Left To Die

“Fine, ignore the red-haired part,” said Adele. Briefly, she felt a jolt of regret. Robert had been so certain. Still, she would go where the evidence took her.

There’s nothing,” said John, rolling his eyes. “I don’t speak German. What does ‘der name’ mean?”

“I feel like even you can figure that one out,” said Adele. “Just keep looking. Keep an eye out for the name of the drug and look for any mentions in the ‘leave of absence’ column I showed you. That’ll be in numbers—you know those, right?”

“Funny,” said John. “I’ll have you know…” He trailed off, squinting at his laptop. It took him twice as long as the German-speaking women to cycle through one of the files, but this time, he took even longer, studying his screen. “Hang on…” he said, quietly. “I was looking through the technicians… What does ‘leitender chemiker’ mean?”

Adele glanced over. “It means that person is the lead chemist. Why?”

John tapped a finger against his laptop.

“Please be gentle!” Agent Marshall interjected. “I need to return these in functional condition.”

John, who’d already spilled spicy noodles on his keyboard, shrugged. “Look here,” he said, butchering the pronunciation of leitender chemiker a second time. “He’s in some supervisory role, right?”

He turned his laptop, facing it toward Adele.

She leaned in, peering at the screen and scanning the details. She frowned and reached out to push an arrow key to cycle through the contents.

“He requested leave five weeks ago,” she said, quietly. She shook her head, her eyes widening.

“Look at the project he’s in charge of,” John said, inclining his head toward the computer. “I can read that.”

Adele read the bio briefly and felt a jolt of electricity down her spine. She exhaled, softly. “He was directly responsible for Project 132z. That’s the drug.” She looked up, staring at John. “He was responsible for the drug.”

Agent Marshall glanced over from wiping fingerprints off the back of the laptop with a napkin. “The drug used by the killer?” For the first time, her nearly perfect English held a hint of her German accent. English was the only language the three of them had in common, but Adele knew neither John nor Marshall was completely comfortable with it.

Adele nodded. “Exactly. He was responsible for it. And he’s been on a leave of absence for five weeks…” She glanced toward John. “I’m not sure if I want to slap you or kiss you.”

Renee leaned back in his chair, crossing his hands behind his head. “Both, preferably. At the same time.” He winked.

“But he doesn’t have red hair,” said the BKA agent.

Adele pushed away from the table, regaining her feet. “A wig, then. It’s him. He’s the supervising chemist on the project.”

John frowned. “Look at him; he looks like a ghoul.”

The photo of the employee in question didn’t look that bad. In Adele’s assessment, he resembled a man who didn’t spend much time sleeping either. He had bags under his eyes, but he was probably in his forties, and despite depressed eye sockets, he had a cheerful smile and fading gray-brown hair.

“It’s him,” she said, pushing urgently away from the table and stepping over her seat. “Check his address. Agent Marshall, call some uniforms for backup—preferably without a limousine.”

John was also getting to his feet and Marshall had already raised her phone, beginning to speak rapidly in German.

“Address?” Adele called over her shoulder as she strode hurriedly toward the door.

“Got it!” John called; then the sound of rapid, heavy footfalls gave pursuit.

“Hurry!” Adele said, over her shoulder, pushing out of the door into the stairwell up to the warehouse.

“He might not be there,” John called after her. Glancing down at his phone. “What should I tell headquarters?”

Adele paused and looked back. “They should keep checking airports and train stations…” She hesitated, frowning. “He might not have come home—but if he did, he’s ours. Now hurry?”

She strode rapidly out of the basement with her two companions following quickly behind.

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

“You’re sure that’s the right address?” Adele asked for the third time in as many minutes.

“I’m sure,” said John, growling. “Here.” He shoved his phone in her face. “You read it.”

Adele ignored the phone. “Can we go any faster?” she called through the glass partition.

But the vehicle kept a steady pace, following the flow of traffic.

Adele leaned back in her seat, trying not to let her impatience show. She counted slowly in her mind, breathing in, then exhaling and counting again. Finally, she said, “It’s good his house is close by. I suppose that makes sense since he works at the company. What’s his name again?”

“Peter Lehman,” John supplied.

Adele wrinkled her nose. “He didn’t come up in my investigation back stateside. Must’ve been using an alias. Dammit, can we go faster?”

Reluctantly, Agent Marshall raised a hand and rapped on the window. She called through the glass: “We’re in a bit of a hurry!”