Adele had never visited Sophie’s family, but she knew from discussions with other agents that Paige had five children of her own, all of them adopted. And yet, in Adele’s experience, she’d never seen the woman miss a day of work. It had taken some digging, when she’d been at the DGSI, but by the sound of things, Agent Paige’s husband stayed at home, taking care of the kids while his wife worked long hours for the government.
Paige returned Adele’s look of annoyance, and in answer, Adele reached out and slammed her thumb on the buzzer for the landlord. It took a moment, then the doors buzzed. Sophie pushed open the front door, moved in, and allowed it to swing shut behind her.
Adele had to hurry forward to jam her foot in the gap, catching it before it closed fully.
Adele stared in frustration at the back of the older agent’s head. Again, not a single hair was out of place. Paige’s clothing was neatly pressed, her suit jacket a charcoal gray, matching her pants.
Adele had never particularly enjoyed her old supervisor’s company. The last time she’d interacted with the woman, on the previous case in France, Paige had caused trouble.
“Excuse me,” said Adele, keeping her voice low, “do we need to talk?”
Paige acted like she hadn’t heard, though, and continued toward the stairs.
Adele took a few hurried steps to catch up with the older woman, and she reached out, gently placing a hand on the other agent’s forearm. As if she’d been scalded, Paige whirled around, a snarl on her lips. “Don’t touch me!” she snapped.
Adele’s eyes flicked to the woman’s holster beneath her parted jacket. She lifted her hand, raising it in a placating gesture. “Apologies.”
“What do you want?” Paige said, scowling. “We’re doing it your way, aren’t we? We’re here wasting time instead of talking to witnesses.”
“What witnesses?” Adele said, biting back further retort.
“The American. The one who found the body.”
Adele shook her head. “She found the victim, but she didn’t see anything.”
Paige pursed her lips. “It would be a better use of our time than going over an empty crime scene. You read the report, didn’t you? No physical evidence. There’s nothing for us here.”
Adele huffed, shaking her head. She reached out as if to steady herself, gripping the wooden banister of the railing that led up the apartment steps.
She could hear the jingle of keys and the sound of footsteps approaching as the landlord made his way across the hall. She glanced past her partner, over the banister and through the wooden rails, to spot an old, bald man with a bit of a paunch and a stained sweater moving toward them.
Adele lowered her voice, trying to keep calm as she said, “You can contact the officers with the American. They’re on standby. Tell them to bring her here, if you want. We’ll interview her after; better here than the station, anyway.”
“Fine,” said Paige. “Maybe I will.” She reached for her phone and fiddled with it for a moment.
Adele waited as the landlord approached, hoping this was the last heated exchange for the moment. It wouldn’t do to look unprofessional in the face of public speculation.
The landlord glanced between the two women, seemingly ignorant of the bad blood. He adopted a simpering, oily smile and said, “I can show you to the room.” He paused for a moment, his smile still stretching his lips like taffy. “Just out of curiosity…” He paused, as if waiting a rehearsed number of seconds. Then he said, “When will I be able to rent out the apartment? There are bills to pay—”
“I’m Agent Sharp,” Adele interrupted. She studied the man. “This is Agent Paige.” She reached into her pocket and flashed her badge, as well as the Interpol credentials Robert had given her.
The landlord waved them away without glancing toward either ID. Paige was still glancing at her phone, ignoring the man.
“I can show you,” he repeated.
Adele gestured with a hand up the stairs and allowed the landlord to take the lead, following him at a slow pace as he breathed heavily, moving up the stairs one at a time. When they reached the third-floor landing, he clicked the keys into the lock and twisted, pushing the door open. Adele examined the keys, then glanced at the back of the landlord. “You didn’t enter the apartment a couple of days ago, did you?”
The landlord regarded her, and then after a moment, his face adopted a horrified expression. He immediately began shaking his head wildly, causing his jowls to jiggle. “No,” he insisted. “Certainly not. I never enter the apartments. The keys are just for emergencies.”
Adele raised her hands. “Does anyone else have access to a set of keys?”
The landlord shook his head firmly. “Only the apartment tenant. And myself. And I don’t use them,” he repeated.
Adele nodded to show she’d heard, watching as the man pushed open the apartment door and stepped aside, gesturing for the two agents to enter.
The agents ducked under the crime scene tape crisscrossing the door. Adele moved onward and glanced at the tile floor.
Already, most the blood had been cleaned up. Photographic evidence had been taken of the scene, and previous investigators had come through to catalog everything. Adele glanced around the kitchen; she noted a few stains of blood against the cabinet next to the fridge, as well as along the tile floor. She moved over the stains and glanced at the fridge. It was closed now.
Besides the closed fridge door and the missing stain, the crime scene looked exactly the same as the photos. The body had long since been taken to the coroner, and the final report would be forthcoming soon enough.
She hated to admit it, but there wasn’t much to be seen. No physical evidence. Just liked she’d been told.
They’d already dusted and scanned for fingerprints all along the counters, the fridge, the body. And still, nothing had shown up. Nothing besides the victim’s own fingerprints.
The second victim had been found with her back against the cabinets, facing the fridge. This meant whoever had attacked her had done so quickly. There had been a bit of blood spatter, but not much. There’d been no signs of defensive wounds on the body. No struggle whatsoever.
“Do you think she knew the killer?” Adele asked, quietly.
Agent Paige said, “Maybe.”
Adele stepped daintily over the faded pool of blood. She walked to the fridge, and, using her pocket to sheathe her hand, she grabbed the handle and pulled it open. There were still groceries in the fridge. Old sandwiches rested in the crisper, and a large jug of milk sat nestled next to a dozen eggs. Otherwise, the fridge was mostly bare. Adele regarded the cabinets where the woman had been found, sitting on the floor in a pool of her own blood.
She examined the wooden block of steak knives next to the sink. All the knives were accounted for. They’d been scanned for blood and cleared. The killer had taken his weapon with him. They still didn’t even know what he had used to kill the woman.
Adele reached up, opening the freezer. There were two trays of ice, a tub of ice cream, and some frozen pizzas. The ice cream container was stained with melted, then refrozen, streaks on the side, and one of the trays of ice was completely empty. Adele pursed her lips; it was a personal pet peeve, but she hated when people put empty ice trays back in the freezer. She glanced at the ice cream container, and then her eyes flitted to the frozen pizzas. Cauliflower. She wrinkled her nose, but felt a sudden flush of embarrassment as she studied the food.