Kill Plan (Ingrid Skyberg FBI Thrillers -) (16 page)

“What about the washroom?”

“Nothing. Which presumably means the poison was in the soap dispensers.”

“Which the killer removed. Right under our noses.”

“Wait a minute—I hadn’t arrived at that point.”

“OK—I admit it—I was the law enforcement officer he made a fool of.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“No offense taken. I’m just still so mad at myself about it.”

“But why would he take that risk?”

“Maybe it was his only opportunity to remove the evidence.”

“He could have just left the poison there. Wreaked more havoc.”

“He did what he came to do.”

“You’re still certain Fuller was the intended victim?”

“It’s the explanation that makes the most sense.”

“Then why not leave as soon as Fuller was dead? We still have that hour and a quarter to account for between Fuller’s death and the footage of Hernandez making his escape. Why did he hang around for so long?”

“Maybe he enjoys the thrill.” Ingrid tried to recall her Psychology 101: narcissistic sociopaths take great pleasure in watching the drama they’ve created unfold. Especially when it makes them feel so much smarter than the investigating officers. He must have been there, silently mocking them. Mocking her. Ingrid thought of Darryl Wyatt standing in the restaurant, watching Barbara Highsmith gasping her last breaths. “During your interviews of Fuller’s colleagues, did anyone mention seeing a cleaner hanging around the area while Fuller was actually dying?”

“Don’t forget, no one discovered Fuller for a little while. He was lying in the corridor outside the main trading area. It wasn’t until someone visited the toilet that anyone even knew he was in trouble.”

“Where the hell is Hernandez? You really have to put all your efforts into finding him.”

“You think?”

“Sorry. I’m really not telling you how to do your job.”

There was a silence at the other end of the line. Had she really offended him so much?

“Listen, I’ll be working right through the weekend,” Mbeke eventually said. “I’m just popping out of the station now to get a bite to eat. Would you like to join me?”

Ingrid paused. It didn’t
sound
like he was asking her out on a date.

“We could discuss the case in… slightly more pleasant surroundings.”

“The case? Sure, why not? I can be with you in less than thirty minutes.”

“Good, great. I’ll text you the address of the restaurant.”

*

By the time Ingrid and Mbeke had ordered their meal, they’d already raked over pretty much everything about the investigation that they’d discovered so far. Ingrid updated Mbeke on the Savannah poisoning case and he ran through how the City of London Police were liaising with other forces up and down the country to try to track Hernandez down.

“Without a photograph, or any consistent description of the man, we’re not holding out much hope,” Mbeke told her.

“Nobody on staff recognized the photograph I sent you?”

“Don’t you think you would have been the first to know if they had? No one notices the cleaners.”

“Apart from the other cleaners.”

“None of them is comfortable speaking to us. I think the cleaning agency might be running some sort of immigration scam. I’ve got some colleagues looking into it. But whatever they find, it isn’t exactly going to encourage any of the employees to tell us anything.” Mbeke was leaning his chin in his hands, his elbows planted on the table. He stared into Ingrid’s eyes, his gaze almost uncomfortably intense.

Ingrid started playing with the corner of her napkin, just for something else to focus on. “I guess it’s possible Hernandez has left the country already.”

“It’s impossible to say. Hernandez probably isn’t his real name. If he has left, I would imagine he’s got alternative paperwork for a different identity. Border control can’t help us.”

Ingrid wondered if maybe the suspect
was
smarter than the law enforcement agents investigating the case. She was certainly feeling decidedly dumb right now.

Mbeke sniffed loudly and sat up straight. “This is my first murder case, and I’m completely lost. I don’t have a single promising lead to follow up. I feel useless. I can’t help thinking there’s something blindingly obvious that I’m missing.”

“If there is, then I’m missing it too.”

A waiter approached their table holding a steaming bowl of pasta in each hand. Following the ritual of the black pepper grinding and the parmesan shaving, Ingrid and Mbeke ate in silence for a few minutes. They’d pretty much exhausted all case-related avenues of conversation. Then they both awkwardly started to speak at the same time.

“You first,” Ingrid insisted.

“I was just going to ask you about your life back in the US. A pathetic attempt at small talk.” He smiled at her.

Ingrid sensed this was the time to bring her fiancé into the conversation. But the thought of even mentioning Marshall’s name right now reminded her she was still mad at him. “Oh there’s not much to talk about, really. I pretty much live for the job. Sad, I know.”

“Not at all. I’m guilty of the same thing myself. You can ask my ex-wife!”

“Oh—I’m sorry.”

“It was all my fault. In the end it came down to choosing between the job and my marriage.”

“Do you ever regret choosing your career ahead of your love life?” Ingrid was aware just how career-focused she and Marshall were.

Mbeke raised his eyebrows.

“I’m sorry—that was too personal.”

“Not at all, I just wasn’t expecting it. When it came down to it, I couldn’t imagine doing anything else for a living. But I could see myself single again. I guess I’m just too selfish to be in a relationship.”

This was all getting a little too intense. Ingrid attacked the bowl of linguine with her fork as if she were trying to harpoon the prawns in their sea of cream sauce.

“What about you?” Mbeke asked.

Ingrid was afraid he might ask that. “Oh I love the job too. It’s in my DNA.”

“Literally? Your dad was a policeman?”

She laughed. “My dad was a hog farmer.”

“Some people might say those two professions are closely related.”

Ingrid laughed again, more out of embarrassment than amusement. Time to bring in the cavalry, much as it pained her to do so. “But my fiancé’s dad was a cop. A sheriff, as a matter of fact.”

