"He's on this street. House number three."

  As Gabe turned into the street, Cora took a look around. The village they were in was very small, and it looked historic. It was worlds away from the bustle of Paris, a quiet place, well-treed, set on the banks of a canal, with houses that were small and looked historical and cobblestoned paths winding between them.

  They climbed out and headed toward the house.

  Cora could see an old Fiat parked under the overhang next to the small stone cottage. So Marcel was hopefully at home.

  She knocked, waiting, listening.

  After a few moments, she heard footsteps approaching the door. But it didn't open. Instead, a suspicious voice asked from behind it, "Who's there?"

  "Investigators," Cora said briefly. "Is that Marcel Damian?"

  "So what if it is?" he shot back.

  "We want to know about your involvement in the foundation."

  There was a short, surprised silence. Then the man uttered a loud oath.

  "You can turn around right now. I'm not answering your questions. And I'm not letting you in. I have nothing to say! Nothing at all!"

  "Really?" Cora asked.

  "Go away! That foundation was nothing but trouble, and I'm well rid of it," he said, sounding furious.

  But while he had ranted to her, Cora had been taking the time to have a closer look at the house.

  There was a window on the side wall that she thought would work just fine for her purposes. If Marcel wasn't coming out, then she was going in.

  She wasn't taking the word no for an answer. Not any longer, and not in this case.

  “Wait here,” she said to Gabe. This wasn’t a job for a man with an injured hand. Gabe needed to stay on the other side of this window for now. As for her, she was going in to confront Marcel Damian and make him talk.

  Jumping up, she grabbed the sill and swung her leg over it.

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

  Cora dropped to the ground, landing lithely in a crouch, looking quickly around. She'd gained entry through the window of a spare bedroom. A tiny single bed stood opposite. There was an old framed painting on the wall and a scuffed armchair in the corner.

  The door was ajar. She marched over and flung it wide, bursting through. There was no time to waste in confronting this unwilling suspect.

  She was in a corridor that led down to the hallway. And at the far end of the hallway, just turning away from the front door with a smug smile on his face, was Marcel.

  He had a sallow, long face and dark hair that fell in tendrils around it. When he saw Cora, his smug expression disappeared, and he looked shocked, his eyes wide.

  "What the hell are you doing in my home?" he shouted.

  "I'm here to get answers," Cora snapped. She was all out of patience with his evasive ways.

  He came at her, fists flying. Clearly, he had a temper on a hair trigger. She could see he wasn't the compliant personality that the foundation had been looking for. No wonder they'd kicked him out.

  Cora dodged the first blow, grabbed his wrist, and twisted it up behind his back. He tried to wrench it away and almost got lucky. She hung on grimly, and he kicked out at her, yelling angrily, but she jumped aside, avoided his thrashing foot, and then yanked his hand up even harder. He cried out in pain, and Cora took advantage of his momentary distraction to grab him by the collar and push him up against the wall.

  "Do you own an amulet with a red stone? Did you lose it recently?" she asked.

  He shook his head. "No! No, I don't own any such thing. Are you mad? Why are you even asking me this?"

  "What are you trying to hide?" she demanded. "You know about the killings, don't you?"

  Marcel glared at her, his breathing ragged. "I don't know what you're talking about," he spat. "What killings are these? I thought you wanted to ask me about the Foundation and that bunch of losers. Now you're bringing killings into it? Get out of my house!"

  Abruptly, he flung his weight back, using his bigger build to try to knock her off balance.

  Cora stumbled back, taken by surprise, but in a moment, she recovered, twisting aside and yanking him all the way forward. If he wanted to use his momentum to try to get out of this, she could only help him.

  Now, he was the one who ended up stumbling, falling down onto one knee. Cora grabbed him by the back of his neck with her other hand, finding a pressure point, digging in.

  She didn't want to break his bones. The fair was fair. She had gotten into his house without his consent. But he was being obnoxious and obstructive, and she didn't have time for this behavior.

  "There have been murders at the foundation," she explained. "The last one, very recently. So instead of trying to knock me onto the floor, which is not going to work for you, why don't you tell me where you were last night."

  "Why should I tell you?"

  She dug her fingers harder just to remind him.

  "Because it's nice to be cooperative," she said, teeth gritted.

  He was breathing hard now, his shoulders rising and falling.

  "Look, I was home last night. Home! I was here. Where else would I be?"

  "Anyone with you?"

  "Yes. My friends were there. We were playing cards, drinking, relaxing. We were having a normal evening. Now stop squeezing my neck."

  "Tell me what time they left?"

  "Two of them slept over in my living room. We got to bed at about two a.m., and I was up at six because one of them set the alarm off and then had to leave."

  That would put him outside the time window for the killings. So, despite being a thoroughly unpleasant person, it seemed that Marcel was not the murderer.

  "Give me proof," she growled. "I'll let go of your neck, but I want proof of what you were doing."

  "What the hell proof do you want?"

  "Messages? Did you confirm this game? Anyone text you afterward?" She let go of his neck. "Find the proof. And don't try anything. I'm not in the mood to break your bones, but I will if I have to."

