by Blake Pierce
Leoni repeated the question to the officer, and he shook his head. Adele’s scowl darkened. This didn’t seem to fit with the MO. She began to move around the scene cautiously. Other agents’ eyes were combing the ground. She spotted a speckling of crimson beneath the noose, likely caused by the wired hooks used to pose the body.
She shivered as she moved, wondering at the victim. The file had said he was a security guard here. Nothing more. No connections to the other victims. No connections to the other locations.
Just a poor security guard caught on the job. Were these victims of opportunity? Maybe the killer didn’t care who he killed. This made things much worse. A killer with a type was easier to trap in a corner. A killer who murdered indiscriminately, though… only seemed intent on spectacle.
Even from within the cordoned area, at the heart of the Parthenon, she could hear the shouts and hubbub from the media and gawkers beyond. As Adele maneuvered around the crime scene, she glanced up toward the noose.
No riddle. That didn’t make sense. Not unless the killer was calling it quits. But that didn’t sit right, either. This killer didn’t seem like the sort to back down now. He had a message he was trying to communicate. A temple of Athena, a cathedral, and a chapel. All of them with religious connotation. Perhaps not the same religion. But all of them still hearkening to the faithful. Not only that, but all of them tourist spots. Famous, in separate countries.
“Come on,” she murmured to herself. Everyone was still moving around the ground. The body had been taken down, but the noose left up. “It’s going to be tucked under the rope,” she said.
Leoni had joined her in her quiet circuit of the Parthenon.
“Excuse me?”
“The next riddle, it’s going to be tucked under the rope.”
Leoni looked at her, but then shrugged. He gestured toward the Greek officer and relayed a series of instructions. Adele and Leoni waited as the officer hurried over toward the noose. A few moments later, a ladder was procured; likely the same ladder used to lower the body. And then she watched as they reoriented the noose and allowed themselves to untie the rope from the column. The moment they did, she spotted a thin sheet of paper fall from where it had been folded multiple times and wedged against the pillar.
Leoni whistled softly. “Good call,” he murmured.
Adele felt a small surge of satisfaction, but struggled not to let it display. One of the Greek officers bent over, but just as he was picking up the paper, Adele cleared her throat, her shadow cast across his hand. The officer nodded sheepishly and handed her the note. Adele opened it, revealing typeset writing on yellowish pad paper, and read the next riddle.
Round eyes in round hands,
my longing for you has grown,
Squares in circles once,
My heart is cast in stone
“Anything stand out?” Leoni asked.
Adele read it again. And gritted her teeth. “Round eyes…” she murmured. Everyone had eyes—how did that help? The longing grown? Perhaps a garden? Some forest? Something with growing things? Squares in circles… She frowned again. Round… circles… Perhaps the repetition was intentional. Something like castle walls? Or the windows on an old ship, circular in form?
She murmured the last line once more, “My heart is cast in stone…” For a moment she paused in thought, rereading the riddle. But then she huffed in frustration. “Nothing,” she said. “It’s vague. I’m sure we’ll know when the next body drops.” She folded the paper, tucking it delicately into an evidence bag before taking a photo of the text. She handed this off to the Greek officer and then regarded Leoni once more with a resigned sigh. “If we want to get ahead of this, I don’t think it’s gonna be in the riddles.”
Leoni nodded, and to his credit, didn’t try to snag the envelope from her. But once she’d seared the words into her brain, he extended a hand, patiently, and she allowed him to take the riddle and read it as well.
Again, they made a circuit of the Parthenon, glancing toward the teams scouring the crime scene. What were they expecting to find?
No, Adele didn’t think the killer would’ve been so careless to leave behind hair fibers or some personal item. She wasn’t convinced this was anything but a smart killer. Perhaps smarter than any she’d faced.
“You know how they say psychopaths tend to have a higher IQ?” she said.
Leoni didn’t reply, but nodded to show he was listening.
