Left to Murder (Adele Sharp #5) - Blake Pierce Page 0,62

hesitate. As the other officers swarmed in behind him, following after his loping gait, accompanying Adele as well, he swung the breaching ram and slammed it into the middle of the door. A loud crack accompanied a faint buzzing sound.

“That’s the alarm,” someone called. “We already informed the company.”

John didn’t seem to care—he was already in mid-swing a second time. Another crunch, then a crack and then John kicked out with a heavy boot and the door splintered off its hinges and toppled into the house.

Red brick with black roofing; Adele studied the windows—all of them covered. She felt a faint prickle as she marched up the porch and followed the other officers and Agent Renee into their suspect’s home.

“FBI!” came a chorus of voices.

“Jonathan Davis—declare yourself! Hands up! Hands up!”

But though they spread out, weapons raised, scanning the area, there was no sign of Mr. Davis. Adele watched as three uniforms hurried up the stairs at the back of the wide hall. Above the hall, she spotted a single ornamentation of copper grapes. Next to a basement door, she noted a series of strange symbols and numbers. She frowned for a moment, and pointed toward the chalk etching on the brown wall.

“What do you think that is?” she said, moving over to where John’s hulking form was framed in the hallway. He followed her indicating finger and just shrugged.

“Something abnormal, most likely.”

“Clear!” came voices from upstairs. “Clear!” came the ones from the kitchen. “Clear!” came the ones from the backyard and the garage.

Adele clenched her fist. “Doesn’t look like our friend is home,” she murmured. “After you,” she said, gesturing toward the basement door.

John opened the door, revealing a stone stairwell that curved at the far end, dropping off out of sight into the belly of the house.

The steps felt firm and unyielding as Adele marched with John down the stairs. Above them, she spotted two etchings of stars in the same chalk she’d seen upstairs. She noted them, but didn’t comment, keeping quiet as John led the way with his weapon drawn.

They stepped into the basement, and after a cursory scan of the small area, John slowly stowed his gun, glanced over his shoulder, and called up the stairs, “Clear!”

As for Adele, she was already moving toward the strange assortment she’d spotted.

“This is definitely our guy,” she muttered, bending over and scanning the wine rack at the back of the room. Glass from a smashed bottle scattered the ground beneath a wooden table, and an IV bag, stained with dried blood, had been discarded in the shadows of the table as well.

“Looks like our killer was in a hurry,” Adele said, glancing at John. “Think Mr. Davis is out on another prowl?”

John just shook his head, moving over to study the find with his partner. He scanned the crisscrossing wooden wine rack and took in the glint off the mirror divider above the display case. He moved over to a bookshelf and began scanning the tomes on display, then let out a little whistle.

“Huh,” he said, “look at this.”

Adele got to her feet, moving away from the smashed bottle and discarded blood bag. She approached Agent Renee and also scanned the bookshelf. Instead of books, though, the case itself was scrawled with text against the back wooden partition. Again the scrawl was in white chalk, but this time it read things like, “Spirit puts the flesh to death.” And, “Remember the code of Gabriel.” And below that, “Don’t forget payment for crossing over.” And another line that simply read, “Stop saying, ‘damn.’”

John stared, shaking his head. “Guy’s insane.” He looked at Adele. “He’s insane, right?”

She sighed and gave a shrug. “As much as any person who murders others.” She turned away from the bookcase, now scanning the smashed bottle and discarded blood bag. “If he’s not here,” she said, trailing off.

“Think he’s on a hunt?” John asked. “Or, I mean, looking for more spirit?” he said, reading the bookcase again.

Adele didn’t reply, her eyes narrowed as she looked toward the display case. It was nearly empty. A few vintages at the top were from the last ten years. But these, it seemed, had been mostly undisturbed and some were even coated with a thin layer of dust as if they hadn’t been handled in all the time they’d been down here. But then her gaze was attracted by two bottles at the very base of the wine rack.

“John, look here,” she said, suddenly.

Adele bent and leaned in, eyeing