She cycled to John’s number, frowned a bit, and instead dialed Robert.
No answer.
She huffed impatiently and returned to John’s number, shielding her phone with her body from Agent Marshall, who stood by the door, waiting patiently. Muttering to herself, Adele lifted her phone, waiting for John to pick up.
A few rings later, she heard static, then Agent Renee’s voice, speaking loud and angry French. “I told you to stop calling me. I swear, I’m going to hunt you down and burn your world down—do you hear me? I don’t want your shitty moisturizer, and whoever put my name on your call list is going to have hell to pay!”
Then before Adele could say a word, John hung up and she stood listening to dead air. Adele inhaled through her nose and out through her mouth, counting slowly in her head.
Then she dialed again and waited, her impatience growing. Agent Marshall watched her curiously from the doorway.
“Holy shit!” John started with a vengeance. “Do you think I’m joking, because—”
“John, it’s me,” Adele snapped in English. “Adele. Shut up for a minute.”
A pause. Then a gently cleared throat, another pause of embarrassed silence. Then, in a clipped, forcibly calm voice, now also speaking English, John said, “Adele? How nice to hear from you.”
“The one and the same.” A small smile began to twist the corners of her lips, but then faded just as quickly, and she frowned. “Hang on—why isn’t my number in your phone?”
John grunted on the other line. “I only have two numbers in this phone. Work and my mother.”
Adele rolled her eyes, but out loud, she said, “Figures. And moisturizer, huh? What sort of subscriptions do you have?”
“Funny. So I hear you caught a case on this side of the pond again.”
Adele nodded, then realized John couldn’t see her and sidled closer to the floor-to-ceiling window, her breath fogging the glass as she stared into the wonderland of the Alps. “In the mountains, yes,” she said. “Actually, it’s why I’m calling. There was a second couple—Swiss. They also went missing.”
“The Haneses, yes,” said John. “Disappeared in France. Also in the mountains.”
Adele cleared her throat, tilting her head slightly. “Ah, so you’re aware already.”
“Not just aware,” said John, speaking slower now that they were in English. “I’m working it, with Robert.”
“You are? Perfect—I was wanting to coordinate with DGSI anyway. Do you think—”
“Well, actually, Adele, the executive wants the cases separate. Doesn’t want to get mixed in the German situation. Right now, we’re treating the cases as unconnected.” There was a slight pause and an apologetic tone to his voice.
Adele felt herself shaking her head. “We can’t know whether or not they’re connected yet,” she said. “Surely Foucault knows that.”
Renee sighed on the other end, blowing into the speaker so loudly it hurt Adele’s ear. She winced, but waited as the Frenchman continued. “I know that. You know that. But there are politics involved.” He said “politics” like uttering a dirty word.
“Oh? What politics?”
“Let me put it this way. Who is your babysitter?”
Adele glanced surreptitiously toward the young German agent in the doorway. She cleared her throat and delicately said, “An old acquaintance.”
“Right. But BKA though, hmm?”
“Affirmative.”
“So that’s the politics. You’ve got BKA boots on the ground, along with the locals, and—because of our case—the French are sniffing around, and Interpol too. The Italians, I’m told, also want a hand in the investigation due to the nationality of the victims.”
Adele scratched at her chin. “Ah. So what are the odds of getting DGSI involved?” she said with fading hope.
Another grunt on John’s end. “No dice. DGSI is steering clear. Foucault said something about too many cooks spoiling something or other. Didn’t understand. Basically, I think he gave me a metaphor for being chicken.”
Adele sighed, passing her free hand over her eyes and slowly moving away from the large window toward the small kitchenette at the start of the hall. She grabbed a glass from the lowest cupboard and began pouring some water, though turning the knob only partially to avoid making much noise.
“Okay,” she said once John was finished. “But the Swiss couple—you’re looking into it?”
“Right. Robert and I are paired up on this one. Gotta say, your old boss is what the boys back in the unit would’ve called a sleeper.”
“Sleeper?”
“Not much impression up front, but got a hell of a kick once you start riding around. Smart fellow. Weird. I like him.”
Adele smirked at this description of her old mentor. She pictured Robert in her mind; a short, prim, proper man with hair plugs and two missing teeth. He’d been a father to her, and the best detective she knew.
“Hey, ah, shit, I’ve gotta go, American Princess. I’ll shoot you a message if I have anything. Actually, scratch that—Robert will.”
“Don’t tell me you’re still not going to save my number,” Adele said playfully.
John chuckled. “Maybe one day, eh? One other thing… Hang on.” John’s voice grew quieter, suggesting he’d pulled the phone from his cheek. Adele heard him call out, distant, “Be right there—don’t get your cufflinks in a knot! Hang on!” Then, louder again, he said, “Gotta go. But Adele, be careful.”
Adele held her glass of water, staring at the expensive wooden cupboards in the kitchenette. “Always am. Why in particular?”
“Not talking about the murdering grizzly bears, or whatever it’s supposed to be. I mean your babysitter—the media. The politics.” He doubled down on the word, filling it with venom.
“I’ll be careful there too.” Adele took a sip from her glass, her eyes refusing to travel toward where Agent Marshall waited patiently in the doorway.
“Yeah, but I’m serious. Higher-ups want to avoid any connection between the missing couples leaking at all costs. Understand? We’re talking career-enders here if you let it out. Now, normally, I don’t give two pigeon shits what their splintered asses want, but you’re more the career sort, yeah?”
“I’ll be careful. Thanks, John.”
Without so much as a goodbye, John clicked off, and Adele once again listened to dead air. She wrinkled her nose and pocketed her phone, taking another long sip from her glass of water and trying to process what she’d been told.
“Ah, excuse me?” Marshall called from the door, jarring Adele back into English. The young agent waved a hand.
Adele glanced over.
“Excuse me,” Marshall repeated in English, “but, ah,” she cleared her throat. “Who was that?”
Adele raised an eyebrow. “Pardon?”
Marshall winced in embarrassment, but pressed on, pointing at Adele’s pocket. “Who were you talking too—just, it’s important that we keep a lid on some of the case details. Actually, very important. More important than…” She frowned and trailed off, but shook her head and winced again, waiting expectantly for Adele to reply.