Rich fat cats, so what? No one likes them.”

  Adele nodded, putting her hands in her pockets and staring at the handcuffed boy. He wasn’t quite looking at her, but seemed to look askance every which way, as if trying to plot an escape through the trees.

  “Look, I’m trying to help you. Heather put in a good word for you, more than once. But I need to know where you were six days ago.”

  For the first time, he looked straight at her, blinking. “Six days ago? Nowhere. My hours were cut short; didn’t Heather tell you that? Seems like she liked talking a lot.”

  Adele frowned but covered and said, “That was part of your hour shortage after the Benevetis? I heard you were caught rooting through some of their stuff? In fact, we looked you up. You had a few incidences of petty theft before your time at the resorts. Is that right?”

  He snorted. “It was nothing. Just shoplifting for fun.”

  “Yes, fun. But with the Benevetis it wasn’t so fun, was it? Your hours were cut; you spent an entire week without working.”

  Joseph Meissner fidgeted his shoulders almost as if he were trying to cross his arms, but then winced as if he realized his hands were still cuffed. He grunted and said, “Look, I don’t have anything to say. Six days ago I wasn’t working. I was with some friends; we were lighting up behind an old abandoned supermarket. Hell, I can show you the cigarette butts if you want. Why?”

  Adele stared at him. “Friends? What were their names?”

  “I don’t remember,” he retorted.

  “So you don’t have an alibi.”

  He blinked. “Why would I need an alibi?”

  “Because, Joseph,” she said, “Mr. and Mrs. Hanes, I’m sure you’re aware, were murdered six days ago. A day after that, the Benevetis were found, also killed.” He stared at her now, as if seeing a ghost. “I looked into it,” said Adele. “You weren’t working when they went missing either.”

  “I,” he stammered, “I-I didn’t hurt them. I didn’t like them. Why would I kill them? I’m not insane!”

  Adele nodded. “And yet here you are,” she said. “Trying to rob another murdered fat cat—as you put it. You had motive, opportunity, and association.”

  Each word landed like a hammer blow. And now, some of the petulance and resentment seemed to fade from Joseph’s face. He was shaking his head wildly, side to side. “Please,” he said. “You’ve got it all wrong. I didn’t kill anybody.”

  “I’d like to believe that,” said Adele.

  “Look,” he said. “I was approached by that fat man who works for you. I told him. So I was late here; I wanted to get here an hour ago.” He cursed a couple of times, shaking his head. “But I would’ve if fatty hadn’t detained me.”

  Adele frowned. She thought of the other agents working the case, but couldn’t determine anyone who fit that description. “Someone spoke to you? About what?”

  He waved his hand dismissively. “The same crazy shit. Killings and murders. I had nothing to do with it.”

  “And yet you’re here. At a murdered man’s house to rob it.”

  “I wasn’t—”

  “If you say anything about going through the trash again, I’ll slap you silly.”

  “Fine, look, I like to borrow things. Sometimes. For long periods of time, maybe forget to give it back. Whatever. So sue me.”

  “That’s for the civil courts,” Adele said, curtly. “My job is to put people in prison for their crimes.”

  He paled at this, and even in the dark she could
tell the blood was leaving his cheeks. He shook his head again. “You don’t understand. I’m not a murderer. I might have a bit of an issue with taking things that don’t belong to me, fine. Not that I’m admitting anything, mind… But I didn’t kill anybody!”

  She stared at him, unconvinced.

  “Just asked the fat man,” he said, desperately. “He believed me.”

  Adele still wasn’t sure what he was talking about. “Who is this person? You said he questioned you an hour ago?”

  “Yeah. He’s been at the resort for a couple of days now. Big fella, walrus mustache, never smiles.”

  Adele stared. Of course, now she recognized the description well enough. Part of her resented it, but another part of her was stunned. Was her father still in the Alps? He’d left, hadn’t he?

  She hadn’t thought he would stay. When she left Heather’s, she thought he’d gone home. But what if he’d stayed in the Alps investigating on his own? She gritted her teeth. This was exactly the sort of thing he would do.

  She tried to hide the emotion, and, in as careful a voice as possible said, “Where was he?”