“This guy seems particularly taken with his smarts. The locations he’s picking, the confidence in his murders, the riddles. He’s convinced he’s smarter than us.”
Leoni waited, then said, “Is he?”
Adele grunted. “Probably. I didn’t come this far by being the smartest person in the room. Even smart people sleep. That’s the perfect time to get them.”
Leoni looked a little troubled by this comment, but Adele’s mind was whirling as she marched around the Parthenon. She remembered all the tourist spots she’d visited with her parents. She’d come to Greece once before, too. They’d never actually entered the Parthenon. But she’d seen the Acropolis from a distance. She was reminded of her father and mother. And her mother always came with other memories.
Bleeding, bleeding, always bleeding…
She shivered in frustration and pain. She tried to block the memories, the thoughts, but the intrusive notions penetrated her skull with rapid hammer blows. Sharp and chaotic.
Adele paused, exhaling through her nose, trying to catch up with her own mind. And then her phone began to ring. She cursed despite herself at a burbling of overwhelming emotion replaced by jarring distraction.
But then she pulled her phone out and glanced at the name. She felt the prickling of something else. Not frustration. Not grief. And for a moment, even the horrible memories faded. The call was from Ms. Jayne, her coordinator. Interpol.
“Is everything okay?” Leoni asked, studying Adele as she stared at the phone. Adele cleared her throat, softly exhaling a long, shuddering breath.
“I need to take this,” she said in resignation. And then she moved away from the Parthenon down the steps, around the building, toward a portion of the ruined city atop the hill which had been cleared of the media. When she was sure she was alone, in the shadow of the Propylaia and out of earshot of anyone, she answered the phone.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Adele didn’t bother with pleasantries. “Hello?”
The all-too-familiar voice of her Interpol correspondent replied on the other end. “Agent Sharp?”
“Yes, ma’am?” She waited, wincing, preparing for the shoe to fall.
“Are you at the scene in Greece?” said Ms. Jayne.
Adele moved even further away from the Parthenon, toward a dusty, abandoned portion of the Acropolis, away from the crowd, away from the investigators, and away from prying eyes and ears. Her own ears itched, especially the one beneath the phone. She reached up, feeling a thin grit of dust across her forehead. She wrinkled her nose and pressed a hand against her shirt. “Yes,” Adele said. “I’m here. We arrived on the hour.”
Ms. Jayne spoke, as she always did, her voice crisp, clear, somehow communicating an air of authority and control, even over the long distance. “Adele,” said Ms. Jayne. “I don’t think I have to tell you that I’m seeing this on television. At least three different countries’ news agencies are playing the footage. It’s spreading like wildfire on the Internet.”
Adele winced, glancing back toward the flashing cameras, the reflection off the glass lenses, the ever evident tirade of jabbering comments and unsolicited questions. She felt a familiar frustration at the media, at spectacle, at a world insistent on participating in every act of the gruesome and grisly. She wasn’t sure what made her even more sick. The crime, or the enjoyment disguised as outrage.
“I see the media,” Adele said. “They arrived before I could do anything. Not that I’m aware of anything I could do.”
“They’re calling him the Monume
nt Killer,” said Ms. Jayne.
Adele didn’t volunteer to comment. She wasn’t sure if she’d still have a job if she told Ms. Jayne everything she thought of the media and their monikers.
“Adele, this needs to be brought to heel,” Ms. Jayne said, sternly. “I’m putting out fires as best I can. But this is the third murder.”
“I’m aware.”
“Clearly,” Ms. Jayne said, “someone is trying to shut down the tourist industry.”
Adele frowned now. She leaned one shoulder against a dusty pillar. Her eyes were now facing the opposite direction from the gathered media. They weren’t worth her attention. She stared across the blue skies, visible through the old ruins and ancient buildings. She stood within the shadow of Athena’s temple. While she understood Ms. Jayne’s conclusion, she didn’t share it.
