Leoni winced. “A guess,” he said. “My guess. And I’m not confident. Why are you?”
“I’m confident this is supposed to be a religious spot. I’m confident that you know enough that this is our best shot. A sacrificial spot for druids,” she said. “Organic stone… Like a heart. It makes some sense. I know it isn’t perfect… I get it. But it’s the best shot we have. Our job is best done in matters of degree.”
“Maybe if you reverse engineer the riddle, but only—”
“The riddle. Exactly. And that’s what we’ve done every time. Looking back, it’s been obvious. Well, imagine we’re standing in Stonehenge right now, we reread the riddle. Looking back, it would be obvious, wouldn’t it?”
Leoni reached up, scratching his head. “I mean, maybe. I don’t know. I guess probably.”
“I can work with probably. All right, well, give me a second. Can you trust me on this?”
Leoni hesitated, but to his credit, the hesitation didn’t last long. At last, he just dipped his head and said, “I can do that.”
Adele raised her phone again and quickly cycled to Ms. Jayne’s number. She called for the second time that day, and waited, the phone ringing.
It was night, and she hoped the Interpol correspondent would answer. Thankfully, after another few rings, the phone vibrated, shaking her hand, and Ms. Jayne’s voice came out on the speaker. “Agent Sharp?”
Adele cleared her throat. “Ms. Jayne? Hello, do you have a moment?”
“Yes. Is this about the case?”
“About the one in Austria.”
“The suspect didn’t get away, did he?” she said, hurriedly.
“No,” Adele said, quickly. She looked up at Leoni and shared a nervous look. “Nothing like that. But look, Ms. Jayne, I just wanted to say, I don’t think we have the right guy. I’ve been talking to Agent Leoni, and we think that if we narrow down the list, the most likely next spot—”
“Agent Sharp, let me stop you there. I spoke with Christopher earlier. Smart man. Both of you did a good job here. How about you take the accolades and don’t ruin it.”
Adele winced. Clearly, Ms. Jayne didn’t want to hear any more. But she had to. “I know how important it is to solve this one. I know there’s a lot of money behind the tourist industries. I know there’s a lot of people who are glad that we caught the guy. But I don’t think we did. We don’t have enough evidence to know for sure. And a lack of alibis isn’t the same as being guilty.”
“Do you have other evidence of another suspect?”
“No, not like that, but—”
“You have no new evidence. So why exactly are you calling me?”
“Look, we need a flight to Stonehenge. Can we have that arranged?”
There was a soft sigh on the other end of the phone that sounded like someone exhaling through their nose. Ms. Jayne had always been reasonable, clever, and she knew how to employ Adele’s skills where needed. But she was also in charge of a lot of other agents. Juggling plates. And this time, she said, “I’m afraid not, Agent Sharp. We already have you booked on a plane ride back to Paris. Executive Foucault wishes to speak with you. Besides, how would it look if I sent off an Italian agent with you, signaling to his government and everyone else that we don’t have any confidence in the suspect we’re detaining? That’ll get out. Lawyers will hear about it. It’ll be the first thing the defense uses. That we didn’t even believe we had the right suspect. Now isn’t the time for a show of weakness. I’m sorry. I expect you on the first flight back to Paris.”
“But—”
“I’m sorry, Adele. That’s final. Is there anything else?”
Adele stammered, then sighed. “I guess not. But I think you’re wrong.”
“I appreciate all input. If you have anything more to say to me, please call back tomorrow morning. Have a good night. And good job.”
Ms. Jayne hung up.
Adele sighed, sitting in the car, her fingers tapping again against the cool metal of the exterior through the window. Leoni was looking at her sympathetically. “I guess they think it’s closed.”
She stared back, glaring now. Her blood pulsed and her cheeks prickled with frustration. “It isn’t. Someone is going to die tonight. Tomorrow morning will be too late.” She paused, thinking desperately, then said, “How long will it take to drive there?”
“Stonehenge? Too long.” Leoni glanced out the window, but then looked back. He seemed to be weighing Adele, gauging her with an appraising look. At last, he sighed, softly, and said, “We don’t have to drive.”
He spoke quietly, his voice nearly a whisper, but it was like a lifeline, thrown to a drowning victim, catching her attention all the same against a sea of chaos. “Excuse me?”
Leoni breathed once, then spoke louder. “I have a friend; he lives about an hour from here. An old associate of mine. Remember how I told you my mother used to be an agent?”
“I remember.”
“Well, her third ex-husband runs charter flights out of Austria.”
Adele stared, dumbfounded. “You are actually James Bond,” she said.
He looked at her confused, but then pressed on. “He always used to like me. I think if we ask, he’ll give us a flight. But that’s the best I can do. Just this once. If we don’t find anyone there, I’m going to have to consider the case closed as well.”
Adele nodded feeling her chest skip a beat. “We’ll find the killer. Trust me.” Even as she said it, she thought, Do I even trust myself? She shook off the niggling doubt. “We need that flight right away.”
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
Agent John Renee glanced at the crossed-off names on his list, the small note paper illuminated by the light growing from the center of the sidewalk. The door to the Cadillac was ajar, and one of John’s long legs dangled past into the street. His eyes narrowed vaguely as he studied the list of ten names. Six of them crossed off. Only four left.
He sighed. No red flags, solid alibis for the first six. Was he running out of road?
For a moment, John missed Adele. She was the sort to run down grueling leads, one at a time. Once, she’d walked an entire street, looking for a security camera, then spent hours combing through the footage. Nothing tired that woman out.
John, though, missed his distillery. He missed the quiet, careful life of a man who only cared the minimum amount. But that wasn’t an option this time.
He shifted, rising from inside the vehicle and stepping onto the curb. The Parisian air was warm and still. John rubbed at his jaw. No minimum effort this time, not where Adele was concerned. Her mother had been killed by this bastard. Copycat, or otherwise, whoever had sent those notes to Elise Romei had eventually ripped her to ribbons.
Nearly a decade ago, Adele had failed to track the killer. And now, she was off in Italy, then Greece. Unwilling to return, to face the case. And John didn’t blame her. But it meant it was up to him to solve this for her. If he let her down, there’d be no chance of reconnecting, no chance of… anything.
Besides, she deserved this. If anyone deserved a win, it was Adele.