  “Staying at one of the hotels. Half off, cheap ass place. For people like us; one thing this resort is doing well. It’s expensive, but is not meant to just be for the bigwigs. You know?”

  Adele sighed. “Look, Joseph, I want to believe you. But you don’t have an alibi for either of the murders, and right now, we caught you rooting around the house of a man that just died this morning. I need you to give me a reason.”

  He stared helplessly at her, shaking his head. For her part, Adele stared back, trying her best to make up her mind. At just that moment, though, John came around the corner, holding something.

  “What’s that?” Adele asked.

  “Ms. Sophie is fine,” John said, growling. “Surprised to see me. She took a sedative to try to get some rest.”

  Adele’s sense of relief heightened and she nodded gratefully.

  Joseph tried to turn in his chair, but couldn’t rotate completely, and had to wait for John to approach the table. Wordlessly, John tossed the item he was holding onto the patio furniture.

  Adele stared; Joseph stammered, “Okay, so what? That’s my work coat.”

  It was the uniform for the new resort. And on the sleeve, a German flag was stitched into the fabric. A flag that was slightly torn. Specifically, a flag that was slightly torn with some of the red fibers jutting out in haphazard patterns.

  “See that?” John said.

  “I see it,” said Adele, feeling a pit in her stomach. She wasn’t sure what she would tell Heather. “Joseph Meissner,” she said, still staring at the rip on the sleeve, “I’m afraid you’re going to have to come with us.”

  The look of shock and horror on his face matched some of Adele’s own. Partly, shocked her father was still in the Alps. Partly that they had discovered a coat with missing fibers. The same red thread they had found back at the murder scene of the Swiss couple. They couldn’t ignore it. Not now. Adele had given her word to Heather she would do right by the employees. But she’d also given her word to catch the culprit.

  “Joseph Meissner, you’re under arrest,” Adele said, lifting a breath to the sky.

  CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

  Ms. Jayne’s voice came crisp and clear over the phone. Adele blinked, surveying the screen and watching the video shape of the Interpol correspondent nod her head in a precise way before saying, “You have done well, Adele. Things looked rough at the start, but with the apprehension of Mr. Meissner, resort operations have a chance to go back to normal.”

  Adele nodded, holding her phone so the camera would catch her portrait. She wasn’t sure what to say. She thought of the media, and the resorts’ efforts to use them as a tool for their narrative. She thought of John, and the review he would face back in France for conduct unbecoming. She thought of what Joseph had told her last night—her father was still in the Alps, investigating on his own.

  But most of all, she thought of the suspect himself.

  Joseph Meissner—nineteen years old. A petty thief. He’d lied on his applications to the resorts more than once. He had connections to all five victims, be it by location, or simply interaction. Zero alibi.

  Zero.

  Adele winced. For some reason, this bothered her. Why?

  Because even the stupidest criminals had some alibi. Why didn’t Joseph? The killer had managed to stalk and murder five victims. So why was Joseph entirely devoid of a story? No friends to lie for him. No coincidental interactions with others at the time of the murders. No plane tickets or train tickets or sightings down in the city…

  Even the dumbest criminals had some backup plan to excuse their actions. It was all they thought about. But Joseph Meissner had none. As if… As if he hadn’t thought he’d need one.

  Adele winced again at the cycling thoughts; she nodded to Ms. Jayne in farewell, then clicked the phone shut.

  She passed a hand through her medium-length blonde hair and breathed a soft sigh where she sat at the cafe’s table, witnessing people come and go through the glass. The resort—new though it was—still had attracted a decent amount of traffic, especially now that the news was announcing the Slope Slayer was in custody.

  She wrinkled her nose, but then the expression faded as her gaze landed on a single person waddling along the trail, hands jammed in his pockets. His quivering, walrus mustache seemed rigid, as if breath particles had frozen along the edges in the cold.

  Adele had been waiting. Joseph had said he’d been confronted by a man fitting his description while he’d been working. Adele had waited patiently for the last few hours, watching the main road from the cheapest hotel in the resort.

  And now, there he was. Just as Joseph had suggested.

