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  Beyond, one of the mountain peaks dwarfed the buildings. The friend smiled, his eyes lingering on the shadows cast by the mountain, spreading over the entire resort.

  The friend—that’s what he considered himself. And that’s what he was. A friend to the trees, to the mountains, to the creatures in the forest. A friend to the earth. A friend to the way things were, and should be.

  But these folks, encased in their glass cocoons and stone structures, these people who even now, this very day, were spreading their fear across the mountains. Fear in the form of safety lights, of helicopters, of disturbances. Fear in the form of glass houses and stone siding.

  The friend didn’t need fear to survive. He was an ally of the mountains. But not all could be seen this way. Not all were as dedicated. And weakness…weakness wasn’t to be punished, no. Not punished.

  That was a weak-minded thought. The man placed his knife on the stone, got to his feet, and moved over to the nearest tree where he had built his shelter, hidden in the forest. He grabbed an axe leaning against a low branch, wiggled it a couple of times in his hand, and then swung, splitting a log clean in two on the first blow. He gripped the axe and hefted it, testing its weight. He would need it again soon.

  No, the weak wouldn’t be punished. They had to be culled. For the good of the herd. For the good of the mountains. For the good of the Alps. The man swung his axe again, splitting the standing partition of splintered wood.

  He whistled and smiled to himself. Just then, the small pager, the only electronic he allowed himself, began to beep. The man’s eyes narrowed in annoyance, but then he relaxed. The small beeping noise marred the trees and the snowy silence of the beautiful Alps. And yet it heralded a death knell. They were calling him into work.

  He glanced toward the resort once more, his lips curling. He would be given a chance to cull the herd once more. A good shepherd. A friend. Serving the mountains, serving his species, and serving the future.

  A servant’s heart. He swung the axe one last time, and it split the final log with a dull thwack!

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Adele watched her father shake the phone and wiggle it beneath his nose. He glared at Adele. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

  She had been lost in thought, nursing a beer while sitting in the bar. The Respite in the Cliffs was opened, and now, in the glinting sun of late afternoon, had filled with customers.

  There weren’t as many people as before. Perhaps, she supposed, many of them were at the opening of the other resort. The sky outside was streaked with grays and cloudy wisps of fog under the sunlight.

  Now, she nursed her beer and examined her father with a raised eyebrow.

  “Is that my phone?” she asked, frowning. Adele had turned it on silent for the last hour. Sometimes this helped her think.

  Her father nodded and shook it again. “I think it’s a file? A downloadable video file in the system hardware.”

  Adele blinked. He was clearly trying, but it was hard not to smirk at his description of anything to do with technology.

  “A video file,” she said. “Who’s it from?”

  “It says Robert.”

  Instantly, some of Adele’s good humor faded. “Robert sent a video?” She extended a hand, wiggling her fingers, and said, “Give it to me, please.”

  Her father shrugged after one long look at the phone, as if suggesting this wasn’t over between them, then handed the device to his daughter.

  Adele unlocked the phone with a finger pattern and scanned the message. Indeed, Robert had sent her a video. She scanned through the contents, and a small, dark scene played out before her.

  Robert’s voice, low, huffing as if out of breath, said, “Couldn’t reach you. You didn’t pick up.” He emitted a coughing sound before continuing. “But you need to see this. We found this at the scene. It took a while, but the locals spotted it before cleaning and bagging.”

  Adele stared at the video, grazing it nearly to her nose so she could see where Robert had been pointing his camera.

  “What is it?” her father demanded.

  Adele saw blood streaks on a wooden floor, a dusty cabin. Support beams filled with rot. Mold along parts of the walls. A glass window shattered. But then, there, as Robert’s hand became steady, she spotted two red fibers stuck beneath a nail slightly bent to a horseshoe angle in the wall.

  The phone gave a brief view of the remains of the carnage they discovered. The medical examiner and his team had been through already, but Adele could still spot parts of blood and frozen chunks of flesh that had yet to be cleaned up.

