looking for some help tracking down recent arrivals from France.”
Adele nodded once, impressed. “Good call,” she said. “So why the long face?”
He winced at her again, seemingly glad to address Adele rather than her surly partner. “They’re already checking passengers that flew from France to San Francisco in the time frame between your last murder and this one. Already an enormous undertaking, even given the resources we have.” He shrugged. “I spent a good amount of time as an analyst and data engineer before moving into this position. I know how much leg work goes into it.”
“You’re saying they won’t be able to look for a van? Can you ask?”
Carter just shook his head. “I’m saying there’s no point in even asking. I know the lead on the data side of this case. She won’t force anyone to work overtime—not this week. Scanning passengers that flew in from France is already wearing them thin.”
Adele puffed her cheeks. “So the van is a no go?”
Agent Carter hesitated, but then clicked his fingers. “Well—not as a new search… But, if you’re okay with it, they might be willing to attach it to the search they’re already running. Could help narrow it down—finding out locals from France who own a van in the area.”
John snorted and spoke, but his accent caused Carter to lean forward to hear better. “Might also completely miss our culprit. We don’t know the van is his—nor do we know he’s a local. Could be from France, or from Germany. What is it you Americans say—this is a… pickle?”
“Might not be from any of those countries,” Adele replied. “Could be killing for fun in foreign nations.”
John tapped his nose and pointed toward his partner. They both looked at Agent Carter, waiting. The young man winced and said, “It’s worth a shot. I promise, they won’t take on a separate search. Already they’re trying to run hundreds of people in the next forty-eight hours. Best we can do is send them the van parameter, and help them narrow.”
Adele sighed. “Could you at least ask?”
Agent Carter shrugged. “Sure—but I know what they’ll say.” He turned, pulling his phone from his pocket and moving toward the large glass windows.
Adele and John waited in silence, save the sputter from the woodwick candles. After a few moments, Carter turned, shrugging and shaking his head apologetically. “They’ll add the van to their search,” he said, “but aren’t willing to conduct a new one. Not enough resources. Sorry.”
Adele closed her eyes, inhaling the scent of pumpkin spice and fresh wood in the small shop. It wasn’t ideal… but it would have to do.
If the killer wasn’t from the area—it would be a huge waste of time. She could only hope he was a local… But if so, he knew this area, which meant catching him before he killed again might be an impossibility.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Not all angels had wings, nor did their servants fly, yet Gabriel felt downright buoyant as he stood stark naked in his backyard, staring at the flames flickering up from the small stone pit in the center of the grass. He watched as his clothing burned. The cool air against his unclothed body sent chills and prickles across his exposed skin.
Gabriel looked to the sky, watching as gray clouds pulled close. Those who served Odin often were fond of gray. Those who thought of Zeus knew that clouds heralded destiny. Those who followed Ra thought it an ill omen, though.
Gabriel looked at the burning clothing in the fire pit. His hands were rubbed raw and stained—he could even smell the faint odor of cleaning chemicals which had rubbed into his skin. His eyes flicked along the side of his home, toward the empty spot outside the house. He’d spent nearly an hour scrubbing the van—removing every last drop of precious elixir. Now, the van was returned back to its owner, who remained none the wiser.
His garden pressed up against a forest—no eyes would be watching him. No one would see a thing. No one could know.
The smell of burnt cloth soon overtook the faint lingering scent of chemicals on his fingers. He’d covered his bases. Scrubbed the van, burned his clothes. Returned the van fresh, clean.
The cargo, of course, he’d kept. He glanced down at the small cooler at his feet. Three liters of elixir… Three liters was precious few. Would it be enough? The gray clouds above suggested so—even the heavens now wished to conceal his actions, hiding them from the witness