Left to Kill (Adele Sharp #4) - Blake Pierce Page 0,57

me?”

“Because,” said Adele, “I also added another feature to the search.” Her voice was low, soft, probing in the cold gray room.

“What parameter?”

“When we first looked, in the three-year period, we were looking for a kidnapper.”

“All right, so what did you change?”

She looked at him, square in the eyes, and he finally looked up from his own screen, meeting her gaze.

“He’s a killer. He murdered Ha Eun. I went back, for the three years, the five years, and the ten, looking for the same parameters, but also missing persons that had been found. Specifically, found dead. Murdered.”

John swallowed. “Do I want to know how many?”

Adele’s eyes flipped through the files, clicking from one to the next. Reading the brief report, scanning the items and the circumstances.

“No shoes,” she murmured. “Half naked,” she muttered. “Bruises, cuts.” She continued to move through the files, clicking through and muttering, “Throat cut. Throat slit. Cut across the throat. Cut ear to ear. Throat wound. No shoes. Rope marks. Rope burns. Rope abrasions.” She clicked from one file to the next to the next to the next.

She looked over at John, and in a grim, somber tone, said, “Over the last ten years, there have been twenty-six bodies found in the areas surrounding the Black Forest. Some further out, many of them buried. Most of them picked clean by animals before they were discovered. Some of them matching our MO, others with gunshots. Others barely any remains dredged from rivers. You’d have to be looking close—but… but there are connections. Not all of them. But similarities enough. Three with rope marks. Another two with broken bones. Others without shoes. None are the same in all circumstances—but the killer is clever, we already knew that.”

“Twenty-six bodies?” John gaped.

Adele shook her head. “Twenty-six bodies found.” She emphasized the last word like a clanging gong.

“There are two hundred other names on this list, John,” she said, her voice urgent. She felt prickles across the backs of her arms. “Twenty-six dead. Found. Of those two hundred other names, how many more do you think weren’t found, but are in a shallow grave somewhere out in the forest? Animal food. Bugs, maggots feasting on them. Throats cut, bruises, half naked, no shoes… It’s all there. Scattered throughout the victims—only snapshots of his real MO. Some with burns, but clothed. Others with shoes, but no shirts. Others with broken bones, but gunshots instead of stab wounds. He’s been practicing a bit at a time for a decade, John. Enough to not have a full connection. The first victim I can find is nine years ago. It’s possible he’s killed at least twenty-six people. And that’s probably only half of it.”

John bristled. “You think he’s killed as many as fifty?”

“It’s possible. In fact, I think it’s likely.”

“You think the bastard has still got others? Still alive?”

Adele was still clicking through the files, nodding now. She could feel herself leaning forward, the blood rushing to her face. She could feel herself on the verge of something. But she couldn’t place exactly what. She said, “Look, here’s one, went missing six months before he was found. Back eight years ago. Another, missing a year after that. She was found two years later. Here’s another, found three weeks later. Another, found two months later. Another, half a year later.”

“So he keeps them, tortures them, and then kills them and just dumps their bodies? What’s he doing? Why is he keeping so many at the same time? It doesn’t make any sense.”

Adele leaned back in her chair, feeling the rigid wood of the cheap motel furniture against her back. She could feel the cold dread stretching across her. Twenty-six bodies. Two hundred missing. Perhaps only a fraction attributed to this killer. She didn’t know. No one knew. But he’d been operating for nearly a decade. Right under their noses, not a single person raising the alarm.

“If Amanda Johnson hadn’t escaped,” Adele said, “if she hadn’t gotten away, none of this would’ve been found. He would’ve kept going. Maybe for another decade. Another twenty-six bodies.”

John gave a low whistle. He was still watching her, but then his eyes flipped back to the email. He frowned, and Adele saw his finger slip, scrolling down. Then, his tone sharp, he said, “Adele.”

“What?” she responded to his tone.

John had shut his laptop hard, tossed it on the couch, and was already on his feet, moving toward the door.

“John, what?”

He looked back at her, already pulling on his second sweater. “The