Left To Die

“He does have a ticket for Switzerland,” said Agent Marshall, once again waving her phone like a child raising their hand to catch the attention of a supply teacher.

John growled again and opened his mouth to protest, but Adele interrupted, “No credit cards or passport out of Germany, John. He’s been here.”

“Can anyone else vouch for his whereabouts?” John demanded.

Adele turned to Peter. “Can anyone else corroborate that you’ve been in Germany?”

Peter hesitated, but then nodded wildly. “Yes, of course! My team. We met up for drinks only two weeks ago after the project was officially canceled. It was a wake, a sendoff, if you will. There were nearly twenty people there. They’ll all be able to vouch for me. Please, just ask them!”

Adele felt her shoulders slump in defeat. “We’re going to need names,” she said softly. She reached out and patted Lehman on the shoulder, and then pushed off the table, turning toward the door to the interrogation room. “I need a breath,” she said. “I’ll be back.”

As Adele pushed out of the cramped space, the smell of iced tea and sweat was replaced by cheap cologne and scented air freshener. She kept her eyes ahead as she walked down the hall, mulling over the possibilities. Either Peter was an Oscar winner, or else the real killer was still out there. For all she knew, he was preparing for his next victim.

Adele paused in the doorway of the police station, letting a couple of officers past, both who glanced at her with mildly confused expressions. She ignored them as she stared out into the street. The same ominous shudder she’d felt back at the DGSI headquarters crept up her spine—the same sense of foreboding, like a gust of chill breeze.

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

The man sat on the floor, leaning against the footrest of the grandfather chair, resting his head against the seat. He preferred the floor; chairs like this one were too comfortable. But he couldn’t give it up. It had once belonged to his aunt, and she’d been kind to him once upon a time.

Still, comfort was for the weak.

The man stared at the TV screen, watching the events unfold.

A shakily held cell phone captured the moment when the chemist was escorted from his house in handcuffs.

A very tall agent with burn marks just below his chin was glaring at everyone within sight. A special glare was reserved for whoever was holding the camera.

The seated man returned the glare on the TV screen.

Next to the tall agent, he recognized the woman in the neat suit with the pretty, blonde hair.

“Agent Sharp,” he murmured, tipping his head in mock greeting.

She was in Germany. The man kept his calm for a moment, counting in his head, but then his emotions bubbled over and he screamed, launching the remote at the glass cabinet across the room. He howled, cursing at the ceiling as the sound of shattered glass only further sparked his rage.

With heaving, huffing breaths, he managed to regain control of his temper, glaring toward the TV once more.

How had they followed him? He thought he’d been careful. Reaching the US had been easy enough. He’d traveled to Canada first, and then slipped through the border. It wasn’t his first time.

Avoiding detection in France had been even easier; a matter of false papers. The government thought they were so clever. Yet in Germany, the US, and France, teenagers with fake IDs could fool even the most attentive of bartenders.

His tastes weren’t so predictable as a teenager in search of a buzz, but fake papers on a train from France to Germany were far easier to procure with the right connections. The man rarely traveled by plane if he could help it.

The man leaned back again, resting his head against the cushioned footrest.

The US had been a delightful vacation, but future sojourns would be relegated to Europe. The man nodded, settling the matter in that moment with the simple bob of his head. The options were far better in Europe: bus, train, hitching a ride, driving…

The US border was too difficult to cross and getting more and more difficult with each passing month. No, his vacation had been cut short.

The man crossed his legs and pulled up the hem of his shirt, glancing down at his stomach and flexing his abdomen.

He couldn’t quite make out the ridge of his muscles, and with a flare of annoyance, he quickly swiveled, placing his feet under the edge of the grandfather chair as he began to do sit-ups, grunting with each one and flexing his abdomen at the peak, holding the position until pain set in, and then releasing it and lowering down.

He listened as the news continued to announce the arrest of the chemist from Lion Pharmaceutical.

Of course, he knew all about the company.

They were closing in. This Agent Sharp was better than he’d thought. She couldn’t have possibly tracked him by papers, so how had she found him in Germany?