Left to Kill (Adele Sharp #4) - Blake Pierce Page 0,50
the cold steel of the frame around the squad car. She glanced toward John, who raised an eyebrow at her. She looked back at Mr. Gunderson. “Look, the orange vests you fired on, they were part of a search party.”
“Like I said, I didn’t know. I’m used to backpackers and trespassers using my property at their whim. There are signs. If they ignore them, there’s consequences.”
“Yes, and if you shoot federal officers there are consequences. Perhaps all of us could do with a little bit more patience. That aside, I need to know where you were this last summer. Were you on the property?”
He stared at her, an eyebrow raised. He fidgeted a bit in the back of the squad car, rotating, his handcuffs rattling. “Why does that matter?”
“You didn’t shoot at anyone else this summer?”
He stared. “Is this a murder investigation? It is, isn’t it?”
“No, actually, not yet at least. I just need to know where you were this last summer.”
“As it is, I actually wasn’t here. This is my year-round property, but during the summers I have a place in Italy.”
Adele stared. “Italy?”
Even John seem to understand this word in German, and glanced at Adele again.
“Yes, I wasn’t here. In fact, for most of the summer I was visiting different sommeliers on a wine tour. There are nearly two hundred people who can vouch for me. I can give you ten names right now.”
As he spoke, his eyes narrowed in vicious delight, as if he could tell his words were having an impact.
Adele clicked her tongue. “All right. Ten names. You can give them to that officer over there. Have a good day.”
The man protested as Adele turned in disgust, gesturing at John. The man continued to call after her, but she ignored him, still remembering the feeling of fear, pressed in the dirt and dust with hot splinters of wood raining down on the back of her neck.
She instructed the nearest officer to collect the information Mr. Gunderson was offering, before moving off toward a quieter portion of the trail, away from the squad cars and away from the vestiges of search parties—who’d arrived late—still preparing to leave.
“Well?” John said. “I heard the word Italy. Honestly,” he said, puffing his chest, “I’m picking up on the language.”
“You’ll be fluent in no time.”
“So, what did he say?”
“I don’t think he’s our guy.” Adele glanced back toward the squad car door, watching the officer she’d talked to writing down Mr. Gunderson’s statement.
“Yeah?”
“He seemed pretty confident in his alibi. Said he was in Italy during the summer.”
“Well, that would make it quite hard for him to kidnap Amanda Johnson. She went missing five months ago.”
“Exactly. If he has an alibi for that, it will be problematic. More importantly though, he doesn’t fit the MO. Remember that hairline fracture? The one the doctor saw. That was from being hit from behind. Right? Our kidnapper sneaks up from behind, clocks people. A sneaky bastard. Mr. Gunderson, he’s a buffoon. Loud, angry, but he uses that gun. He’s not a sneak. He prefers to take out people at a distance.”
“Honestly, I don’t think he was trying to shoot us. At least not at first. The shots were too high. Mostly just warning shots.”
“Even more so, then. He doesn’t fit the MO. I don’t think he’s knocking young folks unconscious and dragging them away. For another, we don’t fit the bill. At least, you don’t. You’re old.”
John snorted. “Only a few years older than you,” he said.
Adele shrugged. “When has that ever stopped you from anything?”
John smirked. “Well,” he said, “if it’s not him, then who? You said we were on a timer. Starting to feel like that time is running out.”
Adele shook her head and stood beneath the quiet of the trees, staring along the trail. She glanced toward the squad car, but then looked away again. Disgust settled on her. There had to be something she was missing. Something obvious.
She stood there for a few more moments with John at her side, just allowing herself to think. But try as she might, she couldn’t see the angle. She couldn’t figure it out.
She shook her head again and sighed once more. Just then, her phone began to ring. She reached into her buzzing pocket and pulled out the device. She pressed it to her ear. “Yes?” she huffed.
A German voice replied, “Agent Sharp? Is this the Interpol agent?”
“Yes, who is this?”
“I’m on duty at the precinct. I was told to call you. We