“I think there might be more going on here than meets the eye,” Adele said.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, the tourist angle isn’t everything. I don’t think the killer is too worried about commerce.”
This time it was Ms. Jayne’s turn to allow silence to prompt Adele to continue.
Adele cleared her throat. She pushed away from the pillar, and, finding a spring in her step, she began to march purposefully, further away from the gathered crowd and the assembled police officers holding them back. Further away from the crime scene which offered nothing, the body already taken down. Further away from it all.
“I don’t believe that he’s intentionally undermining tourism, ma’am,” Adele said. “That feels too simple, too neat. There’s more to it. The most likely answer, with psychopaths like this, especially ones who taunt, using riddles,” she said, “usually isn’t the correct one.”
“The first victim,” Ms. Jayne’s voice chirped out, carrying no emotion whatsoever. “A tourist. The second was an American cardinal on a tourist visit for holiday. The third, now, in Greece, worked as a security guard at a tourist location. I hope you can see why the connection might be apparent.”
Adele nodded, even though the supervisor couldn’t see her. “I’m aware how it looks, ma’am. And I’m getting to the bottom of it. We already have the next riddle.”
“Will that serve us better than last time?”
Adele shrugged again, forgetting she couldn’t be seen. “I can’t be sure, ma’am. I hope so.” Adele reached up, brushing a strand of blonde hair behind one ear. She exhaled, slowly, and stared at the dusty stone around her. “But I don’t think the killer is going to be predictable. I think that’s what they want us to think. Something else is going on here. Something personal, deeply personal. The crime scenes are religious. But the kills themselves are also filled with symbolism. Why hang them? Why pose them with hooks? Always in some religious pose. One as if they were worshiping the sky, another mourning. This one, from the scene photos I saw, was posed in such a way that it looks like he was praying. It isn’t just about tourism. Perhaps that’s an angle. Perhaps it’s even an inciting motive, but it’s not the pure motive. It’s not the why.”
Adele was surprised at how adamantly she spoke, as well as the authority that came as she did. She wasn’t sure she believed it, but now, she felt like it was the only thing that made sense.
Ms. Jayne sighed on the other end of the phone, her breath rustling the speaker. “Agent Sharp, I’ve come this far learning to trust you. And while that’s an important component of this position, trust has its limits. One of those limits involves international display. You understand?”
Adele winced. “I understand.”
“I’m not sure you do. Three countries are involved in this one. The tourist industry is powerful. Very powerful. Certainly more powerful than the resorts, or campgrounds, or any of the other debacles we’ve been involved in. You understand? Where money is involved, consequences are heightened. Heads roll.”
“Are you saying my head is going to roll, Ms. Jayne?”
The Interpol correspondent didn’t hesitate, didn’t apologize, didn’t soften the blow, but also spoke without any malice whatsoever. It was a simple, professional response, like a banker deciding on a loan. She said, “Perhaps mine first. But if mine, then yours too. This killer is attacking the wallets of nations. More than just gawkers on the TV are paying attention now, Adele. We’re talking industries worth billions of dollars. We’re talking curators, and bureaucrats far more powerful than either of us would like to interact with. Suffice it to say, if my head rolls, yours may follow.”
“I hear you. And I’m on it.”
“I certainly hope so. Good luck, good day, Agent Sharp. Solve this one, and quick. And don’t be so arrogant to think you are the only one who can know a killer’s motive. If it’s tourism, investigate that.”
Adele cleared her throat. “I will leave no stone unturned, ma’am.”
“Good.”
Ms. Jayne hung up. And yet, as Adele stood, listening to nothing, she couldn’t help but shake off the thin layer of sweat slicking her brow, and the shroud of anxiety pressing against her shoulders. Where money was involved, power was often hiding. Where power was involved, motives were often unclear. This killer was attacking tourist industries. The Sistine Chapel, Notre Dame, and now, the Acropolis. Would the ripple effects of fear cost the countries millions? Billions? Who knew? Whatever the case, fears were rising, lives were on the line. And if Ms. Jayne got in trouble because Adele was too slow to solve this, undoubtedly Adele would be shoved into the same boat, sent into dark waters, and sunk to the bottom of the ocean.
