interrogation room door. There went that theory. It couldn’t have possibly been Mr. Glaude. He was a scumbag, and by the sound of things, a scumbag who had gotten away with murder. But not this murder. She went to the door, tapped, and opened. John looked out at her from where he’d been taunting the felon by the looks of things. Mr. Glaude looked even more scared than when she’d left.
But when John spotted her gaze, he frowned. “What’s wrong?”
She just shook her head and gestured at him. He paused, then nodded significantly toward their subject. “You’re sure?” he said.
Adele said, stiffly, “Not him.”
John now turn fully, swiveling in his chair and glaring at her. “Hang on, are you—”
“John, it’s not him. Come.”
John got to his feet and gave one last long look at Mr. Glaude. “You have my word,” he said, in a slow, ominous voice, “the judge will take another look at your case.”
Then he stomped out of the room, shutting the door hard behind him. In the hall, he rounded, facing Adele. “What?” he demanded.
Adele looked up at him, crossed her arms, and stood with one foot just ahead of the other. “I just got a call,” she said. “Third body.” She filled her partner in on the details, and by the end, some of the anger seemed to have faded from John’s expression to be replaced by a quiet resignation. He shrugged, staring at her. “What now?”
“Now, we go to America.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Badgers kept burrows, lions their dens, and federal agents had planes. Once more, Adele pressed her shoulder against Agent Renee, shifting a bit to try to find a more comfortable position. No time for first class this flight—haste was of the essence. Already, they were halfway across the ocean, soaring from one continent to the next as if it were as simple as casting flowers to the wind.
For Adele, the journey was a familiar one. She glanced at her partner, though, and vaguely wondered how John might fare in the States. He’d often teased her about being from America, as the French were wont to do, but now, both of them were on the hunt.
Sonoma Valley—not far from where Adele had settled while working for the FBI. She’d visited once or twice before. Adele had already been over the case details and now she could see them flickering across her mind’s eyes as she adjusted, sliding her shoulders against the rough, uncomfortable backrest of the economy seat. Above, the nozzle of cool air wasn’t working, and her small, personal TV set into the seat before her wouldn’t turn on, no matter what she tried.
To add insult to injury, the air smelled a little bit of a dirty diaper, and every few minutes she could hear the quiet mewling of the child from two seats over who had likely provided the fragrance.
Still, she’d suffered worse. Then again, not much worse.
Next to her, John was stiff as a log, sleeping, his head pushed against the plastic cover surrounding the pill-shaped window. The visor was open, displaying clouds and the long stretch of the airplane’s wing, the giant engines humming and propelling them through the air.
After another series of futile readjustments, which ended in more discomfort, Adele finally closed her eyes, trying to think. The idea of falling asleep as John had was far too great an aspiration and she didn’t dare tempt herself with such false hope, but at the very least she hoped she could rest her eyes.
And, if the steady stream of odor from the child in 33B continued, she might request a couple of ear plugs for her nostrils to rest those as well.
As she tried to settle, the details of the case spun through her mind. A third victim—middle-aged, female, this time in California. Three countries, three victims, different ages, different genders. All of them connected to wine somehow. One, a grape farmer, the other a sommelier, and this last one an amateur winemaker. The woman’s car had been discovered outside a wine-making supply store. Abandoned, a small box of purchased items left discarded on the ground, a shattered decanter left scattered across the asphalt. Had the killer ambushed her? Had he snuck up from behind?
Adele winced and readjusted, turning a bit to press her cheek against the headrest and her rear against John’s upper thigh. At least no one had booked the seat between them.
The thoughts didn’t end at the case though. Other pulses of consideration haunted her, tempting her with various