Left To Run. Блейк Пирс
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ready to be explored as if through some labyrinth crisscrossing the hunched buildings. The French had a special word for those who walked aimlessly, enjoying the side roads and gardens: la flânerie. Adele couldn’t remember the last time she’d relaxed enough to walk aimlessly. And now certainly wasn’t the time.
With a final puffing breath of frustration, Adele turned to the doors and moved to buzz the bottom button marked Landlord. He’d been instructed to let her in. With or without Paige, Adele was determined to see the crime scene of the second victim.
Before she could push the buzzer, though, there was a quiet screech of tires. Adele glanced over her shoulder and spotted a second SUV with black tinted windows parking behind her own vehicle. Agent Paige’s silver hair appeared over the top of the doorframe as she exited the driver’s seat, taking her sweet time about it. The older agent paused on the curb, then snapped her fingers as if realizing something, turned back to her car, opened the door, and began rummaging around inside.
Adele stared; it took nearly a minute before Paige found whatever she’d been looking for, and then once more, at a snail’s pace, began to move toward the stairs to the apartment. She gave a noncommittal grunt in Adele’s direction.
Adele suppressed her temper. She would have to work with Paige for the duration of the case, and starting off on the wrong foot wouldn’t help anything. But it almost seemed like her assigned partner was intentionally dragging her feet on this one.
“I thought we agreed to come straight here,” said Adele, trying to keep her tone neutral.
Paige shot Adele a long look out of the corner of her eye. “Yeah? I’m not usually in a hurry to waste my time. The crime scene monkeys have already been over this. Not sure why we’re here.”
Adele turned fully now, looking away from the apartment doors and the buzzers to face her partner. “We’re here,” she said, gritting her teeth, “because I want to examine the crime scene myself. Is that all right with you?”
Paige picked at her fingernails, flicking whatever she found onto the sidewalk. “You’re not going to discover anything new.”
“Maybe not, or maybe so.”
Adele could smell Agent Paige’s perfume, though to call it perfume would have been a stretch. Her partner smelled of soap; not scented soap, but rather a sort of plain cleansing odor that hearkened of hygiene and simplicity. Agent Paige wore no earrings, nor jewelry of any kind. She had a strong profile with a roman nose and sharp cheekbones. Adele remembered her first year at the DGSI, working under a taskforce with Agent Paige—she’d been intimidated by the older woman then, and, judging by the twisting swirling in her gut, the sensation hadn’t faded.
Adele had never visited Sophie’s family, but she knew from discussions with other agents that Paige had five children of her own, all of them adopted. And yet, in Adele’s experience, she’d never seen the woman miss a day of work. It had taken some digging, when she’d been at the DGSI, but by the sound of things, Agent Paige’s husband stayed at home, taking care of the kids while his wife worked long hours for the government.
Paige returned Adele’s look of annoyance, and in answer, Adele reached out and slammed her thumb on the buzzer for the landlord. It took a moment, then the doors buzzed. Sophie pushed open the front door, moved in, and allowed it to swing shut behind her.
Adele had to hurry forward to jam her foot in the gap, catching it before it closed fully.
Adele stared in frustration at the back of the older agent’s head. Again, not a single hair was out of place. Paige’s clothing was neatly pressed, her suit jacket a charcoal gray, matching her pants.
Adele had never particularly enjoyed her old supervisor’s company. The last time she’d interacted with the woman, on the previous case in France, Paige had caused trouble.
“Excuse me,” said Adele, keeping her voice low, “do we need to talk?”
Paige acted like she hadn’t heard, though, and continued toward the stairs.
Adele took a few hurried steps to catch up with the older woman, and she reached out, gently placing a hand on the other agent’s forearm. As if she’d been scalded, Paige whirled around, a snarl on her lips. “Don’t touch me!” she snapped.
Adele’s eyes flicked to the woman’s holster beneath her parted jacket. She lifted her hand, raising it in a placating gesture. “Apologies.”
“What do you want?” Paige said, scowling. “We’re doing it your way, aren’t we? We’re here wasting time instead of talking to witnesses.”
“What witnesses?” Adele said, biting back further retort.
“The American. The one who found the body.”
Adele shook her head. “She found the victim, but she didn’t see anything.”
Paige pursed her lips. “It would be a better use of our time than going over an empty crime scene. You read the report, didn’t you? No physical evidence. There’s nothing for us here.”
Adele huffed, shaking her head. She reached out as if to steady herself, gripping the wooden banister of the railing that led up the apartment steps.
She could hear the jingle of keys and the sound of footsteps approaching as the landlord made his way across the hall. She glanced past her partner, over the banister and through the wooden rails, to spot an old, bald man with a bit of a paunch and a stained sweater moving toward them.
Adele lowered her voice, trying to keep calm as she said, “You can contact the officers with the American. They’re on standby. Tell them to bring her here, if you want. We’ll interview her after; better here than the station, anyway.”
“Fine,” said Paige. “Maybe I will.” She reached for her phone and fiddled with it for a moment.
Adele waited as the landlord approached, hoping this was the last heated exchange for the moment. It wouldn’t do to look unprofessional in the face of public speculation.
The landlord glanced between the two women, seemingly ignorant of the bad blood. He adopted a simpering, oily smile and said, “I can show you to the room.” He paused for a moment, his smile still stretching his lips like taffy. “Just out of curiosity…” He paused, as if waiting a rehearsed number of seconds. Then he said, “When will I be able to rent out the apartment? There are bills to pay—”
“I’m Agent Sharp,” Adele interrupted. She studied the man. “This is Agent Paige.” She reached into her pocket and flashed her badge, as well as the Interpol credentials Robert had given her.
The landlord waved them away without glancing toward either ID. Paige was still glancing at her phone, ignoring the man.
“I can show you,” he repeated.
Adele gestured with a hand up the stairs and allowed the landlord to take the lead, following him at a slow pace as he breathed heavily, moving up the stairs one at a time. When they reached the third-floor landing, he clicked the keys into the lock and twisted, pushing the door open. Adele examined the keys, then glanced at the back of the landlord. “You didn’t enter the apartment a couple of days ago, did you?”
The landlord regarded her, and then after a moment, his face adopted a horrified expression. He immediately began shaking his head wildly, causing his jowls to jiggle. “No,” he insisted. “Certainly not. I never enter the apartments. The keys are just for emergencies.”
Adele raised her hands. “Does anyone else have access to a set of keys?”
The landlord shook his head firmly. “Only the apartment tenant. And myself. And I don’t use them,” he repeated.
Adele nodded to show she’d heard, watching as the man pushed open the apartment door and stepped aside, gesturing for the two agents to enter.
The agents ducked under the crime scene tape crisscrossing the door. Adele moved onward and glanced at the tile floor.
Already, most the blood had been cleaned up. Photographic evidence had been taken of the scene, and