***
Paige sat by the window, a familiar comfort in the way she reclined in the office chair. Executive Foucault himself peered out from beneath a hawk-like brow, gnawing on one corner of his lip and shaking his head.
Adele and Robert stood, waiting, watching. Foucault’s eyes fixed on his computer screen and his expression only darkened. “This is it?” he asked, glancing up. “Nothing new?” His eyes darted to Agent Paige, whose own gaze bounced to Adele as if redirecting the executive’s ire.
Adele hesitated. Sunlight streamed through the open window of the executive’s large office—the gusting air ushered out some of the scent of cigarette smoke, but the odor still clung to the walls.
“I just arrived,” Adele said, hesitantly, unsure if she was being blamed for something. “I was planning to settle at Robert’s…” She trailed off at the look on Foucault’s face and then cleared her throat. “Honestly, I slept on the plane. We can start this afternoon. I’d like to see the crime scene of the second victim.”
Foucault nodded, waving a hand. “Yes,” he said, his thick eyebrows narrowed over his dark eyes. “That would be best. We don’t have time to wait on this one, hmm? No.” He nodded toward Paige. “You two have worked together before, yes?”
Paige continued to sit in silence by the window. She nodded once. Adele also nodded.
After a few moments of awkward silence, Robert intervened, clearing his throat. “A strange one, this,” he said, quietly.
Adele kept her eyes fixed on Foucault, but nodded in agreement.
Robert grunted as the attention in the room shifted from Adele to him. “The victims must have known the killer,” he said. “A friend? Maybe a family member?”
Adele turned her face slightly, rolling her head against her shoulders. “Maybe. Or maybe the killer snuck up on them. A landlord? With a key?”
Robert hesitated for a moment and silence reigned once more. At last, he said, “What do you make of the missing kidney?”
“You’ve been over the files?”
“Second report isn’t in yet.” Robert paused, inclining an eyebrow toward Foucault in question.
The executive nodded. “They’re working on it, but it’s taking some time. Full report should be in soon.”
Robert nodded and this time addressed Foucault, moving across the room to peer through the open window into the street below. A small, pink-painted cafe occupied the street across from the DGSI.
“I did read the first report,” he said. “Only the kidney missing. Why do you think that is?”
Paige and Foucault both stayed silent. But Adele glanced across the room toward her mentor, watching the way the afternoon sunlight illuminated the side of his face and cast shadows against the carpeted floor.
“Trophy collecting?” she said.
“Perhaps,” said Robert. “Makes sense.”
“What else?”
Robert shrugged and his gaze snapped to Foucault behind his desk.
The executive’s frown deepened. “That’s what you’re paid to find out,” he said. His eyes darted between the three agents and he reached out, patting the side of his computer. “We need more information, and you don’t have much time to provide it.”
Adele noted the quick way in which we became you. She paused, then said, quietly, “I’ve been thinking about the victims. Both of them expats, yes? Growing up, I had some experience with that community—not much, as my mother was local. But some American friends at school whose parents relocated for work.” She paused. “They’re a vulnerable community. Isolated a lot of times—barriers in language and culture. Perhaps the killer is using this to get close to them. Exploiting loneliness or a pressure to please the host country.”
Foucault took this with a nod and shrug. “Explore all possibilities,” he said. “Just,” he paused, “don’t make it personal.” He turned from Adele. “Agent Henry, you’ll be staying here, I presume?” Foucault’s gaze flicked to the smaller man.
Robert rubbed his mustache. “I’ll leave the field work to the youngsters, I think.”
Foucault returned his attention to Adele. “Second crime scene?” he said. “It’s still under our supervision.”
“I’m ready to start if she isn’t too tired,” Paige said, speaking for the first time since they’d entered the room. The comment seemed innocent enough, but something about it raised Adele’s hackles.
Now that the attention was once again on her, Adele inhaled softly.
Americans in France, expats—she felt a kinship with them; a camaraderie. Adele knew what it was to move from country to country, to reestablish roots, to build a life once more.
But these lives had been built only to end with bloodstains on the floor of their apartments. No physical evidence. No sign of a struggle. No sign of breaking or entering.
Now wasn’t the time for rest.
“I’m ready when you are,” said Adele, already turning toward the door.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Adele ground her teeth in frustration, tapping her fingers impatiently against the woodwork of the door frame that led into the apartment. She glanced at her watch for the tenth time in the last thirty minutes and her eyebrows lowered even further over her eyes, darkening her countenance as a flash of impatience jolted through her.