  She winced, and then Robert returned the phone’s view frame back toward the two red fibers.

  “Tell them to hold it still,” her father demanded. “I can’t see it.”

  Adele sighed. “It’s not a call, it’s just a video. This was taken an hour ago.”

  Her father crossed his arms and huffed, causing a portion of his walrus mustache to shudder. For her part, Adele studied the frame, paused the video, and examined the two fibers. Red: a pretty common theme in resort employees’ uniforms in Germany. The same in France?

  There was a crackling, staticky sound, and then Robert turned the phone to himself. Adele glimpsed John, his dark silhouette in the doorway behind the lead investigator. She then watched Robert as he smoothed his neatly trimmed mustache and smiled at her, displaying two missing teeth in the front of his mouth. “Hello, dear,” said Robert. “John and I are cross-referencing employees right now between the two resorts. Just wanted to keep you apprised and up to date. We should have the full record to you sometime this evening. Let us know if there’s any way we can help.”

  Adele heard John grunt, but the sound faded through the phone speakers. “Think it’s about time she starts helping us?” John called out, crossly.

  Robert smiled and gave a little wave, ignoring John’s comment. “Take care, Adele.” And then he clicked the phone shut.

  “Well, at least they’re cross-referencing common employees,” said Adele’s father. “Better than us, sitting here on our thumbs.”

  Adele raised an eyebrow at her dad, but didn’t say anything. She wasn’t sure if he was taking a shot at her investigative tactics, or if he was just expressing frustration in general. John and Robert had easier access to the DGSI resources than Adele had to BKA. Agent Marshall was once again back at the hotel, and Adele was running out of excuses to come see her father. She supposed eventually the cat would be out of the bag. For now, though, she was grateful to have her father incognito in the resort.

  “Did you hear anything?” she said, quietly.

  Her father examined her, rubbing one of his well-muscled forearms. “I heard a couple of rude comments about how I spend too much time in the bar,” he said.

  Adele quickly coughed, hiding a chuckle. “Anything related to the case? The Benevetis?”

  Her father glanced toward the far corner of the bar, where a couple of young men were chatting up the same girl. They’d come in together from what Adele could recollect.

  “Just some of the same. A few of the employees found the Italians obnoxious. The busboy, Joseph Meissner, had a particular grudge for Mr. Beneveti. Something involving a drink thrown in his face.”

  “Yeah, I heard that story. Think it was enough for him to go murderous?”

  “Hard for me to know. The employees shelter their own. They’re not particularly interested in befriending tourists. There’s a clear division between us and them.”

  “Sounds like most establishments. Did you manage to find out anything else?”

  Her father rubbed at the corner of his jaw and glanced toward the door as another couple entered the bar; the arrival announced with the tinkling of a small bell above the glass frame. He waited for them to pass and move out of earshot before continuing, “Sounds like some of the employees were fearful of the new resort that opened today. Thought it might cost them business, which could cost them their jobs.”

  Ade
le nodded. “So you think maybe they wanted to scare away customers?”

  “Perhaps. Or perhaps someone from the other resort wanted to scare away customers from their competition.”

  Adele looked at her father and smiled. It seemed like a good thought, at first blush. And her father was often clever with his ideas. But he’d never made a very good investigator. Already, she could think of a couple of reasons why this theory wouldn’t fit. For one, the bodies had been hidden, suggesting that whoever had killed the people hadn’t wanted them found. The bodies in the French Alps had nearly rotted before they’d been discovered. For another, neither of the families had any financial ties to the resort, so they would’ve been chosen at random. And so if a new resort were trying to muscle in on territory by scaring other customers, it wouldn’t be smart to do it on opposite sides of the Alps, suggesting that the new resort was also a potential target. It would simply drive down business for everyone. It was a good thought, but not a complete one.

  Adele nodded her gratitude to her father. “Well, just keep an ear open.”

