Left To Die

She could feel John behind her, watching, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of a glance back.

“Apologies for the delay,” said Adele. “We came as quickly as we were called.”

“I’m sure you did,” said Agent Paige. She pushed off from the wall and Adele noticed a slight limp to her step as she maneuvered closer to the table. “Jet lag takes its toll on even the best of us, I imagine.”

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.”

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.”