  Adele pushed away from the table and moved with rapid motions toward the door, jamming an elbow into the push bar and stepping out into the cold. “Hey!” she shouted.

  A few of the tourists glanced over, but then looked away again. Her father, though, stiffened as if he’d heard a gunshot.

  The Sergeant paused, then rotated ever so slowly, his dark eyes seeking her face across the pathway between the cafes and restaurants.

  For a moment, they both just stared at each other, their eyes reflecting the memories of the harsh words exchanged, of the equal parts injury and shame. They held the look, and then, with a sigh, the Sergeant began to approach, hands jammed in his coat pockets, eyes fixed on her. He was wearing another hat now, this one blue and gray, displaying the insignia of the German police.

  “Hello,” he said mildly, nodding as he came within reach.

  “You’re still here,” she said, carefully.

  “Yep.”

  Adele glanced over her shoulder and stepped aside as a couple of pedestrians moved past toward one of the cafes. She felt the chill settling on her and rubbed her hands together through the gloves. She adjusted her hood, pulling it further over her ears. “Thought you’d left.”

  He tugged on one end of his frosted mustache. “Left Bavaria, but not the Alps,” he said. “It’s a free country.”

  “Why?”

  He hesitated, and again met her eyes, staring at her. The look, his actions, spoke heaps more than he’d ever communicated with his daughter before. He scratched at the side of his chin during the awkward pause, gathering his words. “Investigating,” he said, quietly. “Getting to the bottom of it all.”

  In that moment, Adele realized: her words had struck a chord. She watched him a moment longer. Her words from the other night had stung—had been harsh. But perhaps her father had sensed a grain of truth. He’d never been a man to back down from a challenge, especially if honor was involved. Adele had insulted his ability to investigate—so he’d stayed to prove her wrong.

  She passed a hand wearily through her hair, wrinkling her nose as she realized she’d forgotten to shampoo it in all the excitement. She hadn’t been on one of her early morning runs in a while either. She s
ighed. She’d never considered the influence she might have on her father. Seeing him here… seeing him react to what she’d said… It felt odd. Unusual. She didn’t like it.

  “About all that,” Adele said, slowly, “I want you to know…”

  Her father waited for a split second, but then seemed to decide he didn’t want to hear whatever she settled on, and quickly interrupted. “Look,” he said, “I found a lead.”

  Adele blinked. “Oh?”

  “Yes,” he said, sounding mighty pleased. “Was talking around one of the gyms with some of the older folk. There’s a fellow here from the French resort—the one where the Swiss were killed. He left after that—didn’t feel safe. Anyway, he said he’d spoken with the Haneses the night before it all happened. Fellow was shook, of course.”

  Adele noticed her father wasn’t quite meeting her gaze. The two of them stood quietly, their feet at shoulder width. Both seemed to take turns glancing at the other, and a sort of awkward atmosphere hung between them.

  “So this fellow you were talking to,” said Adele. “He knew the Haneses too?”

  Her father nodded, glanced at her, then looked away again, scratching the underside of his chin. He reached up and tugged at the bill of his baseball cap. “It might not be anything,” he said. He sniffed and continued, “But he said the Hanes family were involved in a skiing accident. The year prior. They’ve been to the resort a couple of times.”

  “A skiing accident?”

  “Nothing broken. Barely a sprain, actually, by what he said. But enough to call paramedics in.”

  Adele paused. She felt a flicker in her pulse. A quiet change in tempo. She wouldn’t allow herself to get too excited. Not yet. And yet, somehow, she found herself leaning almost imperceptibly forward, her eyes fixed on her father. “Paramedics? But in the Alps, they probably don’t call the normal healthcare, do they?”

  Her father tapped his nose and pointed at her. And for the first time, they held eye contact for longer than a few seconds.

  “But I don’t think that’s relevant,” she said. “I mean,” she quickly added, at the sudden furrowing of her father’s brow, “it’s good work. Definitely something I hadn’t considered. But what’s the connection?” Even as she said it, though, she trailed off. She remembered what Ms. Sophie had said about her fiancé, the latest victim. About his love for skiing, and about the injury he’d suffered the previous year.