by Blake Pierce
“Why is there water only in the middle of the floor?” Adele said, softly. “The sink is here, and the shower there. How do you get water smack dab in the middle of the floor?”
Robert approach the bathtub and glanced down. “Hasn’t been used recently.”
Adele glanced at the sink as well. “Do you think she flicked the water by accident? Maybe spilled something?”
Robert got to a knee, glancing down. He hesitated, shot a look toward the door, then dipped his finger in the water and quickly lifted it. He licked his pinky and winced for a moment, as if anticipating something bitter. But then he shook his head. “Just water.”
“Strange,” Adele said. She sighed and moved out of the bathroom, through the apartment.
The third victim heralded a threat. The killer wasn’t done. He hadn’t stopped at one or two. Which meant he wouldn’t stop. If he continued to kill at this pace, the body count would rise at an alarming rate.
Adele glanced at her mentor. “We have to catch this guy, Robert.”
He nodded.
At that moment, Adele heard a soft noise from up the hall. She held up a hand as if to say, Give me a moment, and she moved toward the apartment door, peering into the apartment stairwell.
Adele moved into the hallway, following the source of the noise. She glanced up and down the open corridor, her eyes tracking the windows. Her gaze flitted along the banister, around the curling oak rail, and rested on the two police officers stationed at the stairs, standing just behind yellow caution tape.
Adele noticed neither of them were talking. They seemed bored, staring out across the hall or peering through the window on the third floor.
She glanced around again, but could still hear the noise. Like a quiet muttering. Or, perhaps, sobbing.
Adele frowned at the nearest officer, and he looked in her direction. His cheeks flushed, as if embarrassed. He glanced back, noticed she was still watching him, and then, with the most surreptitious of movements, he jerked his thumb toward the stairs and tilted his head ever so slightly, causing his hat to skew a bit. He stood straight again, adjusted his hat, and stared ahead, refusing to meet her eyes.
Adele scanned the hall for Agent Paige, but her reluctant partner was nowhere to be found. Adele moved toward the stairs the officer had indicated, and she took them one at a time, carefully. The sounds had faded at this point but Adele couldn’t shake a slow, ominous feeling creeping up her chest.
She reached the top of the stairs; instantly, she spotted a form hunched by the nearest window, staring out into the street below. The form’s shoulders trembled, and Adele heard a quiet sniffle followed by a hand wiping across the person’s nose.
Then a quiet cuss, and the person lowered their hand and continued to stare out into the street.
Tentatively, palm still on the railing, Adele approached. She froze; one foot still on a step, the other on the floor’s landing. The various metal doors lining the hall were closed, depicting silver numbers. Adele shifted uncomfortably, but all sound had faded at this point. Agent Paige stood by the window, wiping her eyes.
For a second, Adele thought to turn back and hurry away. Whatever was going on here, Adele doubted her presence would make it any better.
She felt a flash of sympathy as she regarded the older woman. But at the same time, she wasn’t sure how to react. Why was Paige crying? As if in response to the thoughts themselves, Paige turned slightly, glancing toward Adele.
The moment her eyes cleared and she made out the person at the top of the stairs, her frown turned into a downright scowl. Her eyebrows were so low over her eyes, Adele thought she might sprain something.
“I…” Adele began, unsure where to go. “I was just coming to check…” She trailed off again. “Are you all right?” she settled at last.
At the question, though, instead of softening, Paige’s expression only hardened. The older woman no longer reached up to touch her face or wipe her eyes. Tears were still evident on her chin and along the tracks of her cheeks. Her eyes were red, but she stared proudly ahead as if daring Adele to make something of it. “I’m fine,” she snapped. “Go away.”
Adele hesitated again. Everything in her wanted to comply with this directive. But at the same time, she couldn’t shake the feeling of sympathy swirling in her gut. As much as she disliked Agent Paige, the thought of seeing anyone upset bothered her. But also, another part of her, the investigator, had its curiosity piqued.
