“Sir, are you all right?” Adele asked, slowly.
The man glanced back at her and swallowed. He returned to looking out the window at the passing countryside as the train finally moved from France into Germany. As he watched the rolling hills and the green flatland, his eyes seemed almost to mist over and his breathing came more regularly.
He sighed, staring through the window, watching the passing countryside. “I didn’t kill anyone,” he said.
“Mind if we check your luggage?” she said. “We can get a warrant.”
It felt like a shot in the dark, given his previous reactions to them, but now as he stared out the window, he almost seemed mesmerized, as if entranced by the passing terrain.
He grunted and shrugged.
“Is that a yes?” Adele pushed.
Isaac Lafitte continued to stare out the window, watching the tranquil greens and blues.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Leoni murmured.
Adele nodded and got to her feet, turning toward the door, but Isaac grunted, still staring out the window. “Not you—the one who opened the window. I have nothing to hide.”
Adele slowly lowered back into her seat. Leoni gave her significant look, raising an eyebrow in greeting to his single curl of hair.
“I’m fine,” she answered the unspoken question. “Go on—I can handle this.”
Leoni shrugged, but then left, making sure to leave the door propped open as he moved back toward the first-class sleeper car to search Lafitte’s belongings.
“So you ride trains often?” Adele asked, hoping to keep Lafitte in this new, calm, lulled state.
He continued to ignore her, staring out the window. Then, as if the question had only just reached his ears, he murmured a soft reply. “Often as I can. Daily. It helps.”
“Helps?”
“Yes,” he said, turning to her now. As he looked away from the window, his eyebrows lowered again, as if he were somehow stepping into a frigid room without a sweater. He clenched his teeth. “Helps. Damn you all. Can’t a grieving man be left in peace?”
“Grieving? Why are you grieving, sir?” Adele pressed. “Your wife?”
He stared at her. “You know about Claudia?”
“I was told. She passed away last year, didn’t she? A heart attack?” As she said this last part, she watched his reaction closely.
But there was nothing except a flash of grief across his countenance and a muttered prayer beneath his breath and he returned to staring out the window.
A few moments passed, with Adele unsure what else to say. It made sense he’d be grieving his recently deceased wife, if he wasn’t behind her death. Heart attacks weren’t exactly uncommon—perhaps it was a coincidence… But why would someone ride a train so often?
It helps… he’d said. Helps with what?
Adele heard a soft clearing of a throat and she glanced back to find Agent Leoni had returned, carrying a brown bag with him.
Isaac Lafitte turned, and his face reddened. “What are you doing with that?”
“You said we could search,” Adele reminded him.
He hesitated, his eyes flickering as if in recollection. “Did I really?”
Leoni nodded sympathetically, but held up the bag toward Adele. “This was the only item in his cargo hold. No toxins—no poisons. A small bottle of pills, though.” He held up an orange container with a white lid and gave it a little shake.
Lafitte noted this and it seemed as if he were now being confronted by an old enemy. “Pshaw,” he spat. “Throw those away for all I care. They make me dull—muted.”
“What are they?” Adele asked.
Leoni answered first though, “Mood stabilizer,” he replied, softly. “My mother used to take the same sort—though a lesser dosage.”
“Joy-stealers,” Lafitte added, shaking his head. “I’m supposed to take them twice a day. Bah! Riding the train is better. It keeps me sane. Those devil things,” he said, pointing at the pills, “make me forget. Forget her…” He trailed off and looked out the window again. In a murmur he added, “I wouldn’t have them if my daughter hadn’t made me promise.”
Adele looked from Lafitte, feeling a flash of sympathy herself, and regarded Leoni. “Nothing else?”
Leoni shook his head, gently placing the satchel next to Lafitte. “I confirmed with my own people as well.” He nodded toward the man staring out the window. “He’s been riding trains daily for nearly a year now. Almost every day.”
Lafitte glanced at them after a moment, his eyes widening in surprise as if he hadn’t realized anyone else was in the room with him. “What?” he snapped, as if someone had interrupted him on a phone call. “What do you want? Who are you?”
Adele sighed, exhaling a long breath. She stared at the man; did she really think a man of this mental capacity could kill without detection? The murders were planned, careful, speaking of a shrewd, sharp mind. There was nothing sharp about Mr. Lafitte.
At last, massaging her temples, she said, “Mr. Lafitte, we may have more questions for you in the future, but you’re free to go. Mr. Lafitte? Hello?”
But he seemed lost in his own thoughts, his eyes transfixed by the blurring countryside. Adele hesitantly rose to her feet, with Leoni standing next to her. For a moment, they both glanced uncertainly toward the seated train-hopper. But he had his luggage clutched close to his chest, his chin now pressed against the soft leather on top.
“I…” Adele trailed off. She shook her head. “Have a good day, Mr. Lafitte.”
She turned, following Leoni from the compartment.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Margaret Moulin arose and moved from the first-class compartment to stretch her legs. She smiled at Bella, her traveling friend and companion and confidant. The young woman gave a little wave back, smiling as she did, then turned to her boyfriend, who sat in the lounge chair of the first-class compartment next to her. Margaret could almost sense their topic of conversation shifting as she moved from earshot. She knew they would be discussing her, because Margaret herself had few other preferable topics of conversation besides the lives of those proximate, but not too close.
She hesitated as she moved into the adjacent rail car. This one was empty, with most of the seats removed and signs on the walls advising the car was temporarily out of use for remodeling. Something about the empty space fascinated her. She wondered what sorts of stories would accrue over the years, the decades, delicious secrets and salacious rumors uttered in every corner eventually.
She smiled to herself at the thought. Only an hour or so ago, she’d been talking with Bella about the strange man who’d wandered through the first-class compartment and stared at her. What an odd duck. Probably smelly, too. He’d had the look of a nasty sort. It wasn’t easy to tell, but in the eyes… or the clothing, and especially the shoes.
Margaret felt certain the character of a person could be immediately discerned by the state of their wardrobe. The older the clothes, the more shabby the shoes, the less reputable the person.
She’d stake her reputation on her little scale of gradation.
Still, there had been something in that man’s eyes… the way he’d watched her. It hadn’t felt lecherous—a look she’d become accustomed to while traveling for business among dirty people. Rather, there had been a hunger there of a different variety…