  He glared at her, but he didn't try anything.

  Cora stepped back, giving him some space. She watched as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He scrolled through messages, his face growing more and more frustrated with each swipe. Finally, he pulled up a text conversation with his card-playing friends. Cora leaned in to read it.

  The message timestamps aligned with what he said. He wasn't the killer.

  "Okay," she said. "Next time, try cooperating. It ends better."

  She turned, walked back the way she'd come, and vaulted out of the window.

  Gabe was waiting for her. He looked relieved to see her approach.

  "I'm guessing, since you came out alone, he's not the killer?" he asked.

  She shook her head. "He has an alibi for last night. I confirmed it, and it's solid. So it must surely be Lucas Schubert. He must have come back from Germany."

  Gabe nodded. "Yes. If there are only two possibilities in that birth month, then it has to be Lucas. Doesn’t it?"

  As they were walking back to the car, Cora's phone rang. She picked it up, feeling expectant, because it was Brady calling, and that meant she'd know if Lucas had returned to France, and if so, when.

  But Brady sounded disappointed.

  "Your suspect is still in Germany," he said.

  "Are you sure?" Cora asked incredulously.

  "Confirmed. He hasn't come back to France. He’s had regular credit card transactions in Munich. Ongoing."

  “But –” Cora began. He could have sneaked back over the border, couldn’t he? There were other ways he could have ended up back in France. But Brady was ahead of her.

  "I knew you'd want more confirmation, so I looked him up. He's on social media. He's working as a marketing assistant in Munich. He updates his profile periodically. The last time was yesterday, and he was busy organizing an event that was scheduled for today. So his time’s accounted for recently.”

  "Thanks, I appreciate that, and it rules him out," Cora said briefly, hanging up and frowning as she absorbed this bombshell.

  They'd had two suspects just a few minutes ago. Now, they had none.

  "What do you make of this?" she asked Gabe in frustration.

  He shook his head. "Maybe the amulet has some other meaning. Maybe it's not the birth month. It was a great idea, but it could be just a gift or a family treasure or something. And in that case, I guess we've got to relook at who he is and find him some other way."

  Cora nodded. "Maybe we have to go back to what these victims have in common," she said.

  "You think that'll help us?" Gabe asked.

  "Yes. There must be a reason why he's picking them out of so many others. We haven't looked closely enough at who they are. If we can work out what they share, then we might just find that their commonality points to who he is."

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  It was now a matter of urgency to pin down the commonality between the victims.

  "So, we need to do some intensive research," Cora said to Gabe. They were back in their hotel room after a visit to the local doctor, where Gabe's wound had been cleaned and three stitches inserted.

  Tiny though their bedroom was, it had fast wifi, and the bed was a comfortable place to sit. Side by side, their shoes kicked off, leaning back against the headboard with laptops on their legs, she and Gabe went to work.

  Now, what could they find in common between the three who'd been murdered?

  "We've got Heidi le Roux, we've got Serena Cheron and Tony Inkley. Three, out of probably thirty who've been promoted during this time?" Cora said. "Same ceremony, same protocols. But these three were killed."

  Gabe nodded in agreement. "I suggest we start with the victim's backgrounds, see if there's any overlap there."

  Working on background research was a time-consuming process, and Cora hoped that it produced what they needed. Seeing as how they had some of Heidi's background already in the dossier that Stefan had provided, it now remained to research the other two.

  Quickly, she compiled a list. It included the date when they arrived in France - if they were foreigners. The date when they were accepted at the foundation. She made a note of their approximate height, their age and took a look at their features. All of them were attractive, that she noticed. But she was sure that a lot of others who joined the foundation were, too.

  "They're all blond?" Gabe suggested. He was checking the social media profiles of the victims.

  "Would you say so?" Cora asked, frowning at the screen. "To me, it looks as if Tony Inkley has brown hair."

  "Yeah, you're right," Gabe said. "He bleached it up a few months ago, but it's darker again in the most recent photo. He had a few comments here from friends that blond suits his eyes better, but he said it was too hard to maintain."

  "Blond suits your eyes," Cora quipped, appreciating a lighter moment before returning to her intensive research.

  All social media profiles had been set aside when the three joined the foundation. Cora guessed it was no longer allowed. There were no more updates, but the profiles hadn't been removed. They were still visible online.

  "They all liked dancing," Gabe said. "They're all only children."

  "Interesting," Cora agreed. There were a few similarities here, but she still wasn't closer to understanding why they would have been targeted by the killer. There were probably a lot of only children in that setup. She thought it was designed to attract them, make them feel part of a bigger family they'd never had.

  Cora tapped her fingers on her knee, feeling frustrated. They'd been at this for what felt like hours and still hadn't found anything concrete. The only thing that seemed to connect the victims was that they had all been promoted within the ranks recently, but that meant nothing when others had, too.

