Left To Die

“But I saw someone following her. Maybe he was just going the same way… I do not know. But—like I said—I do not wish to cause anyone trouble. However, after hearing what happened to her… I mean, at the time I didn’t think anything of it. But now, maybe if I had said something.” The old man trailed off and leaned back from the sawhorse, pressing up against his wife in a protective sort of posture.

The wizened woman looped her hand back through his arm and rubbed affectionately at his wrist in a calming gesture.

Adele, though, for her part, felt anything but calm. She tried to keep her tone in check, but found it difficult with her pulse pounding in her ears. “You saw someone following her? You’re sure?”

“Yes,” said the woman at once.

“Well,” said the man, “he may have simply been going the same direction. Like I said, I don’t wish to cause any—”

“Sir, if I may, you’re not causing any trouble,” said Adele, quickly. She inhaled slowly through her nose, trying to steady herself. She could hear the accent in her words the more excited she got. Now wasn’t the time to announce to these two citizens that she hailed from beyond Paris. With folk like these it would only complicate the situation. So she inhaled again, and then, her words pressing on the silence between them, she said, “Tell me exactly what you saw.”

For a moment, she thought of reaching for her phone to record the reply, but then decided it might only spook the couple.

The old man shrugged. “Someone following her. Like I said.”

“He carried a bundle,” the woman said. “And—yes.” She snapped her fingers. “He wore a blue shirt.”

The old man frowned, though, his brow crinkling. “No,” he said. “The shirt was green. His shoes were blue.”

“Was he wearing shoes?” said the woman in doubt.

Adele felt her heart sink. She licked at her lips, finding them suddenly dry, and began to step back down the stairs, if only to gain some space to breathe.

“Is there anything else?” she said from a step further down.

The old couple glanced at each other, then, nearly at once, they both replied, “He had red hair.”

Adele had been half-glancing back toward where John awaited, but at this, her gaze flew back to the old couple. She stared at them, searching their expressions for certainty. “Red hair?” she said. “You’re sure?”

They both shared a look, then nodded adamantly.

Adele felt her pulse racing once more. She’d once had a smartwatch when she’d trained for a marathon. Her resting heart rate had always been far too high for how in shape she was—another side effect of the job. And now, she could practically hear her heartbeat in her ears.

“Would you be willing to give an official statement down at the station?” Adele said. “What are your names? Bernard, you said? Last name?”

The old man began to reply, but the old woman tugged sharply on his arm. “You’ve heard our statement,” she said, frowning. “There is nothing more to say.”

“I understand,” Adele began, “but if—”

“Nothing more!” The woman had already half-dragged her husband up the steps, leading him quickly away from the underpass.

The gendarmerie officer glanced at Adele as if waiting for an order to stop them. But she shook her head.

“Let them go,” Adele murmured. “I doubt there’s anything more we can learn anyway…”

She nodded in gratitude toward the officer, then gave a small little salute with two fingers toward the retreating backs of the elderly couple. With a slight skip in her step, she turned and took the stairs, hurrying back toward where John waited.

Red hair. A wig? Perhaps. But a clue either way.

The bastard wouldn’t get away. Not this time.

A smile stretched her lips as she rejoined John on the other side of the underpass, facing a ramp with a long metal rail.

“What are you so chipper over?” John said, frowning. He had a phone raised, pressed against his cheek, and he seemed more grumpy than usual.

“I—” Adele cut herself off. “Who is that?” she said, nodding toward the phone.

John lowered the device and clicked a button on the side, sliding the phone back into his pocket, still frowning. “Marion’s friends. Some boots were able to track them down. They’re waiting for us at the bar.”

“Why do you look pissed off? That’s good news.”

“Oh, yes? It is good? Hmm—well Michael and Sophie are going to be there. You remember Agent Paige, yes?” His tone was now high-pitched and would-be innocent, carrying the malicious undercurrent of bad humor. “She refused to work with you. I cannot emphasize this enough, eh. Refused. Called you a chienne—do you remember this word, hmm? It is why I am saddled with our American princess—because Paige would not play nice.”

Adele felt the smile fade from her face with each subsequent word. She swallowed, slowly, a prickle of anxiety spreading through her, tingling down her spine. “Sophie Paige? She’s an agent now?”