Left to Vanish (An Adele Sharp Mystery—Book Eight)

often enjoyed the attention.
At last, though, Adele said, “Whatabout a rosary? Stronger twine than beads… Not as valuable as pearls.”
“Signora Calvetti was not a religiouswoman,” said Paige frowning.
“Not Calvetti’s rosary. The killer’s.What if he brought it?” Adele nodded more firmly this time as if carried by asurge of momentum. “Maybe the killer has religious motivations…” She paused now,though, a look of doubt crossing her features, and she sighed, shaking herhead. “Maybe not, though.”
The coroner clicked his tonguelike a doting mother.
Paige frowned at Adele’s theory.There was no evidence of a rosary, only an outline. Young agents often jumpedto conclusions too early. Paige would have to keep an extra tight lid on thisinvestigation if they wanted to get anywhere meaningful. “Anything else?” Paigeasked, looking at the enormous man.
He nodded, chipper and cheerful.As he opened his mouth to respond, though, Paige snapped, “Cut it out with themetaphors and get on with the point. This isn’t art. It’s murder.”
The man blinked, taken aback. Hissmile faded a bit, but then, frowning from beneath his whisked hair, hemuttered, “Definitely death by strangulation. Couldn’t have taken more than aminute. She didn’t suffer much.”
“I’m sure that will consolesomeone,” Paige said. “But how about evidence, clues? Little red fibers or somebutton…” She waved a hand. “Anything?”
“Little red fibers?” The large manwrinkled his nose. “No, I’m afraid nothing like that.” This time was it herimagination or had he flashed her a condescending look? Her eyes hardened,glaring at him, but he just glanced off, feigning ignorance.
“Fine,” Paige said, growling. “AgentSharp, I’ll be phoning for another taxi outside. This was a waste. We havenothing new.” She said it loudly, so the large galoot could hear, then, withone last look toward the victim, she turned on her heel, marching back towardthe door.
“Where next?” Adele asked, hervoice faint.
Paige didn’t look back, just noddedonce, approving of Adele’s willingness, at least for now, to hand over the reinsto the investigation. Paige was the senior agent after all.
“London,” she snapped. “Nothinguseful here. Might as well go see what we can find about that first victim.Maybe it is a serial case.”
“What about the board member Anitamentioned?”
Paige snorted, waving a hand. “I’vebeen in boardrooms like that. Behind closed doors, far worse has been uttered.Besides, that board member wouldn’t have any reason to visit London. No, wehave our next step.”
Adele said, “All right then, ifyou’re sure. How soon can we get a flight to the UK?”
“An hour, two tops. Foucault willset it up himself.”
Paige then stepped into the hall,out into the cold gray corridor and toward the front door again. She heard asoft muttered apology behind her and then the sound of quickened footsteps asAdele made to give chase.
The large coroner’s voice boomedout after them, “Break a leg!”

CHAPTER EIGHT
Gianna stared at himself in thereflection of the small hostel’s glass window, his eyes tracing the bucoliccountry scene against the ridge of firs. He smiled softly to himself, one handgripping the handle. The other hostel guests would be out until evening. He’dasked early the previous day, so he could plan out his own particular getaway.
“Gianna Calvetti…” he murmuredsoftly. His new name. The last one he’d only had for three days. This onewouldn’t last much longer either.
He always took their names when hereleased their souls to perdition. “Is anyone there?” he whispered in a soft,feminine voice, watching the way his lips moved in the reflection of the glass.“Is anyone in there?” He grinned to himself. He was getting better at emulatingthe voices of his camouflage.
“Fifty-eight! And don’t you forgetit!” he declared, nodding at the glass, his voice still soft and lilting. Justlike hers had been. His fingers tightened even more against the handle. “Don’tyou forget it! Fifty-eight! Don’t you forget!”
And then he gritted his teeth,swinging the whip hard. The small pieces of bone embedded in the thickcords gouged into his back and he hissed in pain.
“Not a day…” he gasped. “Over…” Hestruck himself again. A whirring sound, a snap, the pain. “Fifty-eight!” hescreamed.
He stood there, breathing heavily,shirtless in the window, watching the countryside with wide eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered to theglass. “I’m sorry, oh great Judge! I’m sorry, your eminence!” He screamed the prayerat the ceiling as the whip came whistling back again, scoring Gianna’sshoulders. “I’m so sorry,” he sobbed.
He’d killed the original Gianna,taken her soul and name. She’d deserved to die, of course. But even as aninstrument of righteousness, an instrument of the mighty Judge, he still had toatone for the taking of a life.
Another whistling sound, anotherdull thud, followed by spittle falling from clenched teeth. Hewas on his knees now, feeling the warm blood spilling down the crease of his back.“Anyone there?” he whispered, still lilting and soft. “Anyone in there?”
Another strike.
She’d blasphemed the Judge.Blasphemed his holy ground. She hadn’t deserved her skin. Nor had she deservedthe gift of a soul.
“Is anyone there?” he whispered. “Yes,”he snarled back in a much deeper, darker voice. “You stupid whore. I’m here… I’mhere for you!” He gritted his teeth, whipping himself with the bone-tippedflail again. He yelled once more, but this time smiling as warm blood drippeddown his shoulders, down his back, to his waist. “I’m here for you,” hewhispered.
He nodded adamantly, gasping, hischest heaving as he stared out the small German hostel’s window. No longer inItaly. No. The next stop was here. Only five miles down the road.
Of course, he’d already memorizedthe security system, memorized her schedule. Gianna was clever when sheneeded to be. Gianna was careful. He’d been planning this for years now…
They should have left him alone.They shouldn’t have done what they did. Mothers, they called themselves. Aflock of black geese. They’d whipped him then, too.
Nearly fifty years ago. Only five…He’d only been five…
But he’d understood pain then, andhe understood it now.
“Is anyone there?” he whispered,tears now falling from his eyes. “Is anyone?”
A whistle. A snap. A howlof pain.
Yes… Yes, he’d atone now and thenatone again when the time came. Only five miles away for his next stop. Fivemiles for the vengeance of the Judge to descend in fire and brimstone. To descendon those who dared to speak for the ever-watcher,