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

The second conductor was pulled sharply from the bed, andsent stumbling to the ground. He was wearing sweatpants. His head nearlycollided with the wall on the opposite side.

“Abuse!” shouted the waiter. “They’re attacking Johnson!”

No one else seemed to hear the shouts, though. “I’mrecording,” the waitress screamed, and Adele glimpsed a black device lifted,aimed toward where John was standing over the fallen form of the tremblingconductor.

“Put that away,” Adele said, beseeching.

In response, the woman pointed the phone at Adele, nowjutting her chin out defiantly. “You can’t just go around doing whatever youwant,” the woman snapped. “You just threw him to the ground. He didn’t doanything!”

“He killed three people,” John retorted, snarling. “You’retoo stupid to realize maybe he would’ve attacked you next! The lastvictim was your age!”

The woman gasped in shock, now aiming the camera at John,as if she were flashing a middle finger.

Vaguely, Adele remembered John’s track record with cameras,and in her mind’s eye she glimpsed a particularly horrible event where a cameracrew’s equipment had been tossed off the edge of a cliff. Wincing, Adelequickly stepped between John and the recording woman. She held out a placatinghand toward her partner, whose own hands were at his side, fingers clenched asif preparing to rip something to pieces.

“Calm down,” she said, firmly. “Calm down.”

John stared at her, his eyes blazing. In the past, whenevershe placed herself between John and a terrible decision, he often listened, ifonly reluctantly. Now, though, he seemed at war. It seemed to take an extraamount of self-will to listen to her. Had things really gotten so cold betweenthem? Didn’t he care anymore what she thought?

At last, John spat, turned, and stomped over to the cornerof the dormitory car. One large hand reached out and began rummaging through aduffel bag, which had been crammed in the side cabinet next to the beds.

“You don’t have permission to go through that!” the reserveconductor was saying, shouting from where he was still sitting on the floor. Hewas massaging his elbow, and wincing, but he was at least no longer tremblingas he stared at John’s back.

Adele approached the fallen man, saying, “I’m sorry.Please, if everyone could just calm down. We do need to speak with you though.”

The conductor stared up at her, seemingly emboldened by thecamera pointed in his direction. “I didn’t do anything,” he snapped. “You’reinsane. Why are you even here?”

“Sir, think of it from my perspective. You’re the only onewho was at all three crime scenes. Moving crime scenes, I might add. Notexactly easy to sneak in and out.”

He shrugged. “I don’t know anything about that. Heartattacks happen all the time. It’s one of the leading causes of death.” He spokein a condescending way that made Adele feel her own temper rising.

“Get out of there,” Johnson shouted, toward John’s back.

But the large Frenchman didn’t seem in the mood to listen.He continued to rummage around, tossing clothing items over his shoulder. Apair of boxers landed across Mr. Johnson’s knee, draping over his leg.

Adele could feel the camera still poking toward them.

She sighed. She’d forgotten how frustrating it could be towork with John sometimes. He was a competent shooter, an excellent protector.But his ability to communicate with others without infuriating them was nearlyimpossible. She remembered how he’d tried to tend to Agent Leoni’s injured leg.At the same time, not everyone was in a boot camp. He was acting like theconductor was nothing more than a rookie in a military squadron. Civilians didn’ttake kindly to that sort of manhandling.

“John, maybe we should—” she began, but before she couldfinish, John declared, “Aha!”

He whirled around. A snarl was in his voice, as he juttedan item toward Mr. Johnson. “What is this?” he declared, emphasizing the lastword with a dramatic flourish.

Adele’s own protest was caught mid-sentence. She stared atthe item in John’s hand, and went suddenly cold. In a clear plastic bag, shespotted a syringe—the sort of shot one might use to apply a toxin. Next to theshot, a thin bottle with clear liquid.

The shot and the unmarked bottle were both in a plasticbag. John wiggled it, aiming it in the direction of the seated conductor. “Well?”he said, sternly. “Mind explaining this? If you’re so innocent.”

The conductor gasped for a moment, shaking his head fromside to side and stumbling a bit. For the first time, the waitress’s cameraseemed to be centered on the item in John’s hand, rather than the Frenchmanhimself. At least this seemed a small mercy.

“My insulin,” said Mr. Johnson, stuttering now. “You’re goingthrough my things. You shouldn’t do that. You’re not even allowed.”

“I’m allowed,” John snorted. “Take it up with the judge.You expect me to believe this is insulin? How come there are no markings?”

“I had to move it to another bottle,” the conductor said,quickly. His eyes widened, and his tone became high-pitched. Adele realized hewas beginning to panic. Was it because he knew he was guilty? Or because heknew how it looked to have a bottle and a syringe, while being accused ofcausing heart attacks in three victims? Was that guilt? Or fear? Or both?

“I’m diabetic,” the man said, shivering. “The insulin isnormally marked. But this one I had to move to a new bottle after the other onebroke. I didn’t have time to get a new prescription. I was going on a ten-daytrip, before heading home.”

“Sir,” Adele said, slowly, staring at the bottle and thesyringe, “I’m afraid you need to come with us.” The man in his wine-stainedshirt and soft sweatpants was shaking again. He turned toward the cameradirected at him, pleading, “Please, I didn’t do anything.”

But now, even the waitress and the waiter who’d beenjeering from the back were staring stonily toward where the conductor crouched.The camera was facing him, recording, and the conductor sighed, shaking hishead, his shoulders slumping.

Then, as John lowered the bag, Mr. Johnson, in a surprisingshow of speed suggesting he’d been playing up just how frightened he was,surged to his feet and bolted past Adele, racing rapidly away.

John cursed and lunged, but missed.

Adele was knocked back, an