Left to Kill (Adele Sharp #4) - Blake Pierce Page 0,17

of them in the Black Forest. Six in total so far. All of them college age. All of them, seemingly, foreign.

She tapped her fingers against the base of her computer, enjoying the sensation of drumming her hands. She leaned back in her chair, feeling the sturdy metal not give an inch beneath her. Part of her wanted to go for her regular run. It had been a few days since she’d managed to exercise. She was growing tired of sitting all the time. If for nothing more than to change her posture, she got to her feet and began walking around the table. Partly, as she drummed her fingers against her thigh, she knew she was antsy from their visit to the hospital. She hated hospitals. But partly, she could feel the sense of foreboding descending on her. Executive Foucault’s premonitions gnawed at her mind. Why in particular did Foucault think this case was ominous?

It seemed calculated, Adele thought to herself. There was something shrewd about it. Something that suggested whoever was behind Ms. Johnson’s disappearance, and subsequent abuse, had done so knowing full well the target he’d chosen. A foreigner. College age. Defenseless, with no connections in the area, which meant no one to miss her. Her parents were separated by an ocean. The killer had chosen his victim—it hadn’t been random.

“Anything?” she asked.

John looked up at her, frowning slightly. “Sixteen names, just in the last three years. All of them still missing. All of them except one are in their twenties.”

“College age,” said Adele. On a lark, she said, “And how many of them are foreigners?”

John scanned the list, looked up again. “More than half,” he said.

He turned his computer to show Adele the files he’d selected and separated. Adele read through the names, cycling through each of them. As John said, the disappearances went back for three years.

“Did you look back further?” Adele asked.

John shook his head. “The records were moved more than five years ago. I can find some, but the detailing isn’t as concise. It’ll take longer.”

Adele sighed. “Well, it’s a start. Potentially sixteen victims…” She winced. “What do you think he’s doing with them?” Her gaze burrowed into the side of John’s head.

He shrugged a shoulder. “I wish I knew.” He paused and wrinkled his nose. “Actually, I don’t think I do.”

“Do you think he’s been kidnapping the guys as well as the girls?” Adele said. “Half the names on my list are male. But also college age. And most of them foreign.”

“Black Forest is a popular tourist destination, especially for backpackers,” John said. “I was talking to Agent Marshall about it.”

“I think that’s the killer’s MO,” Adele said. “He’s preying upon young people who aren’t from around here. He knows they’re defenseless. He knows they’re easy targets.”

John winced. “So he has to have access to that information somehow.”

“It’s not that hard to get. Their ages are obvious, and the moment you talk to some of them, or even look at them, you can tell they’re from a different country.”

John began to ease down the lid of his laptop, crossing his arms. “So what does that tell us?”

“Tells us,” Adele said, quietly, “that this fellow is clever. He plans this out. He knows what he’s doing. He kept Amanda kidnapped, captured, for more than five months. Some of these names go back three years. People have been disappearing in the Black Forest for ages. What if he’s been operating that entire time?”

A strange silence fell over the kitchen. They glanced at each other, and Adele shivered. John’s troubled expression seemed to darken further. It was John who changed the subject first; with a slight jolt, he shook his head and said, “The German authorities are organizing a manhunt to search the wilderness. Are we going to be a part of that?”

“We do need to examine the scene,” Adele said.

John scratched at the side of his chin. “Adele, I don’t like this one.”

“You and me both,” she said. “But if we’re going to find anything, the manhunt can help. From what Marshall was saying, they’re gathering more than a hundred people.”

John grumbled. “A hundred stupid people, trampling over the crime scene and disturbing evidence. Things like this more than likely will attract the killer himself.”

“Not killer.”

John raised an eyebrow.

“Amanda’s assailant—kidnapper—hasn’t killed anyone yet. Not that we know of. Something else is going on here.” Adele paused at her own unpleasant thoughts. Vaguely, she felt a chill along her arms. A kidnapper—with victims possibly ranging back