Left to Vanish (An Adele Sharp Mystery—Book Eight) Blake Pierce (classic english novels TXT) 📖

his ear as ifsomehow he found the sound soothing. His hands didn’t tremble as much now thathe was down in this room and when he replied, his tone was brighter, moreenergetic than it had been in any other setting, even when being chased byAgent Paige’s ramrod driving style.

“Yes,yes, here—here it is.” He nodded quickly and then tapped a finger to one of theopen folders. “I knew I had it. Here. See? 632 Routede Contis. I knew it was here.”

Adele blinked. 632 Route de Contis. The same address she’dasked Mr. Durand about. The home which had been knocked down and the rubblecleared—built up again. She shivered. What were the odds of that?

“That’s where this convent was built?” she asked, slowly. “632Route de Contis?”

Gregor nodded quickly, still tapping a finger rhythmicallyinto his binder. “There, there, see? The address. Written right there.”

Adele leaned in now, brushing nearer to Mr. Lavigne. Again,she smelled sweat, but also dust and something strange and sweet which seemedto be coming from a small row of jars against one side of the wall. Shefrowned, staring at the jars. “Is that…”

“Urine,” he said quickly. “Don’t worry, it’s my own.”

“That worries me.”

“It helps keep the brass clear. I tinge it with honey, anold trick. Sweetens the fragrance. Those buttons were from an old cardinal’suniform, you know.”

Adele stared at the brass buttons suspended in human urineand grimaced, glancing back at the binder now. She could hear Agent Paige movingsurreptitiously behind her. Adele could practically hear Paige’s thoughts. IfMr. Lavigne wanted to strike, to attack, now would be the time to do so. With herso close, in cramped quarters, out of sight from anyone else.

But he still leaned over the folder, pointing at an oldblack-and-white Polaroid taped to the page. Adele surreptitiously glanced athis hands—no concealed weapon she could determine.

Trust your instincts.

So she brushed past him now, shoulder to shoulder, staringdown at the indicated picture.

In the cramped frame, she spotted an old, wooden and stonebuilding with a circular window centering a crowned doorway. She hesitated,glancing from the photo to the white writing above the frame.

632 Route de Contis.

The photo itself displayed what looked to be a small and oldbuilding.

“That’s the cloister I was speaking of,” he murmured. “That’sit. The one where they sent…” His voice went softly hoarse, “thedemon-possessed children.”

“The mentally ill children,” Adele replied.

“Perhaps both.” He shrugged, his shoulder rubbing againsthers.

Again, she glanced toward the jar of urine-soaked buttonsand grimaced.

“All right… So that’s what we’re dealing with. Youmentioned you might have a picture of the nuns who ran this particular cloister.Do you?”

“Yes—yes, of course. Here. Look.” He flipped the folder toa second dividing page, muttered to himself, scanned and then flipped the pageagain. “Damn it,” he said. “I know it’s here some—there!” he suddenly declared,jabbing an excited finger toward a picture pressed to the middle of thedivider, surrounded by other old black-and-whites.

This picture, though, deserved its centered location ofhonor.

Five women in the frame, standing in front of the familiarbuilding now. One of them, in the middle, stood in just such a way that theround window of the old 632 Route de Contis building served as a sort of halobehind her head.

The other woman all stood angled toward this middle-mostperson.

All of them wore tight gray hair in buns, their eyes severeand certain, their postures docile but hinting at a hidden will of iron. Theirhands were folded in front of themselves, their dresses low, past their ankles,brushing the ground, their shoulders back in perfect postures.

Each of them looked near carbon copies of each other.

Adele leaned in staring, stunned. She felt her heart flutter.

They also looked similar to others…

“Paige, look at this,” she said sharply.

“I’m fine back here,” Paige returned. “Describe it to me.”

“No—seriously, come look.”

Paige sighed in frustration, but then, with the sound ofslow, cautious footsteps, she began to approach from behind, muttering darklyto herself. She circled around Gregor, preferring to press in on Adele’s otherside, her one hand still fixed to her holster, which, Adele noticed, wasunbuttoned.

“Look,” Adele said, quickly, jabbing a finger toward theindicated picture again. “See that? Anything unusual about them?”

Paige frowned, leaning in, staring at the picture of thefive women. “No,” she said, softly. She shrugged. “They look the same. Old andgray.” Paige reached up with one hand, brushing her hair behind one ear andscowling at the picture.

“Exactly—they look… Healthy, though, yes? Powerful. All ofthem in their fifties. All of them sharing a certain… bearing, yes? A proudbearing.”

Paige blinked, staring at the photo. “And?”

“If any of our victims were somehow taken back throughtime, dressed a certain way, would they stand out at all in that photo?”Adele asked, feeling her heart flutter in excitement, her mouth dry withanticipation. Her eyes itched from not blinking, but she kept her gaze fixatedon the centered picture. “It’s uncanny. They would fit right in. All of ourvictims would, wouldn’t they?”

“I—I suppose so. You think he’s going after a certain typebecause of this photo?”

“I think… Yes.”

“We already knew he had a hard-on for old ladies with moneyand pride. So what? How does that help us narrow anything.”

This time, Adele glanced toward Mr. Lavigne. “Well?” shesaid, softly. “Anything that might—”

“Before she’d even finished, he flipped over the photo andtapped a finger. “Their names,” he said, quietly.

Adele blinked, staring now at the five names scribbled onthe back of the Polaroid.

As she did, her mouth slowly fell open and a prickle spedup her spine and along the back of her arms. “Holy shit,” she said.

“Careful,” Gregor snapped, crossing himself.

“Sorry,” she murmured, leaning in now and rereading thenames.

“Ella,” she said, softly. “Aileen.”

“Gina,” Agent Paige completed, also leaning in now, astunned note to her tone. “The names,” she said. “They’re…”

“Practically the same as our victims’,” Adele said,shivering. “Obviously, Elke Schmidt is closer to Ella. Gina to Gianna Calvettiand…” Adele felt prickles across her face. “Aileen to Alaina Churchville. Butstill, a letter here, or there… That’s it. That’s why he’s targeting them. That’sthe narrowing focus.” She tapped her finger insistently just beneath the photobut stopped when Mr. Lavigne growled.

She raised her hand in a placating gesture, but then readthe last two names.