She looked through the windows, still standing and swaying with the motion of the sudden stop. A voice announced over speakers, disguised beneath one of the chandeliers, “Last stop for day passengers. We plan to remain for no more than half an hour. Be back by ten for the next leg.”
Adele pressed forward now, her forehead practically pushed against the glass as she watched passengers arrive and board the train, gathering before the two separate entrances. The first, near coach, she ignored.
Her eyes were drawn to the small gathering of first-class passengers now waiting for one of the ticket collectors to wave them aboard.
Her breath fogged up the glass as she leaned in, eyes narrowed, watching the new passengers. She witnessed a middle-aged couple board first; a smiling woman and a stern-faced man handed their tickets to the attendee. They were quickly ushered aboard, along with one of the valets who carried their luggage.
Another one of the valets waited, watching expectantly for the signal from the ticket collector that he should grab the luggage.
The passengers idled by, waiting for the permission to start boarding. Adele sighed, still watching, her breath steaming the glass. As she stood, she thought back to Paris, back to her apartment. She felt a flash of guilt at having left her father alone after making him fly from Germany. She’d needed to tell him everything in person—but the timing of this new case hadn’t been ideal… Maybe she owed him a call.
She kept her eyes fixed on the passengers as they also waited, watching the ticket collector. As she did, she reluctantly reached into her pocket, pulling out her phone. She swallowed, lifting the device. For a moment, she paused, but then, instead of calling her father, she dialed Robert’s number from heart. So many times, in the middle of a case, she’d had to contact her old mentor. He was a well of information, a crack detective, but even more than that: a dear, dear friend.
She waited, listening as the phone rang. Her stomach twisted a bit as unease settled on her. “Come on, Robert,” she murmured.
No answer. She waited for the automated voice and then after the beep said, “Hello, Robert. I’m sorry I haven’t called. Busy with the case. Just… I imagine you’re in treatment or something. When you get the chance, if you could… please shoot me a message or something. I’ll come to see you first chance I get after the case. Have a good day.”
She lingered for a moment, still holding the phone, wondering what else to add, but then just hung up. Anything else could be said in person.
The phone didn’t stay lowered, though. Now, she did call her father, his name stored in her device only as The Sergeant.
The phone began to ring and her father picked up quickly.
“Adele?” he said.
“Hey,” she replied. “Hey, sorry. I just had a moment here. Was wondering how you are.”
“Fine. You?”
“I’m—I’m fine. Look, I’m sorry for just leaving you. I’ll be back from the case as soon as possible. Like I said before, make yourself comfortable at the apartment. If you’d like—”
“Don’t worry about it,” the Sergeant said. “I’m heading home anyway.”
Adele swallowed. “When?”
“Tonight.”
“Oh. You sure? You don’t have to. You’re welcome to—”
“I’m sure. Look, sorry, Adele, my taxi is here. Have a good day.”
“Goodbye…”
This time, the Sergeant hung up and Adele slowly lowered her own phone. She continued to stare through the glass at the milling passengers, some of them growing impatient in the interim. She glanced at the phone, wondering if she should have insisted he stay. But her father was a decisive man. If he wanted to leave, then he wanted to leave. Nothing she could do…
She felt the stirrings of disgruntlement, but forced herself once again to stare through the glass and fixate on the passengers nearest the front.
There were only about six first-class passengers joining them for this next leg of the trip. One man in particular stood out to her. Not so much because of his appearance, but because of the way the other passengers had given him a wider birth. Perhaps he smelled. But as Adele watched, she glimpsed a surly, frowning expression across the man’s face. He had no facial hair, and a dark shock of fading hairline that was clearly dyed. The man’s eyes stretched in folded frown lines, and his lower lip seemed to be permanently jutting forward as if he tasted something sour.
As the surly man regarded the other passengers around him, the source of the sour taste seemed to become evident, as his scowl only deepened near other humans.
One of the valets reached out, nodding politely, and tried to grab the man’s bag, but the angry man suddenly shouted. Even from within, through the glass, Adele heard the words, “Get your dirty paws off,” followed by a dark muttering, “Stupid bastard.”
The man with the dyed, receding hairline glared at the valet until the young man retreated, apologizing profusely, his face red.
A few of the other first-class passengers looked on in disapproval, but instead of quelling his behavior, the surly man turned on them and demanded, “What? Mind your own damned business.” And then, jamming a crumpled ticket hard into the hand of the collector, he pushed past, entering the train.
Adele noted the way he protectively gripped the brown satchel the bellhop had tried to grab. Curious.
But there had been no murders in the night. Which meant what? Was she just looking for a needle in a haystack? Trying to find someone to blame?
Maybe they had gone about this the wrong way. Maybe the murders weren’t tied to days, but trains. Maybe the murderer had to move to another train before he killed again. Or, perhaps, not the trains, but the countries. A death in Italy, one in France, and the next one?
Adele bit her lip. They were at the last stop before the German border. What if the killer was waiting for them to enter? She watched the old, surly man clutching his brown bag as he disappeared behind the ticket collector into the first-class compartment.
Adele’s countenance darkened a bit, but as she peered through the window, toward the passengers, she recognized a different face. Her eyes went wide, and her lips formed a sudden smile. This face was much friendlier and handsomer than the one prior.
Her breath suddenly fogged the glass a second time, and for a moment, she wasn’t sure why she couldn’t see, but then quickly, feeling embarrassed, her cheeks heating up, she reached up and wiped hurriedly at the misted surface.
The person in question spotted her also, it seemed, and was now waving in a good-natured, easygoing sort of way. She tried to suppress a grin and waved back before pushing away from the lacquered counter and moving quickly through the car toward one of the entrances.
Adele brushed past one of the valets, who was lugging a particularly large suitcase aboard, and smiled down toward where Agent Leoni from Italy was now handing his ticket to the collector.
She waited expectantly as the ticket collector nodded, ripped off the top of the paper, and handed the stub back. Christopher Leoni was wearing plain clothes and even carried a suitcase. He took the two metal steps up to the back entrance of the train and entered past Adele.
“It’s good to see you,” he said, winking.
As he brushed past her, she detected the faint odor of cologne. His hair was as she remembered, perfectly set, with a single curl errant from the rest dangling over his forehead. His features were handsome in a clean, expected sort of way. Movie star good looks, she’d thought before. In the past she had characterized John as a James Bond villain, but if so, then Agent Leoni was much like James Bond himself. Not to mention, he’d once helped pilot a plane on an open highway in Germany, and helped her save a life in the process.