Left to Loathe, page 17
"I have a question," Adele said.
"You're not supposed to be here without my lawyer."
"This isn't about your case. I need your help."
He stared at her. "And what will I get in return?"
Adele wanted to slam her hand against the table. They didn't have time for games. But she kept her cool. "I'll put in a good word. I'll ask them to reduce your sentence."
He stared at her. "Immunity."
"That's not possible."
"Immunity or my lips are sealed."
Adele's hand bunched into a fist at her side. She pretended she was scratching her leg, uncurling her fingers again. The business with her father, with the mistake at the giant office building, with all of it was fraying her at the seams. She didn't need this smartass to pile on.
"Just answer my question," she barreled on. "You said you remembered all the women you smuggled. Is that right?"
"I also said unless I get immunity I'm not going to talk."
Adele let out a long puff of air. She glared, her mind spinning. She didn't have the jurisdiction to guarantee something like that. She could lie, perhaps. But that grated against her character. So many things could be justified by saying a life was on the line. But the things it justified were sacred to her. Honesty, fairness.
No, she wouldn't lie. But he was playing his cards with a smug look on his face. In this situation, she didn't mind applying a little leverage.
"I still have that business card of yours," she said. "Imagine what's going to happen to your reputation if I let it be known to all the girls at that club that you were arrested. Not only that, two of the women you were going to traffic were arrested as well. I'll tell everyone. I don't care. I don't have plans this weekend. I'll get some of the prostitutes at the club to tell their friends. I'll pay them myself to spread the information.” She raised a crook of her hand as if blocking out letters on a billboard. In an announcer's voice she declared, “Don't trust Baris or his business. He'll get you killed or arrested."
As she spoke, his smile faded.
Adele didn't feel an ounce of regret as she lowered her hand. This man had made money off human desperation. All he cared about was his business.
Baris glared at her over his clasped fingers. "You're not playing fair."
"I'm not playing at all. This isn't a game. Same deal I said. I'll keep my word. I'll put in a request on your behalf. Sentence leniency. That's it. I can't do immunity"
He let out a long sigh. He closed his eyes briefly, and his head swayed as if hearing some faint, distant music. Then, his eyes snapped open. "What do you want to know?"
Adele felt a surge of excitement. Her hands clasped the back of the metal chair on the other side of the table. The door was shut behind her. The two of them were alone in the interrogation room. She couldn't bring herself to sit. She was too on edge. So standing, staring down at him, she said, "You remember the girls you smuggled. That's what you said."
"I did. I do."
"Blonde," Adele said, "Belgian, pretty. Tall."
He stared at her. "What about it?"
"I need you to think of all the women you've worked with who fit that description. All of them."
He frowned, his expression flickering. "You said this wasn't about me."
"It's not. I'm trying to narrow down my potential targets. Please."
"Well, you already know about Monique."
"Yes, and the woman in Amsterdam. I'm talking others. People who aren't dead. People who we haven't thought of. Please."
The trafficker let out a little grunt of pleasure. As if it pleased him to have something Adele needed. He took his time about it, leaning back in his chair, closing his eyes and tilting his head.
"Well?" Adele demanded.
He opened one eye, looking at her like a lazy cat. "This isn't easy. Give me a second, I'm remembering." He closed his eyes again. Adele bit her lip, but this time kept her silence.
The human trafficker sat quietly, his eyes twitching, as if his eyeballs were moving behind his otherwise calm demeanor. His head tilted to the side, he paused briefly, but kept his eyes closed.
Then, faintly, he said, "Two. Two other women. And mind you, that's from nearly half a decade of business."
Adele stared. He still kept his eyes closed. "I don't remember their last names. It's been a while. But there was one woman named Devana. And another one named Natalie."
"They were both Belgian?"
He nodded once. He still kept his eyes shut. The effect was quite eerie. "Both blonde, both beautiful. Both tall. And both Belgian."
"I need their last names."
He opened his eyes now, though, shrugging. “I'm sorry, but I can't remember. That's all I have."
Adele hesitated, meeting his gaze. He seemed to be telling the truth. Without a last name, it would make things harder... but when had they ever come easy? She reached a decision and was already turning, hastening back towards the door.
"Hang on!" he called after her. "What about me?"
"I'll put a good word in!" she called back. "Thank you!"
She shoved through the door, rushing back out into the hall where John was still waiting, frowning towards the interrogation room.
When she emerged again, he perked up, staring. "Everything okay?"
"We need access to BKA's database," Adele said quickly. "We'll have to go through Interpol. Whatever channel is fastest. But we need the names of all the legally registered prostitutes in Germany."
"Did he give you something?"
Adele was nodding hurriedly, racing towards the break room where John's briefcase rested on the table. She gestured at it frantically. "Boot it up. Come on!"
While Agent Renee unzipped the bag to pull out his laptop, Adele's foot tapped a tattoo into the floor. "Two names," she said. "Only two. But he didn't have last names."
John frowned, booting up the computer. "What names?"
"Devana and Natalie," Adele said quickly. "It might not be enough based on name, but if they have pictures of the registered prostitutes, we could narrow it down."