“You didn’t know the victim, did you?” Adele asked, carefully.
Paige’s glare became a hateful stare, and in one wild moment Adele thought the older agent might pull her weapon and fire. But at last, Paige said, “No.”
Adele raised her hands. “Sorry. Well, we’re going downstairs again. I didn’t mean to bother you. Just,” she coughed, “come when you’re ready. If you need anything—”
“I don’t. Not from you.”
Adele nodded and turned, trying to suppress the flush now creeping up her own cheeks. No matter how much she tried, Agent Paige didn’t seem interested in working together.
She took the steps one at a time, again quietly, trying to make as little sound as possible. But she’d only taken three steps before Paige muttered, “You think he’s so bad, don’t you?”
Adele hesitated. She didn’t want to turn back. But then again, the part of her that still held compassion, even sometimes for killers, couldn’t just leave. Agent Paige was cantankerous, impossible to work with, and downright vengeful, but still, another more nurturing part of Adele didn’t want to just abandon her partner. It wasn’t the right thing to do. She could only imagine the Sergeant’s horror at the thought of leaving one’s fellow officer without support. Then again, her father would’ve laughed at the notion of anyone crying on the job. Still, Adele had to pick and choose which parts of her father’s philosophy to embrace.
With a weary sigh, she turned, her hand gripping the railing, her feet twisting on the stairs. She stood where she was, half turned, glancing over her shoulder.
“Excuse me?” Adele asked.
Paige was once again staring out the window, her breath fogging the glass. Adele could see the left side of her face; her silhouette cut a glowering form.
“You think he’s awful,” Paige repeated, “this killer. He’s killed three. He just killed that girl down there. You think he’s a horrible person.”
Adele paused. Was this a trick question? She hesitated, then said, “He’s causing a lot of pain. I do think he’s a bad person. And I think we need to stop him from doing anything else.”
Paige turned now, rounding on Adele in fury, her eyes blazing. “He is awful. A monster. He’s despicable, irredeemable, horrible. Everything about him is loathsome. If I could, I’d shoot him dead right now.”
Adele hesitated again. She wasn’t sure what Paige wanted from her. “All right, well, hopefully you don’t just shoot him if we find him. We do have to follow protocol, you know…”
Paige gritted her teeth. “You don’t get it, do you?” she demanded. “You know what he did that’s so terrible? He killed someone, yes. But you know who is going to feel the most pain? It’s not that girl down there. That beautiful, young, bright-eyed girl. She had her whole life ahead of her. But you know who’s going to feel the pain, because it’s not her. The dead don’t feel pain.”
Adele again moved uncomfortably.
“Her mother,” Paige snapped, pointing down the stairwell toward the open apartment door. “She’s American, yes? She’s in this country, but I bet you her mother was scared. Her mother would’ve done everything to talk her out of coming here. I bet you she wanted to keep her child close, so she could keep an eye on her. And at the very least, I bet you she spent every day calling, texting. The officers found her phone; they said there were five missed calls. Her mother was trying to reach her.”
“That’s terrible. I can’t imagine—”
“No, you can’t!” Paige snarled.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t u
nderstand. You seem angry at me about this. I didn’t have anything to do with—”
“That’s not the point! You think the killer’s awful. And you’re right. But you’re no better.”
Adele bristled at this now, still confused, but angry as well. “Hang on, how am I—”
“Do you even know what your actions caused?” Paige demanded. “Are you completely vapid? Is there anything going on in that little cheerleader head of yours?”
“Paige, I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about. And I have to ask that you—”
“What did you think would happen? You told Foucault about me. You told him about me and Matthew!”
Adele pulled up short. Up until now, Paige had seemed loath to explicitly engage in any mention of the events that had transpired between them five years ago.
Adele shifted. “I told you, I just saw evidence missing, and—”
“And you should’ve come to me. Your direct supervisor.”