“Christ,” Adele muttered. She frowned as she glanced up and down the street, tracking the flow of vehicles. She kept trying to spot any government issues, but found her attention drawn only to the loaner she’d parked against the curb by the empty meter. It was still afternoon, with the sun high in the sky, dipping only slightly in the horizon.
Adele and Sophie had taken separate vehicles, as Adele would be heading to Robert’s straight from the crime scene.
She leaned against the railing leading up the concrete steps and turned back toward the front door of the apartment. For a moment, she considered entering on her own. But generally, protocol dictated two agents were required on scene in tandem. On her first day back on the job in France, Adele didn’t want to stretch boundaries. Still, Agent Paige was making it difficult. Already, she was nearly thirty minutes late.
Adele let out a low growl. She’d made arrangements with Robert to take her luggage to his house, and then driven straight to the crime scene. The drive had taken twenty minutes. Paris was one of the few cities with next to no stop signs. It was rumored there was one stop sign, somewhere; Agent Paige must have found it and not known how to proceed.
Nothing else explained why Adele had been waiting on Paige for half an hour.
She glanced along the street, toward the gap between the blocks of buildings. She swallowed, staring toward the open path across the street, with hints of green hidden within. Something she loved about Paris had been the little passages and hidden gardens ready to be explored as if through some labyrinth crisscrossing the hunched buildings. The French had a special word for those who walked aimlessly, enjoying the side roads and gardens: la flânerie. Adele couldn’t remember the last time she’d relaxed enough to walk aimlessly. And now certainly wasn’t the time.
With a final puffing breath of frustration, Adele turned to the doors and moved to buzz the bottom button marked Landlord. He’d been instructed to let her in. With or without Paige, Adele was determined to see the crime scene of the second victim.
Before she could push the buzzer, though, there was a quiet screech of tires. Adele glanced over her shoulder and spotted a second SUV with black tinted windows parking behind her own vehicle. Agent Paige’s silver hair appeared over the top of the doorframe as she exited the driver’s seat, taking her sweet time about it. The older agent paused on the curb, then snapped her fingers as if realizing something, turned back to her car, opened the door, and began rummaging around inside.
Adele stared; it took nearly a minute before Paige found whatever she’d been looking for, and then once more, at a snail’s pace, began to move toward the stairs to the apartment. She gave a noncommittal grunt in Adele’s direction.
Adele suppressed her temper. She would have to work with Paige for the duration of the case, and starting off on the wrong foot wouldn’t help anything. But it almost seemed like her assigned partner was intentionally dragging her feet on this one.
“I thought we agreed to come straight here,” said Adele, trying to keep her tone neutral.
Paige shot Adele a long look out of the corner of her eye. “Yeah? I’m not usually in a hurry to waste my time. The crime scene monkeys have already been over this. Not sure why we’re here.”
Adele turned fully now, looking away from the apartment doors and the buzzers to face her partner. “We’re here,” she said, gritting her teeth, “because I want to examine the crime scene myself. Is that all right with you?”
Paige picked at her fingernails, flicking whatever she found onto the sidewalk. “You’re not going to discover anything new.”
“Maybe not, or maybe so.”
Adele could smell Agent Paige’s perfume, though to call it perfume would have been a stretch. Her partner smelled of soap; not scented soap, but rather a sort of plain cleansing odor that hearkened of hygiene and simplicity. Agent Paige wore no earrings, nor jewelry of any kind. She had a strong profile with a roman nose and sharp cheekbones. Adele remembered her first year at the DGSI, working under a taskforce with Agent Paige—she’d been intimidated by the older woman then, and, judging by the twisting swirling in her gut, the sensation hadn’t faded.
Adele had never visited Sophie’s family, but she knew from discussions with other agents that Paige had five children of her own, all of them adopted. And yet, in Adele’s experience, she’d never seen the woman miss a day of work. It had taken some digging, when she’d been at the DGSI, but by the sound of things, Agent Paige’s husband stayed at home, taking care of the kids while his wife worked long hours for the government.
Paige returned Adele’s look of annoyance, and in answer, Adele reached out and slammed her thumb on the buzzer for the landlord. It took a moment, then the doors buzzed. Sophie pushed open the front door, moved in, and allowed it to swing shut behind her.
Adele had to hurry forward to jam her foot in the gap, catching it before it closed fully.
Adele stared in frustration at the back of the older agent’s head. Again, not a single hair was out of place. Paige’s clothing was neatly pressed, her suit jacket a charcoal gray, matching her pants.