Adele returned to the crime scene, frowning, a lump in her throat.
Leoni watched as she approached, standing in the dusty ruins. “Everything all right?”
“Fine, fine,” she murmured, waving a hand beneath her chin. She frowned, thinking of Ms. Jayne’s words. Thinking of how this might look to everyone watching if she failed. They’d wanted her by name, but she was sleeping on the job. She needed to solve this one.
“What is it?”
Adele sighed. “We need to go over our notes again. Carefully—meticulously. No shortcuts. As in now… There’s nothing more for us here. Let’s go.”
Leoni nodded, falling into step as Adele turned to march away, past the media frenzy. “All right,” he said as they moved, “I know just the place.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Another café. Again recommended by Agent Leoni
This time, they were sitting inside, and though a couple of others were on the patio seating, the interior of the small café, which was only a five-minute drive from her hotel, was neat, quaint, smelled of sugar cookies, and, in Adele’s assessment, far more importantly, was nearly abandoned.
It wasn’t that the business was struggling to find customers, but rather that most of the customers seemed to come in, grab their paper bags rolled at the top, with their initials marked against the order, and then leave beneath the quiet, tinkling bells over the door.
Each time this happened, Adele would shiver. She wasn’t sure why, until she remembered Gobert’s. The small corner shop her mother used to frequent a decade ago. The same shop where the Carambars had been found. The same shop Adele had investigated.
She shivered as another customer left the café, clutching their brown bag.
In front of her, Adele had a small egg sandwich and a half-sipped cup of espresso.
Agent Leoni sat opposite her in the corner booth, his shoulders pressed against the red and white striped cushion seating. He was staring at his laptop, fingers delicately tapping against the keys.
He frowned as he cycled through the information, reviewing the case. Adele, for her part, had left her laptop back at the hotel. She was cycling through her phone, reviewing the crime scene photos and then moving over to the case files.
They had been sitting in silence for nearly half an hour since the food had arrived. This seemed to suit Leoni just fine. He had the air of a man secure in himself. He didn’t seem to need her attention, but neither did he shun i
t when it was given. Something about the self-security, the self-confidence, manifested in silence only annoyed Adele.
And yet, every time he glanced at her, looking at her with his deep, dark gaze, his perfectly sculpted jaw set beneath his Superman curl, as if he were lost in thought, she found the annoyance melt and give way to something else… a curiosity
Agent Leoni caught her looking a bit too long, a moment later, and glanced up. He quirked an eyebrow at her.
Adele didn’t look away, lest it look like she’d been caught in the middle of staring, and instead asked, “What do you think of my theory?”
A moment passed but then he looked back at the laptop. His expression was emotionless, placid, peaceful. He said, softly, “Which theory?”
“The one about the tourist angle?”
Leoni regarded her again. There was something fascinating about his features, and the way the sunlight streaked through the window and caught his eyes, casting half his face with yellow streaks through the glass while burying the rest in shadow. “I think you might be onto something,” he said. “Perhaps tourism isn’t the only angle. The religious symbology is hard to ignore.”
Adele tapped her nose, pointing at Leoni. “Exactly. The riddle this time is as confusing as the previous one.”
Leoni pursed his lips, then recited from memory. “Round eyes in round hands, my longing for you has grown, squares in circles once, my heart is cast in stone.” As far as Adele could tell, he’d only read the riddle once. A photographic memory? She wouldn’t have been surprised. Adele mulled over the riddle herself.
“What do you think the round eyes in round hands means?” she said.
Leoni shrugged one shoulder. “Perhaps something to do with the nature of the location itself. A circular pool? A large bay window?”
Adele nibbled her lip. “Maybe a statue?”
Leoni shrugged.
Adele groaned. “It could mean any number of things.”