  Her father sniffed and took a long drag of his own beer. “I don’t have any good soup,” he grumbled.

  Adele frowned at her hands, gripping the brown glass. She looked up and cautiously said, “I was wondering if you remember the last time we went on a ski trip.”

  Her father didn’t stiffen. He didn’t breathe heavily. He didn’t betray anything, except his eyes didn’t blink. He was playing it casual, but something in his gaze suggested she had piqued his attention more than her questions normally did.

  “Can’t say I recall,” he said.

  “I remember vaguely. I actually think it was the last vacation we took as a family. Mom was there too.”

  Still not blinking. Still, his tone casual. “Oh? You’d think I would remember that. Strange. I’m sure it was lovely.”

  He returned to drinking his beer.

  “Yeah, you’d think so,” said Adele. “I seem to remember a lot of skiing, fires. We played by the hot tub.” She waited, also not blinking, staring directly at her father’s face.

  “Oh,” he said, hesitant. “Right, well, I guess you could be correct.”

  “Is that ringing any bells?”

  “I suppose so. Yes. I remember. A small resort; nothing as nice as this. I think you were ten.”

  “Exactly. It was the last occasion we went out. I also remember other things. Arguments. I can’t quite recall what.”

  “Well, now I think you’re just failing to remember correctly,” her father said. “Elise and I never had the most loving relationship. Sometimes we would argue. But nothing unusual. Don’t let bad thoughts ruin a good memory.”

  Her father was now staring at his own beer, refusing to meet Adele’s eyes.

  Was he hiding something? It felt like he was hiding something. She thought to press on, but then, her mouth half open, she decided against it. There was no sense antagonizing him. Not yet. She was determined to get to the bottom of it, but for now, pressing him would only make him hostile.

  Still, she felt like he was hiding something from her. But she couldn’t quite recall what. Why?

  Her father continued to drink his beer, and Adele joined him, allowing the silence to linger and spread between them.

  For the next hour, they chatted vaguely, quietly, exchanging few words in the entire time. Talking with her father had never been as easy as talking with someone like Robert or even John. With Robert, she could sit by fire and immediately launch into a comfortable, cozy conversation. The warmth of the fire alone was tepid compared to the warmth from Robert himself. He was a safe presence, and had often made Adele feel welcome in his own home. She wondered why it was so hard for her father to model the same thing. They were of a similar age, after all. Robert dyed his hair, and had hair replacement. Her father was bald, with a bit of a paunch. But they still came from the same generation.

  She tried not to let bitterness overtake her. One couldn’t choose their family. But at the same time, as she watched her dad, she couldn’t help but let niggling thoughts creep in her mind. Thoughts of her mother, without a husband, alone in France. Thoughts of her father, sulking back in Germany. Thoughts of little Adele forced to move to another country, to choose between her parents.

  Just then, her phone began to ring. Adele glanced down and quickly picked it up. “Robert?”

  “John,” said the voice.

  Adele sighed. “Why are you using Robert’s number again?”

  “Adele, we’ve been over this. Look, no time. There is a connection.”

  Adele paused, going stiff, one hand braced against the circular, smooth wooden table, the other gripping her phone steady, as if her life depended on it. She stared straight ahead, her eyes narrowed. Something in her posture, her tone, must’ve alerted her father, and he looked up as well, his nose a bit red, his eyes laden; from sleep or the beers, she couldn’t tell. But now he looked alert all of a sudden, studying her.

  “Connection?” she asked.

  “An employee. A ski instructor. His name is Hans.” John grunted, suppressing a small snort of laughter. “Actually, Hans. Can’t make that shit up. But he was at our resort just a few days ago, but moved to yours this weekend.”

  Adele felt her fingers tingle where they touched the smooth surface of the device. “A shared instructor between the resorts?”

  “Exactly. He’s over there with you guys now.”

  “Are you on your way?”

  “Still looking for clearance,” said John. “All of this is still pretty political. Just wanted to hand it along to you. Hans Vosloo. Ski instructor. Look him up; he won’t be hard to find.”