John entered his login information. The air was tense. They both went quiet as John continued with two-factor authentication to access the DGSI database they used to make requests with Interpol.
"What if they're not registered?" John said, voicing the question pinballing in Adele's mind.
"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it," she snapped. "We're probably already out of time, John. The killer is gonna keep going until we stop him. This is the only option."
Renee sighed but nodded. He entered something on the keyboard, frowned, waited a few moments, then said, "Good. We're in. Pre-cleared."
Adele leaned over John's shoulder. "This is it? All the files from Germany?"
John shook his head. "Most recent ones from the BKA. We’re pre-approved. But not further back than five years."
"Five years is fine," Adele said hurriedly. "Come on John. Hurry."
Her partner entered the first name. Devana. Nearly instantly, a list of names appeared on the screen throughout Germany.
"More than seventy," John said with a low whistle. "That's a lot."
"Refine by age," Adele said. "20s and 30s."
John nodded entering the new parameters.
"Forty names," he said.
"Refine by height," Adele countered. “Driver's licenses should log it.”
John frowned, nodding again.
"Twenty names," he said.
Adele could feel her heart pounding. "Can we refine by hair color?"
"Might have it dyed."
Adele cursed, but then said, "They have pictures. They have to have pictures for the licenses. Open them."
Meticulously, one by one, John opened new browser tabs with photographs of the remaining twenty women named Devana.
"Not her," Adele said quickly. She shook her head. Again and again, she said, "No. Nope. Too small. Brown hair. Not pretty enough."
They cycled through the list. They reached the last name. Devana Johnson.
John clicked on the name. The woman looked like she was in her forties, even though the license said she was thirty.
Adele growled. "It's none of them. Dammit."
John sighed. "Maybe Devana isn't registered."
"Again. Let's go through the photos again."
They did, slower this time. But the women didn't look anything like the previous victims. Adele could feel her heart plummet.
"What was that other name?" John said, trying to keep them on track.
Adele's stomach twisted, but she said, "Natalie."
John entered the new name. He refined the parameters once more. And again, Adele could feel her pulse racing out of control. And again, they narrowed down to a list of names. Only ten this time.
One by one, they opened the photographs and cycled through. "This one doesn't have a photo," John said with a frown.
Adele tapped the screen. "Deceased," she said. She felt a jolt of sadness but didn't have the time to linger on compassion. "Not her. Move on."
John cycled through the last few photos.
Simultaneously, they both perked up. "Her," John and Adele said at the same time.
They stared at the photo on the screen. A beautiful, blonde woman. She had fresh features. According to her license, she was five-foot-nine
"She looks just like that woman in Amsterdam," Adele said hurriedly.
John was nodding, already copying the information.
"I'm texting it to us," he said. "But what about Devana? What if she's the actual target?"
Adele fidgeted uncomfortably. John messaged the details where Natalie worked to Adele's phone. She paused, fingers hovering over her pocket. Then, with a snarl of frustration, she said, "You stay here. Keep researching. Start contacting any criminal databases to see if someone fitting Devana's description was caught for any illegal prostitution. I don't know, whatever you need John. Pull out all the stops. You need to find this woman."
"That's a needle in a haystack."
"You need to find her. Natalie looks like the woman from Amsterdam. But that was the whole point. They all did. It could still be Devana."
John leaned back in his chair, scowling up at her. "And what are you going to do?"
"What do you think," Adele said, turning on her foot, and breaking into a jog. John tried to call after her, but Adele didn't hesitate. She had to reach Natalie. The woman was the spitting image of the other victims. The killer was already on the move—he would kill again. They always did.
John would have to find their missing Cinderella. One of these women, Adele was certain, would be the next victim. The same trafficker had dealt with two of the victims from Belgium. Either she had missed it again, or she was right on target.
She ignored the strange glances from other police officers as she jogged through the lobby, through the sliding, glass doors, and hastened down the steps towards her parked car. She ripped her phone from her pocket, double checking the address where Natalie still worked. A club about twenty miles away.
Nearly a thirty-minute drive in German traffic. She could only hope Natalie still had thirty minutes.
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
Adele screeched into the parking space. It struck her as strange that a brothel would have handicap spot. "Civilization," she muttered beneath her breath, throwing open the door and slamming it. She locked the vehicle behind her as she hastened towards the inconspicuous entrance.
The door was half open, and a figure was emerging.
The person in question was an older man, with a satisfied expression. One look at Adele, in her suit, coming from the tinted windowed car, and he frowned, ducking his head and picking up the pace.
She heard him mutter, "Cop."
She didn't care, she rushed towards the open door. As she tried to slip through, though, a big, meaty hand shoved out to push her back.
"Stop," the voice said.
"Police," Adele snapped. She flashed her identification, her jacket opening to reveal her side arm.
The big guy in the door, instead of looking concerned, looked irritated. "Can't you read?" said the gorilla.
He had no neck. One of his ears was missing. And he looked like his father had probably been a football player and his mother a cement mixer.
The man was nearly as wide as Adele's car.
