Left to Murder (Adele Sharp #5) - Blake Pierce Page 0,34

didn’t give a damn if no one else agreed with her. There were some, like Agent Paige, who would scream at her just for holding the thought. Adele wasn’t interested in vengeance or revenge, or making people pay. She was interested in solving crimes. But if he really had gotten away with two murders, that meant justice hadn’t found him yet. Redemption or not, the law spoke first. And in this case, she thought, perhaps it had forgotten its lines. It was up to her to provide them. If he had killed before, perhaps he had killed again. He had the opportunity, the motive.

The phone continued to buzz, and she fished it out. She held up a finger toward John, then turned and moved to the door, pushing out into the hall. The hall was empty; the small department hadn’t provided anyone to guard the door. This suited her just fine. Adele preferred working without much oversight.

Then again, on the subject of oversight, her eyes widened at the name on the screen. She cleared her throat and tried to look less tired and haggard. She answered and said, “Ms. Jayne, a pleasure to hear from you.”

The face on her screen was of a woman with a neat and tidy appearance. She had white hair, trimmed and combed, and a very thin application of makeup across a sincere, round face. She was a bit heavier than most field agents, but had an intelligent gaze, peering out from behind her glasses.

In crisp, curt tones, suggesting a mastery of a language not her native tongue, Miss Jayne said, “Agent Sharp, the pleasure is mine. I wish I could be calling you under better circumstances, but something has come up.”

Adele frowned. She half glanced back toward the door closing behind her and sealing the interrogation room. “Something else? What?”

Ms. Jayne pursed her lips, her eyes practically seeming to pop out of the screen, seeing Adele and holding her gaze. “A third body. The same MO.”

Adele frowned. The suspect had been in cuffs, and when they’d found him he’d been in no state to kill anyone. Perhaps, though, it had been from earlier. Maybe he’d done it, and raced back to his apartment to get drunk as an alibi.

“Where?” she said.

“You’re not going to like it,” said Ms. Jayne. “California.”

Adele stared. She stammered, “But, but that’s impossible. He couldn’t have possibly.” She trailed off, glancing toward the sealed door, then back to her phone. Then, in a weakened voice, she said, “When?”

Ms. Jayne didn’t blink, her tone precise. “This morning, behind a small winemaker’s shop in Sonoma County. I assume you’re familiar?”

“Are… are you sure?” she stammered. “What were the conditions?”

Ms. Jayne responded, speaking the gruesome details without batting an eyelid, ever the consummate professional. “Her body was found off a stretch of highway in the Sonoma Valley in California. The woman was seen leaving a wine-making supply store—her car is still there. She was found with her throat cut, but almost no blood at the scene. She bled somewhere else, then was dumped on the road—nearly completely drained.”

Adele could feel her hand curling, forming a fist. This was the worst part of any investigation—a false trail, leading to another body. She swallowed, breathed, unclenching her fist. “The locals—they find anyone?”

Ms. Jayne shook her head in one swift motion. “No trail,” she said.

Adele winced. “Are we sure it’s not a copycat?”

Ms. Jayne shook her head again. “We were intentional to keep a lid on the details of this case for that very reason. A globe-trotting murderer doesn’t need help from the media. I’ve already spoken with Agent Grant from your old field office. She’s happy to host you and provide whatever is needed so Interpol and DGSI can correspond with the FBI.”

Adele shuddered and nodded once.

“I need you and Agent Renee back stateside.”

Adele closed her eyes, focusing, then nodded. “Not a problem at all, ma’am. Back to the states it is.”

“And Adele…” Ms. Jayne’s normally stoic expression twitched. “This one is becoming a headache. The killer is moving too fast—across countries. If this gets out, given current political climates in two of the countries, it could spell disastrous. Understand? Executive Foucault should have already spoken to you.”

“Political how?”

“Let me worry about that. You worry about catching this guy—fast. Understand? We can’t have another death.”

Adele nodded and then lowered her phone, clicking it, placing it back in her pocket. For a moment, she just stood in the cool hall, the empty area across from the closed