She took his hand, and he led her out of her chair. He pushed the chairs back beneath the table, nodded in gratitude at the café owner, and the two of them strode out of the café, moving quickly through the door, out into the darkening night, beneath the buzz of safety lights, and the twinkle of stars inserting themselves over the fog of cloud and light pollution.
The conservationist was one country over, only a few hours away. If he stayed put, this whole headache might be over by bedtime. But what was he doing there? Adele ran the riddle over in her mind again and again. She didn’t know enough about the Apollonia to decide if the riddle fit. Was he planning his next murder so soon? Were they going to be late?
For a moment, she considered contacting the local police, asking them to keep an eye on the blogger. To restrain him. But then she decided there was no sense spooking the man. Besides, the killer had only struck after hours. They still had time.
“I need you to break every speed limit there is,” she said, sharply.
Agent Leoni nodded as he sidled into the driver’s seat, and Adele joined him.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The crown jewel of the Apollonia, the monument of Agonothetes, stood as little more than a stone gateway into nothing; the Greek ruins in Albania cut a wistful shape against the black night. Old buildings facing the even older archway of a once impressive structure, now abandoned by walls and ceiling, left resolute as a threshold into the sole unknown.
Night had long since fallen by the time they reached the ancient structure. Adele and Leoni excited their taxi, moving beneath the darkness of night. The destination would have been closed to the public by now. Adele regarded Leoni, who strode next to her, his heels tapping against the sidewalk as they hurried forward past fluttering red flags attached to sentry light posts throughout the area.
“Is he still there?” Adele said.
Leoni glanced at his phone and nodded. “Locals still pinging his location. According to my GPS he’s still here.”
Adele frowned toward the darkened silhouette of the Apollonia. She ran the riddle over in her mind, trying to make sense of the connections.
Round eyes in round hands… stone…heart… Did it fit? She wasn’t sure. On the flight, she’d looked up the old ruins, but had found little of use. It had once housed a school for philosophers… Round eyes in round hands… Did that make sense? Adele huffed in frustration; for now, her focus lingered on stone-gouged steps up to the old ruins.
Adele checked her handcuffs at her belt and then her fingers slid to the holster on her hip, her fingers against the rough metal of her handgun. She glanced over to make sure Leoni had also brought his service weapon.
The blogger, according to Leoni’s sources, was from London although born in Germany, and had visited Italy, then come to Albania the previous night. Adele had already been, on the drive over, sifting through his posts. All of them were written around the tourist attractions and monuments in Europe—though some in Africa as well. The blogger, a man by the name of Dr. Francis Boler, had a bone to pick with the “commercialization of ancient wonders.” He’d been railing against the industry for nearly three years on his website.
In the night, the place was shadows cast in elongated streaks by the buzzing lights above; Adele and Leoni marched to the crest of the old city, seeing the shadow lumps of the Odeon Theater and the Church of St. Mary. Adele felt her heart flutter a bit as she stepped amidst the old stone ruins, illuminated only by the lights from the heavens, and the second-hand glow from the more civilized fringe of roadway. She moved forward, glancing at Leoni, who kept his eyes fixed on his GPS, both of them intent on arresting Dr. Boler. The same phrase from the riddle had been on his blog—same punctuation. Even killers made mistakes. Adele had yet to meet one who hadn’t.
Then, stepping through the stone ruins, reaching the monument, Adele came to a halt, her eyes narrowed.
Her hand still rested on her firearm, and she reached out, tugging Leoni to a slow stop as well.
He glanced at her and flicked up an eyebrow. Sweeping beams from flashlights crisscrossed the sky, spreading through the clouds and flitting down again across the old, dusty ruins. The flashlights emanated from a small gathering of people in front of the oldest arch with ribbed columns.
A single, wire-thin man stood in front of the monument, one step up from the others like a preacher on a podium. He waved his own flashlight wildly about, gesticulating—and, as Adele and Leoni neared, meandering down the trail to the old ruins, she heard the man’s voice echoing out into the darkness.
“We come here at night,” declared the man with a British accent, waving his light, “to honor Apollo. Some say the name of this city is found in other origins, but the Greeks knew the truth! The sun is gone, the sky is bedded, and the moon peers bright! The sister of Apollo, it is speculated by those who think as I do, would visit this place in the dark, hiding from her brother’s ire to pull tricks on his devout. Who recalls her name?”
A hand rose from the small gathering—no more than ten people. The person, like the others, hadn’t spotted Adele or Leoni yet. She called out, “Artemis!”
“Yes, good, Ms. Ramona!” declared the skinny speaker. He wore a jacket like a cocoon, seemingly enveloping his thin frame. He continued to wave his light about, sweeping it over his captive audience.
Adele’s fingers still traced her firearm, but then moved slowly away as she continued down the path to the old ruins. Leoni slowed next to her as well and, in the dark, sharing only in the lights from behind them up the path and before them sweeping the ruins, they exchanged a puzzled look.
Adele cleared her throat as she approached. She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, the skinny man in the enormous jacket called, “Mr. Everett, please refrain from littering in the homes of the gods!”
Another one of the spectators sheepishly issued a series of apologies, before bending over with a bobbing light in hand and retrieving what sounded like a crinkling wrapper from between his feet.
Adele, at this point, had heard enough to feel thoroughly confused. No sign of any killing as far as she could see.
“Mr. Boler!” she called out, projecting her voice in the night. “Mr. Francis Boler!”
Her voice boomed over the gathering and lights swished around as one, jarred from their lazy swirl, directing straight toward her. Adele blinked against the glare. “Lower those!” she snapped.
The flashlights dipped hesitantly.
The skinny man in the enormous coat jumped down from his perch near the pillars and stepped through the small throng of ten. In the night he struck a strange figure, like a crow, or a gangly vulture. He stared suspiciously as Adele and Leoni came within reach, stopping to face the small group.
“Dr. Francis Boler,” he said.
Leoni shared a look with Adele, and she resisted the urge to roll her eyes.
“Dr. Boler,” Adele amended. “Is that you?”
He stared at her. “What if it is? We have permission to be here. A nighttime excursion for my students—approved by the authorities.”
Adele blinked. She glanced toward the faces behind Mr. Boler. Some of them were young, but they seemed comprised of all ages, and in the fading beam of their lights they blinked out at her. “Students?” she said.