He stood in the gap of the sliding door, glaring at her. He pointed towards her gun. "No weapons."
He indicated a sign next to him, with a list of banned contraband.
Adele hissed, "I'm with Interpol. Get out of my way."
The guy didn't budge an inch. "You can come in. The gun stays outside."
She just stared at him, stunned. "I don't have time for this."
He didn't move. Adele had to reach a quick decision. She might have been able to arrest him and get him out of her way. But the altercation would take too long.
With a hiss, she spun on her heel, sprinted back towards her car in a flurry of footsteps, unlocked the vehicle, ripped her holster off her hip and tossed it into the car. She shut the door, locked it again, and turned to face the guard. She opened her jacket to show her empty hip. "Happy?"
He stepped aside, bored. "Customer or provider?"
Adele jostled past him, hastening into the brothel. "Neither," she snapped.
She looked frantically around. The atmosphere inside the untoward establishment was cozy. A crackling fire and hearth. Club sandwiches on silver trays. Drinks in chalices rather than cups. Women in long dresses, with beautiful earrings escorted scruffier looking men through the place. Some of them moved upstairs towards rooms. Others laughed and guided the men out behind the building toward a steaming swimming pool.
Adele's gaze bounced around the space. It was far more attractive on the inside than the outside.
She wasn't sure what to make of this.
She took a moment to realize she was standing alone, unarmed. But it was too late to turn back. Back-up was on its way. She'd already placed a call in her breakneck race to the club. But they were minutes out. She wasn't sure she had minutes.
She reached out, snagging the arm of one of the waitresses. The woman had a low-cut top, a tantalizing smile, and swishing diamond earrings. "May I help you?" the woman said. She began to extend a tray with small, fruit beverages.
But Adele ignored the tray. "Natalie, where is she?"
The waitress still smiled but looked confused. "Excuse me?"
"She's tall, blonde, pretty. Belgian. Natalie."
The waitress’s eyes widened. "Um, maybe you should speak with the manager."
Adele's grip tightened on the woman's wrist. Not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to make it clear she wasn't going to let go without a struggle. "Please," Adele said, "where is she?"
The waitress’s eyes darted up the stairs. "With a client," she said, with a whisper. "If you want an appointment you have to speak to the manager. Now please, the gentleman over there wants a drink."
Adele released her grip, hastening towards the stairs and taking them two at a time.
She needed her weapon. But she couldn't go back to get it. The bouncer would cause more trouble.
She growled beneath her breath. Part of her hoped, desperately, that John was able to track down the second woman. If she was wrong about this. If she had taken a shot and missed, they would need that second name. That second location.
But now, she felt a slow, daunting sense of unease.
She could feel, deep in her bones, that she was getting closer. She hastened down the hall, kicking open a door.
A scream, a shout.
"Sorry," Adele hissed, wincing. Wrong skin color. Wrong hair color. Wrong gender.
She moved on to another door and pushed this one open.
No one was inside. She could hear the shower water running followed by giggling. Playful laughter.
Adele cursed, moving on to the next door. She pushed this one open too.
From behind her, she could hear angry voices. It sounded like the thick bouncer. Stomping footsteps thundered up the stairs.
Her eyes landed on two figures on the bed.
A cozy, well lit room. Another fireplace, but this one electric.
Her gaze, though, was drawn to the two figures.
A man crouched over a blonde woman, his hands around her neck.
The woman was wheezing, the man gasping. His fingers tightened on the woman's throat. Her legs kicked.
Adele shouted, barreling into the room. She flung herself at the killer, knocking him off the bed. The two of them hit the ground. Adele's shoulder struck floorboards with a loud crack!
The man she'd tackled groaned, flopping onto a carpet in front of the fireplace. The woman, half naked, screamed, tugging the blankets up and around her.
Adele gasped, "Are you okay?" she said. "Are you all right?"
The woman on the bed was Natalie. The blonde hair, the beauty. She looked as if she hadn't aged a day since her license picture.
The only difference was the glare. She was scowling at Adele and slipped off the edge of the bed, moving towards where the man was still groaning. She patted him on the chest, rubbing her fingers through knotted chest hair. "I'm so sorry, dear. I don't know who this crazy bitch is."
Adele stared.
The woman glared at Adele again, still stroking the john's chest hair. "Idiot woman," she snapped. "What do you think you're doing?"
Adele gaped, blinking. "He was choking you!"
"And he paid handsomely to do it," she retorted. "You just cost me my rent."
Adele stared. The woman didn't seem harmed at all. She was breathing regularly enough.
A slow, sinking realization of dread filled Adele. She glanced at the man on the ground. Too fat. He wasn't the man from the video feed. He was now trying and struggling to sit up. Too old. This wasn't the killer. She'd made a horrible mistake.
She heard a loud thump and looked back to see the bouncer in the door, glaring at her, a finger pointing.
Adele returned the angry look. "Touch me, and this time I will arrest you."
The bouncer yelled, "Get out!"
Adele glanced once more at the prostitute, making sure she was okay. All she received for her trouble was a rude hand gesture.
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