Left To Die

Adele shook her head, moving past the comment without unpacking it. “I’m sorry for making you wait.” This she addressed the four friends. “As for the case particulars, I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to discuss much, but any information you provide could prove helpful.”

The one named Antoni met her gaze and shook his head. Serious eyes peered from a solemn face. “No one would want to hurt Marion,” he said. “We’ve been telling them; we don’t know who did this.”

Adele glanced back up to Agent Paige. “You’ve already interviewed them?”

Behind her, John growled. “Our case, our lead. You should’ve waited.”

Paige shook her head. She adjusted her stance, wincing as she did, limping slightly. Her partner reached out quickly, trying to steady her, but she shook him off with a scowl and snapped, “We didn’t interview them. We prepped them for questioning. This isn’t America anymore,” she said, addressing John’s question, but staring at Adele. “Things aren’t done the same way. Here, we don’t allow bureaucracy to prevent us from doing our jobs.”

Adele nodded, tugging at her sleeves. “I remember. It’s fine.” She glanced back toward the four friends. “I’m sorry if you’ll repeat yourselves, but for Marion’s sake, I want to make sure we go over everything.”

“Christ,” John muttered behind her, “this is a waste of time. They said they didn’t know anything.”

Adele inhaled deeply, steadying herself. She felt assailed on all sides. John, her would-be partner, seemed disinterested in the case, and she hadn’t even realized Agent Paige would be there. Adele chewed the corner of her lip, her hands still pressed against the cool surface of the aluminum table. For a vague moment, she wondered about the story behind Sophie’s demotion from supervisor back to agent. She sincerely hoped it didn’t have anything to do with what had transpired between them six years ago. But she wouldn’t bet on it.

Still, Adele wasn’t the sort to allow her emotions to control. She suppressed the wriggling mass of roiling guilt, worry, and anxiety, pushing it from her chest into her stomach with a quick swallow and a slow, elongated breath. She inhaled softly, keeping her eyes open, attentive, refusing to betray her nerves. She stepped around the side of the table, circling behind the girl with the dark hair. Next to her, the handsome, dark-skinned man with the high cheekbones studied Adele’s movements. The fourth person at the table, who looked like the youngest of the group, an impossibly pretty girl, was still staring at her hands. Every so often, the young woman would glance out the window, looking through the small gap in the thick crimson curtains behind Agent Paige.

“Excuse me, miss,” said Adele, “do you mind telling me your name?”

The pretty girl rubbed her fingers along the back of her arms in turns, and shot a furtive glance toward Antoni, almost as if seeking permission. He gave the barest of nods, and then the girl said, “I’m Sarah. And it’s like they said; no one would’ve hurt Marion. She was far too nice. Ask Tomas—he knew her best.”

She inclined her head toward the blond boy, then returned to rubbing at her arms, a sadness in her eyes that went deeper than Adele had first thought.

Adele kept her tone gentle. “Can you tell me if she came here the night she went missing?”

“You mean the night she was killed?” said Tomas. “They’re not telling us what happened exactly. Did she suffer?”

Adele looked at the blond boy and gave the faintest shake of her head. “I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to release those details just yet.”

Agent Paige cleared her throat, gaining the attention of the group. “Actually, I think we’re cleared to discuss the case.” Once more, she was leaning against the crimson curtains, still crossing her arms over her chest, and still, clearly, favoring her left leg.

Adele gritted her teeth, but refused to meet Paige’s gaze. “Perhaps it would be best to avoid discussing the details just now.”

Inwardly, she seethed. It was one thing to hold a personal grudge, but it was another to bring it to a case. Adele had known she was permitted to discuss what had happened to Marion. But how would that help the girl’s friends? Adele needed them open, willing to talk. Fear and horror did not compel people to answer personal questions. Then again, perhaps John was right. This did seem to be a giant waste of time. Marion was killed by a stranger. That much, she would’ve bet money on. But still, any detail, any clue…

“She didn’t come here,” said the young man with the high cheekbones. “She was on her way. I texted her, asking her where she was.” He trailed off, gnawing on his lower lip. The next words came slow, quiet, a serpentine quality in the way they slithered across the aluminum table and reached Adele’s ears. “But she never arrived. We didn’t know what happened, well, until later.”