Left To Die

Adele nodded sympathetically. She rounded the table again, and this time placed herself between Paige and the four friends, blocking the other agent from view in as subtle a posture as possible. The glower on her former supervisor’s face was putting the young women and men on guard. Adele needed Marion’s friends to think, to focus. Bad blood and unaired tension wouldn’t help.

Adele tapped her fingers against the table. “Did she give any sign of having a stalker? Someone who might have caused her trouble?”

All four of the friends shook their heads. The pretty girl, Sarah, hesitated, then said, “Nothing unusual. There are always people hitting on her at bars. She quite liked the attention, though.”

“But nothing out of the ordinary? No one following her home or anything like that?”

Again, all four friends shook their heads.

“American Princess,” said John, his words causing her to glance back, “we are wasting our time. They don’t know anything. How could they?”

Adele examined her tall partner and held up a finger. “One more question,” she said. She turned back toward the friends. “Did she tell you anything about someone with red hair?”

At this, everyone, including John, examined her with puzzled expressions.

Tomas broke the silence first. “Is that who killed her? Someone with red hair?”

“I’m not saying that,” said Adele. I’m not not saying that either, she thought. “I just need to ask. Well?”

She waited, hope spinning through her, causing her heart to pound. But, before she could receive an answer, Agent Paige cleared her throat and stepped forward.

“Can I get anything for anyone to drink?” she asked in an innocent tone. She sidestepped in front of Adele, cutting off her view from the table.

The four friends shook their heads quickly, and Agent Paige shouldered past Adele, moving toward the bar, the limp in her gait more apparent than ever.

A surge of guilt at Paige’s limp gave way to frustration at the interference. “We’re on the job,” Adele snapped.

“Welcome to Paris,” retorted Paige, without looking back.

Tomas, a clever look in his eyes, glanced between the two women, and a slight frown creased his expression.

“Well,” said Adele, muffling her emotions once more. She glanced back at the young friends. “Do you know anyone with red hair?”

“There’s Stephan,” said Sarah, who didn’t seem to have noticed the tension between the two agents. “He’s a few years younger than us, but was in school with us.”

“No; Stephan’s family moved,” said the girl with dark hair. “Besides, he’s not interested in women.”

Adele shook her head. “I think it would be someone older. Perhaps someone my age, or maybe even older than me. Like Agent Renee.”

John cleared his throat in indignation, but didn’t say anything, waiting for the kids to reply. Again, they all shook their heads.

“We don’t know anyone like that.” This came from Tomas, after glancing around at his friends and noting the blank expressions on their faces. “But… Marion was friendly to everyone. Even tourists.”

A couple of eye rolls from around the table met the word “tourists.”

Adele paused at this, feeling a jolt of sympathy for the murdered girl. Though she’d never met Marion, it mattered that she was friendly to foreigners—especially in a city that had an opposite reputation at times. Adele had spent most of her life moving from place to place, required to prove herself again and again to the locals. It had been a rare thing to have someone greet her with a kind word and a smile.

But had that friendliness killed Marion? The killer had fled the US. Perhaps he’d used his status as a tourist to lure Marion into a false sense of security. But if so, how had the man known the girl’s age? Had he stalked her?

Adele’s thoughts were interrupted by Tomas. “May we go now?” he said in a weary voice.

The other man with the high cheekbones held up a halting hand. “Hang on,” he said. “What happened exactly? If it is true you can tell us what happened, Agent Sharp, then why aren’t you?”

“It’s obvious,” said Sarah, full lips forming a thin line as she pressed them tight. “Something terrible happened.”

Tomas frowned. “Marion is dead. That’s terrible enough.” He ignored his friends and pressed on, determined. “Did she suffer?” Tomas demanded, glaring at Adele.

Adele resisted the urge to turn toward where Agent Paige was at the bar; she knew her old supervisor was intentionally going out of her way to make this difficult. Now Adele was in an impossible position. If Marion’s friends actually knew what had happened, it would haunt them. But Adele refused to lie. “It was bad. But she’s not suffering anymore. And I promise you, I promise,” she glanced to each of them in turn, locking eyes, “I’ll find who did this. And I’ll make them pay.”