Left to Kill (Adele Sharp #4) - Blake Pierce Page 0,25
kidnapper struck; Adele could feel the certainty of this pulsing through her.
“If there’s nothing else, me and a couple of my tenants were making food. Sun-dried tomato pasta. Organic. You’re welcome to try some. If you’re willing to wait.”
Adele glanced at the furniture on the patio, but shook her head. “Thank you, but no. If there’s anything else you can remember about those names, please don’t hesitate to call. Here’s my business card.”
Ms. Schroeder accepted the small card and watched as Adele turned, moving with John down the steps back to their waiting vehicle. As they moved away, John began pestering her with questions, and slowly she filled him in on what she’d learned. As they entered the car, with Ms. Schroeder still standing in the doorway watching them, her hair frazzled and dusted with flour, her eyes narrowed like a vulture, John said, “She gives me the creeps. I bet you she did it. I think she’s the killer.”
“Shut up, John. It’s not her.”
John shrugged. “This place is weird. I bet you there’s some sort of hidden basement nearby. A slaughter shed. I bet you she’s baking those tenants into her pies.”
“I’m serious, shut up.”
He raised his hands. “Sorry, just joking.”
Adele massaged her chin, thinking.
“What is it?” he said, glancing across the gearshift toward her. His one arm was draped over the steering wheel, his other fumbling with the keys, though his eyes were fixed on her as he tried to find the keyhole by memory.
“There’s an entire community of backpackers that come through these parts. This isn’t the only hostel in the area. It has a good reputation, but there are others. Some with even more reviews. I’m going to have Robert see if he can tie any of the other missing people to those places.”
“All right, so?”
“So, Catherine went missing almost two years ago. These places have been operating for decades. What if this guy has been kidnapping people for longer than we thought without getting caught? What if he’s been doing this forever?”
John winced. “This is what you and Foucault were saying, yes? This region—the Black Forest. People go missing?”
Adele nodded slowly. “They’re not pretty stories. Mostly an urban legend—at least, so I thought. But if he’s really been operating in this area for that long, perhaps the stories are earned. Maybe the reputation is true.”
“If the bastard has been operating for that long, well then, he’s due to be nabbed.”
“Maybe. But it also means he’s gotten really good at it. There’s nothing worse than a practiced psychopath. The sooner you catch them, the less time they have to develop their craft, but if you catch them late, they’ve already figured out all sorts of tricks and tactics to avoid apprehension.”
“And do you think you have an idea of what he might be doing to avoid us?”
Adele glanced through the window, toward the front of the two-story house in the forest. The front door was closed now. The chalkboard attached next to the door frame was illegible from this far.
“There are a lot of people who come here to backpack and live in the mountains. To use RVs or makeshift campers. Some of them park on legal grounds, but according to Ms. Schroeder, others just park in the mountains, forests. Some of them find private property.”
John’s eyes narrowed. “You think that’s how he’s finding his victims? Little lost lambs, running astray into a wolf’s lair?”
“It’s worth checking out. But I’m worried, John. Amanda is the only person who’s escaped. There are no stories of some serial kidnapper in the mountains, keeping people locked up. There are abductions, yes, and some people are found again, dead. But the missing people, the ones who stayed gone—of them, Amanda is the first to come back.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means there’s no telling how he’s gonna react. He might strike again. Soon. I don’t think he’s going to like the idea of her escaping. Someone as practiced at this, for who knows how long—he’s going to take it as a personal insult. He’s going to react, and when people like this react, it never ends well for innocent folk.”
Silence reigned for a moment in the car. John frowned, now no longer looking at Adele, but staring through the front of the windshield at the trees ahead and the small trail leading through the forest and down the hill. “What a pleasant thought,” he said. “We better get going then.”
Adele didn’t reply; a glaze of fog formed from her breath against