“Maybe. No, really, I mean it. I’m sorry. I really, truly am. I didn’t know what was going on. I was young. I am sorry.”
“Sorry doesn’t take it back. If the killer from downstairs told you sorry, would you forgive him?”
Adele passed a hand over her face, and again wanted to turn back and leave. Her left foot took a slight step, moving down one stair. But she stood there, one hand still gripping the railing, the other dangling uselessly at her side.
She could practically feel the attention of the officers below, watching, cataloging. She didn’t like to be the center of attention, especially not in circumstances like these. She again inwardly cursed Foucault for pairing the two of them. Perhaps it was the DGSI executive’s quiet protest of Interpol’s arrangement. Maybe he didn’t like the coordination between the agencies—perhaps someone higher up had approved it against his wishes. Adele also wondered about John. He wanted to avoid working with her. Adele brushed aside both these thoughts with a steady exhale, focusing on the moment.
She needed to head back downstairs, to continue the investigation. “I don’t know,” said Adele.
Agent Paige didn’t say anything, but judging by her posture, the defiant way her cheekbones pressed against her skin and her jaw clenched, Adele surmised the woman wouldn’t take this answer with satisfaction.
They lingered in silence for a moment, and the pressure to give a more complete response weighed on Adele. At last, she said, “I don’t think it’s my place to forgive anyone we investigate. My job is to bring them to justice. And if they were forgiven, I still wouldn’t trust them. People like that can’t be allowed in society. They’ll just hurt others more. It’s like you said, a mother lost her child today. What could be worse than that?”
“Exactly,” Paige said, jumping on the words as if she’d been waiting for just this. Spittle flew from between clenched teeth. “When you went to Foucault and you told him about Matthew, what do you think my husband thought? Did you think it wouldn’t get back to him also? He was told. They questioned him. In front of my daughters. My sons.”
Adele swallowed against a suddenly dry throat, trying to keep up. “I’m sorry, are we talking about the killer, or—”
“Yes! We’re talking about him. We’re talking about you! You’re just as bad. He took a daughter from her mother. But you did the same. You cost me more than you can imagine.”
Adele shifted. “I’m sorry, but I thought that your husband stayed with you. That’s what I heard…”
“He did.” Paige paused, staring out the window. Her expression softened, if only for a moment, but when she turned to regard Adele once more, the look of hatred returned. “He stayed. He’s a strong man. But my daughters? My oldest is twenty-three. Her twenty-year-old sister does everything she says. They won’t talk to me. Haven’t talked to me in years. She was eighteen at the time and moved out. She doesn’t return my calls. She won’t ever forgive me for what I did to their father. You took my daughter from me. For five years now I haven’t spoken with her.” Paige’s voice cracked for a moment, but this small veneer, the shattering of her rage, only seemed to propel her to further fury. She clenched her fist and pounded it against the glass. “You think you’re better than the killer, but you’ve done the same. You cost a mother her daughter. My second oldest also left; moved in with her sister. I made a stupid mistake, I admit that. My husband understood. You, you cost me my career. I’ll never advance now. You cost me my daughters. I’ll never forgive you for that.”
Adele just stared, trying to keep up. She wasn’t sure what to say, certain, in that moment, that no matter what, her words wouldn’t change anything. She was beginning to understand the extent of Paige’s loathing.
“I didn’t know,” Adele said, softly. “I’m sorry.”
Paige turned away again, her shoulders sagging a bit, as if the sudden explosion of anger had worn her out. She was shaking her head, her silver hair shifting. “You just don’t know,” she muttered.
Adele turned and began to move back down the stairs, abandoning any thought of further conversation. There was nothing she could say that would make Paige feel better. Nothing that could restore their partnership. Nothing that could make the woman forgive her. Perhaps, now, it made sense why she’d been going after Robert’s job. Adele felt a cold shiver through her heart. Maybe a selfish emotion, but in that moment, she felt a flush of fear at what Paige would do if given the chance. Adele had never had someone hate her this much. Paige blamed Adele for the loss of her children. Five years without speaking to her oldest daughter… Adele felt a surge of guilt, but tried not to focus on it.
