Left To Die

Adele loosed a sigh, lifted her eyes skyward as if in silent prayer. But at last, she nodded, numbly. What else was there to say? The killer had evaded her once more. The APB had been useless. Perhaps a drink was exactly what she needed.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Adele could feel the exhaustion from the last couple of days taking its toll. The thought of her morning run tomorrow filled her with dread, but she hadn’t missed one in years and she wasn’t about to start in Paris. Still, as John drove his SUV wildly up the nighttime streets, darting beneath the vibrant light posts lining the sidewalks, she couldn’t help but feel the last vestiges of her energy being spent on an emotion eerily similar to unease.

“I thought we were going to get drinks,” she murmured from the passenger seat. Her cheek was pressed against the cool window, and her hair cushioned the side of her face. She stared out the front windshield, her eyes tracking the buildings ahead of them.

“We are. Back at headquarters.”

“You said that. Sounds awful. Why not just go to some bar—”

“Just hang on. I’m about to show you.”

“You sure they won’t tow my car?”

John kept his long arms out, holding the steering wheel, but still managed to evoke a shrug from a shoulder followed by a slight tilt of his head.

“Even if they did, so what. It’s a government car. They’ll have to give it back. You’re too tired to drive.”

Adele sighed again, closing her eyes, if only for a moment, like someone on a diet inhaling the scent of chocolate cake. “If I didn’t know better,” she said, “I’d think you were worried about me.”

John tutted quietly and said, “I thought you were a good detective. I’m worried about my own ass. Follow the clues, American Princess.”

They pulled into the parking lot outside the DGSI headquarters, nodding at the night guards as John flashed a badge and Adele handed hers to John so he could poke it out the window.

One of the guards nodded in familiarity to Renee, a gesture which the tall man returned. Adele was reminded of her own relationship with Doug, one of the security guards on the third floor.

John parked beneath the dark overpass, the concrete lot illuminated only by rectangular incandescent lights in the enclosed space’s ceiling.

Adele followed after her partner, an uneasy gait to her step. She couldn’t sleep, not now. Not after the day’s events. Her idea of a good time and relaxing with a drink rarely involved the workspace, but she hadn’t wanted to turn John’s invitation down. John’s personality took some acclimating, and she didn’t want to shoot down his one offer of camaraderie. He was a strange one. A rebel, in the most juvenile sense of the word. But there was also something deeper. Something she couldn’t quite make out about him. It piqued her curiosity.

She had to walk double pace to keep up with his long, steady strides as he moved down the nearly empty office hallways.

“APB was a bust, but the tox report should be on my desk,” he said conversationally, leading her toward the stairwell.

“Not more stairs,” Adele groaned.

“It will be worth it. Don’t worry.”

John’s office was on the seventh floor. But instead of heading up, he took the descending flight.

Adele stared uneasily after the tall man. “You’re not going to kill me, are you?”

John glanced over his shoulder up at her and flashed a jack-o’-lantern grin. “Haven’t decided yet. Just come, American Princess. You see killers everywhere. Makes it hard to recognize comrades.”

“Yeah? You’re a comrade, not a killer, is that it?”

“Perhaps I’m a bit of both.” He gestured at her and, without waiting, continued down the stairs.

With a rising sense of malaise, which made her feel silly, Adele followed after John, taking the stairs much slower than earlier.

He led her down to the basement and pushed open an old rusted door. A dusty, cracked hallway filled with chipped paint and dull lights stretched before her. At the far end, she spotted an evidence locker and a couple of interrogation rooms that seemed little used. John pushed open the door to interrogation room three and glanced inside, looking around. “Coast is clear,” he said, conspiratorially.

Adele didn’t know what or who he was looking for or expecting to find in the old, abandoned interrogation room, but she didn’t care to ask. Out of the entire building, this floor was the worst she’d seen.

Large flakes of paint peeled off the walls, and watermarks scoured the floor, suggesting the basement had flooded more than once. Lettering marked some of the doors as interrogation rooms, displaying words beneath thin layers of dust. The building had been serving the DGSI for a decade, but the basement had been left, it seemed, to fend mostly for itself.