  "Maybe this is just a random choice of victims based on jealousy," she said eventually. "Maybe he's just sneaking onto the premises when he can, whenever he has time. Gabe, do you think we're going about this the wrong way? Perhaps we shouldn't be looking at their commonalities. Maybe we should be looking at all the people who didn't make it. Who left the cult? We got the two who were born in October, but that still leaves a lot of others."

  "The leader is the one who would know who left on bad terms," Gabe said. "I think your theory's good. And he never sent us that list in any case, so it's time to go back and question him again."

  ***

  Cora was getting used to the drive between the hotel and the foundation's premises. It seemed to be going faster and faster each time. It felt like no time had passed before they were sitting in that living room again, staring at those blank walls and waiting for the leader to show his face.

  "Someone who left under a cloud, or after a fight, or because they were kicked out for bad behavior?" she suggested.

  "Yes," Gabe agreed. "Maybe someone who was frequently passed over for promotion and saw others go ahead, getting higher? This man needs to have a strong reason for harming the people who stayed and were promoted."

  "Wait!" Cora's head snapped up. She half rose from her wooden seat.

  "What?" Gabe stared at her in surprise, then also stood up as he saw Cora was looking at something beyond him. Something on the other side of the window that was diagonally behind him.

  "While we were talking, I'm sure I saw a flash of movement from there. Someone was looking in, and the minute I looked their way, they ducked out of sight. Gabe, wait a sec. I'm going to go out and see."

  Cora ran for the entrance, sprinting around the outside of the farmhouse building to where the window was.

  It was a big sash window, about a yard off the ground and a yard high. There was nobody there. Nobody around.

  But when she looked closer at the soil below the window, she saw a footprint there. It wasn't deep - the soil was shallow - but it looked fresh.

  It was definitely a man's size, and she picked up the tread of a thick sole. So it was a farm shoe or a work boot. Not that this narrowed it down because everyone wore them. But for sure, someone had been standing out here and looking in.

  This place was being staked out, and she was sure it was the killer. He was bold - extremely so - and stealthy. Why had he been looking in? But now, there was no sign of him. He could have run behind one of several outbuildings or else into the thicket of trees nearby.

  Shaking her head in puzzlement, she returned to the farmhouse door and headed inside.

  She arrived back in the living room at the same time as the leader emerged from down the corridor.

  He had regained his composure overnight, she saw. Now, he didn't look stressed but rather calm and collected.

  "Have you had any results?" he asked. "The police are still gathering information, but their speed is glacial."

  Cora shook her head. "We need more information from you," she explained.

  She thought that would put him off, and it did. Immediately, he frowned.

  "More? What do you need?"

  "You said you’d send us a list of the people who left. We still need that. Now it’s urgent. And in particular, we need to know about everyone who's left this foundation on bad terms. Everyone who left under a cloud. You know who's who.”

  He shook his head, looking reluctant. "People are entitled to their privacy if they choose to leave," he grumbled. "Especially those who aren't in the inner circle."

  "Do you want this crime solved or not?" Cora demanded. "Why do we have to force information out of you? What are you so scared of?”

  "It's just the way we operate here," he muttered.

  “Do you know that there is someone prowling around your property right now? Gabe was attacked with an ax earlier, and someone was looking in the window just now. I went out to try and see who it was, but they were gone. You need to get more security on site and give us what we need, fast. Or I promise you, you'll have another death on your hands soon."

  "All right.” He took a deep breath. I'll put a list together. You'll have it within twenty minutes, and I’ll email it to you.”

  Then he turned and strode down the corridor again.

  Cora had to be satisfied with that, she guessed. They had a promise and a timeframe. In twenty minutes, back at the hotel again, they'd be looking at a list. And it would hopefully have the killer's name on it.

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

  This time, she’d scared Pierre enough that he kept his word. By the time Cora arrived back at the hotel, rushing in with Gabe behind her, the list was already in her inbox. She opened it and scanned through it eagerly.

  There were a total of sixteen people who'd left within the past year up to the time the killings began. Eleven of them were men. Two, who they'd already been to see, had a star next to them, indicating that the parting had been acrimonious.

  And there was one other name that had a star next to it, showing the same, with a brief note below it.

  "Tolmay Gois," Cora said. "He was rejected and left a couple of months ago. I see here he had an injury, and he was asked to leave as he couldn't advance and wasn't able to work in the fields anymore."

  "So he didn't choose to leave," Gabe said.

  "Nope. He was kicked out. And he was mad about it. It says here he sent threatening letters to the foundation."

  "Does it give the details? Gabe asked. "Does it mention anywhere what was in those letters?"

  "No. The actual threats are not listed here. All it says is that threats were made. But clearly, he was really angry about it. Although, that was two and a half months ago?" She glanced questioningly at Gabe. "Too long? Do you think we should look for someone who left more recently?"

  "Anger might take time to build," Gabe said. And then he shook his head, sighing. "Or else, that injury took time to heal. That's something we didn't think about."

  "That could be it," Cora said. "He was injured, he got mad, he left. As soon as his injury was better, he decided to get payback, and that fits the timeframe."

  "Now for the next question," Gabe said. "Is he local?"

 

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