Left to Lapse (An Adele Sharp Mystery—Book Seven) by Blake Pierce (book club suggestions txt) 📗

Fora moment, Adele thought he might make a break for it. But then the weasel-facedman sighed. Rodin didn’t say anything as he pushed away from the table, gotstiffly to his feet, and marched indignantly away from the agents, toward whereAllard and a pair of handcuffs stood waiting.

AsRodin was cuffed and one of the officers came over to retrieve the bag of pillsand follow Allard off the train, Adele leaned back, glancing up at the ceilingagain.

“Thinkit’ll check out?” she murmured.

Johnlooked over. “His alibi? Dunno. Nothing toxic on him. Except maybe hispersonality.”

“Right.I was worried you’d say that. I… I don’t think he’s our guy.”

“Yousure?”

“Prettydamn. I mean, if he was lying about being in the dormitory car…”

“Thinkhe was?”

Adeleshook her head. “You?”

Johnshook his as well.

Then,in near synchronization, they both emitted belly sighs and stared out thewindow. As they sat in silence, Adele felt a sudden shiver along her arms. Sheclosed her eyes, staving off a rising tide of anxiety all of a sudden.Something just felt off about the case… She remembered the same sense she’dgotten from Executive Foucault. He’d been cagey, strange… But the sense offoreboding she’d felt around him had been different than usual.

Ormaybe he’d simply tried to quit smoking and it had affected his mood. Now,Adele had the same sense… Something was off—something didn’t sit right. Butwhat? Had Rodin been lying? She didn’t think so. He seemed a coward—a low-levelpill pusher. He’d had pepper spray as his weapon of choice. A hardenedkiller would certainly have had a better out, wouldn’t they have? And the wayhe’d claimed he’d been in the dormitory car, the sheer expression of relief…She didn’t think he was lying. Allard would have to confirm it…

Butif Rodin wasn’t the killer, then who was?

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Nighthad fallen, and through the thin glass sunroofs of the sequestered part of thestation, Adele glimpsed moonlight brushing the windows. She sat in the loungecar of the train, staring up and out of the window where she reclined in thechesterfield.

Herphone sat on the table in front of her, the speaker squawking as she listenedto Foucault, his instructions uttered brisk and clear.

“I’msorry, Agent Sharp, but there is no alternative,” he said. “We are underimmense pressure from the train company to allow them to embark again. We can’tkeep them stationary any longer.”

Adeleexhaled through her nose. “Bureaucrats already involved?”

“Ofcourse.”

“Theyrealize we probably have a serial killer on our hands, don’t they?”

Ifa tone could sound like a shrug, Foucault’s did. He said, “I’m not sure they’relooking too closely at that. The train has lost tens of thousands of euros justsitting still like it has. I suspect the cost of any further layover is beingweighed. This Mr. Rodin—did his alibi check out?”

Adeleexhaled deeply, nodding, then realizing he couldn’t see, she said, “Yeah.Allard called before I called you. Martin Rodin was in the dormitory car allmorning. Three separate witnesses. No way he touched Ms. Mayfield…”

“I’msorry to hear it.”

Adelefrowned in frustration. “So what then? We continue investigating from back atheadquarters? A moving crime scene is hard to track. Moving passengers andstaff notwithstanding, our suspects will be on the move.”

“Yes,well, I thought about that, Agent Sharp. One of you needs to stay with thetrain.”

Adeleflinched. She glanced over her shoulder now, across the car to where John Reneewas now reclined against the couch furthest from her, his eyes closed, his armsover his chest as he breathed heavily.

“Oneof us?” she said.

“Wedon’t have the funds for both, and the company refuses to discount. Theyalready think we’ve cost them enough as it is.”

“Yourbureaucrats? Are they no help?”

“They’veset aside one sleeper car. Either Renee or you will stay on. I know my pick.”

Adelewaited, but Foucault didn’t provide this information. She considered the case,and glanced out toward the station’s skylights again, her eyes drinking in thereflection of the moon. Still early in the night, but plenty more time foranother victim to fall. Plenty of time for the killer to strike.

Butshe also thought of Paris, thought of her mother’s killer, loose and about. Shewanted to hunt that bastard, but she knew if she left, then no one would remainbehind on behalf of the passengers…

Notonly that…

Butas she sat there, the same feeling of foreboding she’d sensed back in Foucault’soffice, and again in the lounge car—it filled, rising like a tide in her chestand threatening to cut off her breath.

Sheexhaled slowly, trying to place the source of the emotion. She was talking toFoucault again, but was now starting to wonder if perhaps her sense was comingfrom internally. Maybe she’d misread the Executive… She couldn’t quite placethe feeling, but it clawed and cloyed at her chest.

Sheglanced over to where John was still napping on the couch furthest from her.Perhaps it was good they were separated for now. Things hadn’t gone back to thesame. Perhaps they never would.

Shewasn’t sure she could allow John to take the case over… It wasn’t that she didn’ttrust him to solve it, but the last time she’d left a case in his hands, akiller had escaped. Perhaps it wasn’t fair to think like that, but Adele had ajob to do—lives were on the line. Then again, if she stayed, then who wouldfind her mother’s killer?

Shethought of Ms. Mayfield, of Mr. Dupuy. Two victims, two trains, two countries…

Andagain, the same clawing sensation of deepest foreboding…

“I’llstay,” she said at last. “Sleeper car, you say?”

“Notmuch to look at—certainly not first class. But it should suffice.”

“I’msure I’ll be fine,” she said, sighing. “I guess there’s no chance at going fora morning jog on a train.”

“Ihear they have a gym. Are you certain, Adele? I’m sure Agent Renee wouldn’tmind—”

“I’mfine, sir. I don’t need any more time off. I’ll stay.”

“Well,good luck. And Adele, be careful… As you’re aware, the worst part about akiller you don’t see is if they see you. And on a train, in such closequarters, there won’t be the protection of other agents, of places to run, tohide, to call backup. You’ll be on your own until we can stop the train andsend help. It’ll be different protocol than you’re used to.”

“Gotit,” she said. “If the killer knows I’m trying to find him, and