  Adele nodded to no one in particular. “All right, thanks.”

  Then, before John could do his usual disappearing act, she hung up first and allowed herself a small smile of smug satisfaction as she closed her phone and placed it in her pocket.

  “What is it?” her father asked.

  “A lead,” she said. She glanced at the sky outside. It was still early enough in the afternoon for most skiers to get a few more trips before dark. Perhaps the ski instructors would still be active in a resort as high-end as this—there were only so many billable hours in a day.

  She crossed the small room and approached the bar. “Do you know a ski instructor by the name of Hans Vosloo?” she asked, gaining the attention of the barkeep. Heather furrowed her brow, but then she tapped her teeth with a long fake fingernail. “Yes,” she said, “he’s not a regular. He shares time between resorts. He should be on the intermediate hill. It’s behind the main resort on the cliff facing east.”

  “Thank you,” said Adele. She turned to leave, but Heather reached out, snagging her sleeve, and tugging her gently. Adele glanced back, raising an eyebrow.

  “Is Hans a suspect?” said Heather, staring at Adele.

  “Maybe,” she said. “We don’t know yet. Nothing to suggest he’s dangerous. Why?”

  “No reason.” Heather paused, and then, glancing at a couple of customers who were now looking in their direction curiously, she lowered her voice and said, “I know you’ve been looking at employees. I want you to know, I don’t think any of them did it. No, I know you think of course I’d say that. They’re family to me; a lot of them. Many of them have worked here for more than a decade. But I mean it. You’ve been talking about Joseph, too. I know that. He’s a good kid. All of the people here are hard workers. They’re not killers.”

  Adele met Heather’s gaze. “I hope it’s true. But people aren’t always what they first seem.” And with that, Adele turned and left Respite in the Cliffs, moving down the steps with her father in tow.

  “What now?” her father said as they stepped into the chilly evening air.

  “You can’t come with me,” Adele replied, pausing on the middle steps and glancing back at the Sergeant framed against the exterior of the bar. “You’re supposed to be incognito, remember.”

  “At least tell me where
you’re going.”

  “Intermediate slope, just beyond the main building. It might be closed, I don’t know. But if it’s open, we’re looking for man named Hans. He could be our suspect.”

  Her father’s eyes brightened, a quiet glee coming over him. He rubbed his hands together, and then seemed to realize he’d forgotten his gloves inside and quickly clasped them together for warmth. “You sure I can’t come?”

  “Sorry,” Adele said, apologetically. She descended the remaining stairs and got into the small golf cart she’d parked on the side of the road. She waved to her father, moving back toward the main building. She would have to talk to Agent Marshall and call in the BKA for backup. Then they would make their move.

  Adele could feel the thrill of the hunt, and she smiled as she drove her golf cart back along the snowy trails toward the main resort.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Adele glanced up the trail in the direction of the bar… just in case.

  Just in case what? Adele knew her father was a stickler for the rules. He almost seemed to take a pleasure in following orders from anyone except his daughter. This was the source of her concern. If she told him to do anything, it was a coin flip whether he would do the opposite. Still, there was no sign of the Sergeant following them on the trail. Hopefully that meant he’d stayed put.

  She adjusted her parka, glancing toward where Agent Marshall was muttering instructions to the other agents. Italian, Swiss, and German. Operators from more than three countries gathered together now, preparing to head up the snowy cliff of the intermediate trail to find Hans Vosloo.

  The Italians from AISE, three of them, stood off from the German agents, murmuring to each other and shooting distrustful glances in Adele and Agent Marshall’s direction. For her part, Adele stood with one foot on the protruding wooden step that led up to the base of the ski lift.

  “Is he still up there?” Adele asked, meeting Marshall’s gaze.

  The young BKA agent turned away from the two other German investigators at her side. “As far as we can tell, yes. The shift manager says he goes until seven. Another hour.”