She left Agent Paige and moved past the officers at the base of the stairs. Neither of them looked in her direction. Adele surmised this probably meant they’d heard every word.
“It’s just…” she began, slowly, but then she abandoned the utterance with a shrug and moved toward the lower window, glancing at the street outside.
She peered out into the busy road, watching as cars drove by. She tried to focus on the job; the one thing that helped her focus, that realigned her thoughts.
Had the killer used a car? Had he walked?
Adele continued to stare into the street, her eyes flitting along the glass and stone, the old buildings and the new crammed together. She examined the pedestrians, moving about, some of them carrying shopping bags, others trundling along carts and still others laughing or talking as they moved with groups up the Boulevard. She could just glimpse the edge of a plage along the Seine—an artificial sand-free beach along the river stippled with red and white umbrellas.
Her eyes moved to the nearest businesses and settled on a furniture store, with large block letters displaying announcements for sales and golden stars attempting to attract the eye of potential customers.
Adele tried not to focus on the obvious. In her job, it was important to focus on the things that weren’t so clear.
Vaguely, she thought of the small puddle of water. The apartment had been warm. Someone had turned on the heat. Which made Adele frown for second. Why did that seem important? The puddle of water, the warmth—why was that relevant?
She thought of the blood staining the floor, and the young woman dead by the doorway. The slit in her side, her right kidney missing, just like the other two.
Adele continued to stare at the furniture store, her eyes tracing the glass windows. There had to be a clue she was missing. Some break in the case. Adele refused to believe the killer would get away with it.
Then she stiffened.
Her eyes zeroed in on the furniture store. More specifically, on the two security cameras placed in the top of the window, facing the street.
“Please be recording. Please be recording,” she muttered to herself. She heard footsteps behind her, and Robert’s voice called out, “Adele, are you—” He paused, and Adele heard him quicken his stride. “What is it?” he asked, recognizing the look on her face. “Is everything okay?”
Adele didn’t point. She just sta
red, and she knew Robert was good enough to spot the cameras on his own.
She waited for a few moments before Robert also froze next to her. “Oh,” he said. “You think they’re on?”
Adele’s mouth felt suddenly dry. “Half the time they’re just for show.”
Robert began to tug at her arm, pulling her past the officers behind the caution tape. “I guess we can find out,” he said. His eyes were narrowed now, calculating. Adele liked it when he got like this. Very little escaped his attention.
Adele fell into step, following after Robert, ducking beneath the caution tape. The two officers bid farewell with quick nods. Adele glanced up the stairs in the direction of Agent Paige. She could just see the bottom of the older woman’s feet, where she continued to stand by the window.
Adele didn’t call out, though. Some relationships couldn’t be repaired if both parties weren’t willing. This partnership was a liability.
“Shall I fetch her?” Robert asked softly.
Adele acknowledged her shorter partner, but shook her head once. “Give her some time.”
Robert nodded. And the two of them took the stairs, moving out the front of the building and heading over to the furniture store with the security cameras.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
They sat in Robert’s office, both staring at the computer behind Adele’s desk this time. Initially, they had tried accessing the files from Robert’s computer, but somehow, he had managed to download a virus. On the other side of the room, a tall IT operator with long, rock star hair pulled back in a ponytail was tapping away at Robert’s keyboard, trying to clean the hard drive. For Adele’s part, she examined the security footage on her laptop again. She stood, allowing Robert to sit in her chair, both their backs to the window.
Agent Paige had come with them at the discovery of new evidence. She lounged in the doorway, seemingly loath to enter the room. This suited Adele just fine. The more distance between them, the better as far as she was concerned.
They watched the video again, then again.
