Adele went still, staring out across the station along a row of coffee shops and small cafes in the side of the passenger areas. Through the glass walls of the station, she glimpsed the distant greens of trees and slopes in the Black Forest.
“You sound certain,” she murmured, biting a lip. “Did he attack again?”
“Yeah. Germany this time. The Green Coach.”
Adele felt her stomach clamp and her breath come in a gusting rush. Another death. Dammit, she thought. But now wasn’t the time to freeze. She cleared her throat. “Also with Lockport Enterprises?”
“No. Different owner, different country this time too. But new victim—a young woman, late twenties. Also had a heart attack, this time witnessed by at least six others.”
Adele found her hand tightening around the phone and she resisted the urge to scream.
“Adele, what is it?” Leoni asked from behind, as if he could sense her consternation.
She glanced half back. “Third victim,” she said, biting off the words. Then she said into the speaker of the phone, “You still coming?”
“Yeah, I’m hurrying. Just one thing—the train in question can’t be sequestered now. It’s currently moving through the Black Forest mountains, in the wilderness. No train station for at least another hour or two, and no access roads for emergency vehicles either…”
Adele, though, didn’t share the frustration seeping from her old partner’s tone. She shook her head quickly, and said, just as fast, “No, that’s good news, John. Excellent, in fact.”
A pause on the phone. Static, and for a moment she thought she’d lost him. But then, a second later, John said, “Good news? How?”
“If the train is still moving,” Adele returned, her grim smile widening, “then that means the killer is still on board.”
“I mean… you’re not wrong. But for that to matter, we’d have to reach the train first—before emergency vehicles show up, or before they reach a station. I don’t think German authorities will go for holding back a train full of their citizens for our sake.”
“We don’t have to worry about that headache,” Adele insisted. “As long as we can keep that train moving, then the killer has to stay put. We just need to reach it first.”
“Hang on,” John said suddenly. “I have an idea. I know how to get to the train before it stops.”
“What are—”
Unable to hide the undercurrent of excitement now creeping into his voice, John said, “Just sit tight. I’m on my way.”
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
Adele stood outside the station, near a parking lot the authorities had cleared a half hour before. Now, a large ring of red traffic cones cordoned off an area the size of a tennis court. Adele stood next to Leoni, her arms crossed in the chill, misty air coming in from the mountains.
She strode back and forth, one arm bent at an angle, still crossed, but also holding her phone pressed to her ear, seemingly a permanent fixture, glued there by intent alone.
“Yes sir,” she was saying. “I understand. We’ll tread lightly.”
Executive Foucault was on the other line, his rasping voice continuing, “I’m serious, Adele. No unnecessary risks. We finally have the Germans playing ball. They won’t stop the train until they feel they have to. But we’re in a tight window here—very tight.”
“I understand. But sir, I—”
Before she continued, though, she felt a hand tug at her wrist. She glanced over, half-expecting John. But the Frenchman was running late, and she hadn’t been able to contact him since the last call. Instead, it was Agent Leoni, who was holding out his own phone and staring at it, his eyes wide.
In a whisper, he said, “Coroner got back.”
“Executive,” Adele said, quickly, “I’m sorry, no, I’m really sorry, just one second.” She pressed the phone to her shoulder, muffling it, and looked at Agent Leoni, waiting.
Faintly, Adele could hear a voice calling from the speaker, “Agent Sharp! Hello! Can you hear me!”
She winced but waited for Leoni, and he spoke quickly, as if not wanting to intrude, but there was an urgency to his tone. “Look,” he said, holding up his phone.
Adele stared, and saw a clear image of what looked like someone’s neck.
“What am I looking at?”
“Right there, see it?” He pointed, and she leaned in.
“Here’s another picture—he circled it!” Agent Leoni flicked the phone’s image, and it moved to the same picture, but this time, a small, black circle had been drawn on it.
The circle was around a tiny red area that looked no more significant than a pimple.
“What am I looking at?”
“The coroner thinks that’s an injection site,” said Agent Leoni. “Says they think this was where a toxin might have been administered.”
Adele kept her own phone pressed to her shirt, staring, wide-eyed. “Are you serious?” she said.
“As the grave,” Leoni returned.
“Do we have results from the tox report?”
“Not yet, but there’s a rush on it now. We should get those by the end of the day.”
Adele nodded urgently, then raised her own phone again, and said, “Sir, the Italians just got back; the coroner thinks it’s a definite murder. Found an injection site. Toxicology report is running late, but it should be here soon.”
“So, you want to keep the train on the move?” Foucault asked. “The Germans are getting restless, and I have to give them an answer now.”
“Yes, yes sir, please, keep the train moving. This just confirms that it’s a serial killer. But, sir, while we can’t stop the train, could you ask them to slow it down a bit? That might help us to catch up with it, and to give us more time before the passengers get to the station.”
“All right, I’m trusting you on this, Adele. Like I said, tread carefully.”
“You have my word.”
The Executive said something else, but Adele couldn’t hear it on account of the sudden whirring sound above.
She looked up and then, at the top of her voice, called, “Sorry, sir, I have to call you later.” She hung up, gaping as a black and green helicopter moved over the train station, headed toward the circle of traffic cones. She stepped back to an even safer distance next to Agent Leoni as the helicopter descended, the blades spinning and whirring, and then coming to touchdown on the asphalt, with a deafening sound of chugging blades.
She stared up toward the cockpit and spotted two men. In the passenger seat, with a grin on his face at the look of Adele’s surprise, John was giving a small, sarcastic wave.
“Is that our ride?” Leoni asked.
“I guess so,” Adele muttered. “Be careful and try not to throw up. John sometimes enjoys bumpy rides just for the sake of annoying his passengers.”
Leoni gave a chuckle which was nearly lost in the swell of the wind, but the smile faded as he stared at her. “Are you being serious?”
In answer, Adele sighed, then picked up her pace, approaching the helicopter. A third victim, a train on the move, a clock running out of time. They had to reach that train. And if the helicopter was the way to do it, she couldn’t say no.