Adele had never particularly enjoyed her old supervisor’s company. The last time she’d interacted with the woman, on the previous case in France, Paige had caused trouble.
“Excuse me,” said Adele, keeping her voice low, “do we need to talk?”
Paige acted like she hadn’t heard, though, and continued toward the stairs.
Adele took a few hurried steps to catch up with the older woman, and she reached out, gently placing a hand on the other agent’s forearm. As if she’d been scalded, Paige whirled around, a snarl on her lips. “Don’t touch me!” she snapped.
Adele’s eyes flicked to the woman’s holster beneath her parted jacket. She lifted her hand, raising it in a placating gesture. “Apologies.”
“What do you want?” Paige said, scowling. “We’re doing it your way, aren’t we? We’re here wasting time instead of talking to witnesses.”
“What witnesses?” Adele said, biting back further retort.
“The American. The one who found the body.”
Adele shook her head. “She found the victim, but she didn’t see anything.”
Paige pursed her lips. “It would be a better use of our time than going over an empty crime scene. You read the report, didn’t you? No physical evidence. There’s nothing for us here.”
Adele huffed, shaking her head. She reached out as if to steady herself, gripping the wooden banister of the railing that led up the apartment steps.
She could hear the jingle of keys and the sound of footsteps approaching as the landlord made his way across the hall. She glanced past her partner, over the banister and through the wooden rails, to spot an old, bald man with a bit of a paunch and a stained sweater moving toward them.
Adele lowered her voice, trying to keep calm as she said, “You can contact the officers with the American. They’re on standby. Tell them to bring her here, if you want. We’ll interview her after; better here than the station, anyway.”
“Fine,” said Paige. “Maybe I will.” She reached for her phone and fiddled with it for a moment.
Adele waited as the landlord approached, hoping this was the last heated exchange for the moment. It wouldn’t do to look unprofessional in the face of public speculation.
The landlord glanced between the two women, seemingly ignorant of the bad blood. He adopted a simpering, oily smile and said, “I can show you to the room.” He paused for a moment, his smile still stretching his lips like taffy. “Just out of curiosity…” He paused, as if waiting a rehearsed number of seconds. Then he said, “When will I be able to rent out the apartment? There are bills to pay—”
“I’m Agent Sharp,” Adele interrupted. She studied the man. “This is Agent Paige.” She reached into her pocket and flashed her badge, as well as the Interpol credentials Robert had given her.
The landlord waved them away without glancing toward either ID. Paige was still glancing at her phone, ignoring the man.
“I can show you,” he repeated.
Adele gestured with a hand up the stairs and allowed the landlord to take the lead, following him at a slow pace as he breathed heavily, moving up the stairs one at a time. When they reached the third-floor landing, he clicked the keys into the lock and twisted, pushing the door open. Adele examined the keys, then glanced at the back of the landlord. “You didn’t enter the apartment a couple of days ago, did you?”
The landlord regarded her, and then after a moment, his face adopted a horrified expression. He immediately began shaking his head wildly, causing his jowls to jiggle. “No,” he insisted. “Certainly not. I never enter the apartments. The keys are just for emergencies.”
Adele raised her hands. “Does anyone else have access to a set of keys?”
The landlord shook his head firmly. “Only the apartment tenant. And myself. And I don’t use them,” he repeated.
Adele nodded to show she’d heard, watching as the man pushed open the apartment door and stepped aside, gesturing for the two agents to enter.
The agents ducked under the crime scene tape crisscrossing the door. Adele moved onward and glanced at the tile floor.
Already, most the blood had been cleaned up. Photographic evidence had been taken of the scene, and previous investigators had come through to catalog everything. Adele glanced around the kitchen; she noted a few stains of blood against the cabinet next to the fridge, as well as along the tile floor. She moved over the stains and glanced at the fridge. It was closed now.
Besides the closed fridge door and the missing stain, the crime scene looked exactly the same as the photos. The body had long since been taken to the coroner, and the final report would be forthcoming soon enough.
She hated to admit it, but there wasn’t much to be seen. No physical evidence. Just liked she’d been told.
They’d already dusted and scanned for fingerprints all along the counters, the fridge, the body. And still, nothing had shown up. Nothing besides the victim’s own fingerprints.
The second victim had been found with her back against the cabinets, facing the fridge. This meant whoever had attacked her had done so quickly. There had been a bit of blood spatter, but not much. There’d been no signs of defensive wounds on the body. No struggle whatsoever.