Left To Die

It took a couple of moments, but after a murmured phone call and some legally questionable pictures of the document, John turned back to her, clicking his phone off. “They’re on it,” he said.

“How good is this friend of yours?”

John shrugged. “I saved his life, twice. He saved mine three times. You could say we’re close.”

“No—I mean how good is he at his job? He works in the lab?”

John smirked as if sharing a secret joke with someone not in the room. “No, he works at Interpol. He wouldn’t know a chemistry set from a distillery. But they’ll do what he says.”

John turned and exited his office with Adele, locking the door behind him. “I’ll drive you back to your hotel,” he said.

Adele shook her head. “Not after four drinks you won’t.”

He groaned and complained, but Adele stood her ground, and, at last, he relented.

“Fine, here are the keys,” he said, tossing them to her. His aim was just a bit off, and the keys scraped against the wall, leaving a small gash in the paint. He groaned and began to walk down the hall, back toward the stairs.

“You need me to drop you off?” she called after him.

He waved a dismissive hand. “Sleep downstairs.”

She pictured the small interrogation room with the couch and the TV.

It was an oasis in a place like this. But it also held a sadness. She wanted to protest, but then thought better of it. Perhaps John didn’t have anyone to go to. Back in San Francisco, Agent Grant Lee often slept at the office.

Adele took the keys and hurried toward the elevator. She was sick of stairs.

The toxicology report would be the key. As smart as the killer thought he was, she was getting closer; she could feel it.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The cool breeze introduced itself to the night with gentle swirls, brushing against leaves and sidling along buildings down the cramped street. Enes made his way, stumbling a bit on the stone curb. In the distance, he spotted a police car pulling by, lights flashing.

The man puffed his cheeks, breathing in quiet relief. “Stupid Peter,” he murmured. He was glad he’d turned down the ride from his dorm mate—five drinks in and still behind the wheel.

Still, prudent decisions did little to stave off a nip in the air, and the young man wished he’d brought a jacket. He’d left his umbrella back in Peter’s car, but thankfully the rain seemed to have stopped, at least for the hour. He shivered, rubbing at his arms as he made his way along the street.

Enes glanced back in the direction of the bar and blearily surveyed the glowing orange and yellow lights emanating from the streaked windows. He could hear the raucous cries of people reacting to the football match, and, perhaps, to the magician. It hadn’t been a very good magician. The trick with those twenty-three cards had been easy enough to spot. An engine, in statistical parlance, where no matter what, a chosen card would be revealed after a series of mathematical estimations.

The university student shook his head and pulled his shirt collar over his ears for a bit of warmth. He rubbed his arms a second time.

Normally, walking through the parks at night, especially in Paris, was an ill-advised option. But it was just so cold. He didn’t want to circle the park to reach his dormitory. Besides, it wasn’t like he was some defenseless child, worried about being attacked. He could take care of himself.

Enes jutted his chin forward and nearly slipped off the curb as he took another step. Quickly, with a spring, he righted himself, testing his suspect foot. He winced.

Through the tingling pain, Enes paused, teeth still clenched. Behind him, for a moment, he thought he heard footsteps.

Uttering a string of expletives, he glanced back, but spotted no one.

The row of parked cars glinted beneath the moon, winking ominously at him. Still cursing, he jerked his foot back onto the sidewalk, testing it gingerly. Then, with added respect toward the alcohol cycling his system, he began to move toward the park.

There had been a killing in Paris not long ago. It had made the news. But it was on the opposite side of the city, nearly an hour and a half away in bad traffic. He figured he would be fine.

Enes reached the park and scanned the darkness. Safety lights flanked the trails, illuminating the waving trees and the vegetation responding to the influence of the wind.

He wished he’d carried a knife. Still, it was only a short walk to the other side of the park, and then he’d be within sight of his dormitory.

Again, for a moment, he had the uncanny feeling of being watched. The back of his neck prickled, and he turned, peering across the park once more.

Still, he spotted no one. For the faintest of moments, he reconsidered the trip through the park. The place was notorious for muggings and worse, but even muggers didn’t like the rain.

Enes lowered his head and began to limp through the park, keeping quiet, his arms at his side, as if presenting as small a target as possible would allow him safe passage beneath the shadowed trees.