“Your fiancé?”

She nodded and shoved another forkful of pasta in her mouth to avoid the need to speak. She couldn’t help but notice Mbeke’s shoulders sag a little. He stared down at his meal and chased a button mushroom around the bowl.

“Marshall and I are both married to the job, I guess,” she said, attempting to fill the awkward silence. “Maybe dating a fellow cop is the answer. We understand the issues. The missed dates, the forgotten birthdays.”

“How long have you been engaged?”

“Just over a year. But we started dating two years before that. And we’ve known one another forever—since Academy training at Quantico.”

“You joined the FBI at the same time?”

Ingrid nodded, regretting having brought the subject up. She tried to remember what Marshall had been like eight years ago. Her one abiding memory of him then was his old fashioned Southern charm. He was popular with all the female trainees. When he asked her out five years later, he not only impressed her with his charm, but with his tireless hard work and ambition. They had both wanted to make a difference back then. She wasn’t sure either of them had achieved anything close.

“I can see you’re a bit uncomfortable talking about it. Now it’s my turn to apologize for being too personal.”

“Oh, not at all. I was just lost in a little reminiscence.”

“And the long distance thing is working out OK for you?”

Ingrid thought about why she’d agreed to take on the embassy job in the first place. She’d needed time to work out what she wanted in her life. She’d hoped a little space and distance from her old job, and from Marshall, would help her in the decision making process. But she still hadn’t worked out what it was she wanted. Thinking about it now, she hadn’t really missed Marshall in the five months she’d been away. “Oh it’s working out fine.”

Mbeke frowned at her, making it quite clear he didn’t believe her.

Ingrid wondered just how much she and Marshall truly needed one another. What they continued to get out of their relationship. As she smiled blandly across the table at Mbeke, she knew she had some serious thinking to do.

26

“And what happened after that?” Natasha McKittrick had agreed to come apartment hunting with Ingrid. She should never have mentioned her brief supper with Mbeke to the detective inspector. Now McKittrick just wouldn’t let it go.

“We pretty much agreed on a strategy to implement going forward. All resources are now focused on finding Hernandez.”

She grabbed Ingrid’s shoulder. “You do realize Mills can never find out about your date. He’ll be devastated.”

“For crying out loud! How many more times? It wasn’t a date. I don’t go on dates. Ingrid turned back toward the real estate agent’s window. “I’ve got a new home to find.” She glanced at the details of the two or three rentals that were both in the right price range and more or less a fifteen minute motorcycle ride from the embassy. None of them screamed ‘pick me!’ at her. Maybe this was a mistake. Perhaps staying at the hotel made more sense.

“I can’t understand why you’d voluntarily walk away from four star luxury and twenty-four-hour room service,” McKittrick said, somehow reading Ingrid’s mind. “Not to mention having someone else wash and iron your clothes for you.”

“The novelty wears off after a while.”

“Does this mean you’re planning on staying in the UK? Only you’ve never actually said how permanent your posting is.”

“The Bureau will pay rent for the first six months, so maybe I’m here that long.”

“And what does Marshall think about that?”

Ingrid turned away and marched to the door of the realtor’s. “Are you helping me find an apartment or not?”

“Oh my God—you haven’t told him yet, have you?”

“I haven’t had the chance—every time I call he’s busy.”

“Time to take the bull by the horns—why not call him right now?”

Ingrid ignored her and stepped through the door, leaving McKittrick stranded on the sidewalk. After a few moments the detective slunk into the office, her head angled toward the floor.

“I’m sorry—I genuinely didn’t realize this was an issue for you.”

“It isn’t—I’ll call Marshall when I’m good and ready. I may not even find an apartment.” She headed toward the desk beneath the ‘lettings’ sign and waited for the agent to get off the phone. He smiled up at her.

“How can I help you two ladies today?”

Behind her, McKittrick let out a little groan and mumbled ‘Ladies’ in a sarcastic tone.

“In the window—you have details of a couple of apartments I’d be interested in seeing.”

“Sure, no problem.” He got up. “Care to show me which ones?”

After an extended, and clearly, as far as McKittrick was concerned, tedious few minutes of small talk, the agent took Ingrid’s details and they headed off in his logo-emblazoned Mini to the first apartment in Maida Vale. Ingrid had selected the area because it was a straight run from there to the embassy along Edgware Road. She’d be door to door in ten minutes most days. The small talk continued in the car until McKittrick put a stop to it when the agent asked them if it was their first home together.

“I’m not her partner,” the detective told him firmly. “I’m just here to make sure she doesn’t get ripped off.”

Ingrid was more than capable of ensuring that for herself, but she let McKittrick continue to harangue the guy for the rest of the ten minute car ride and throughout the viewing of the first apartment. It was actually quite entertaining to watch McKittrick ask the agent a series of awkward questions about both the property and the lease that he struggled to answer.

They finally exited the two-bedroom duplex on Elgin Avenue and the detective let rip. “Do you really think anyone would be desperate enough to live in a place like that? It’s barely fit for human habitation.”

“The rental market in this area is highly competitive,” the agent said. “Properties are snapped up before we can even print out the details.”

“OK—show us one of those,” Ingrid chimed in.

“I’m sorry?”

“One of the highly-sought after residences that everyone is clamoring for.”

“It’s not quite as simple as that. We’ve got people on waiting lists. I can’t just let you jump the queue.”

“Oh, come on. I bet you’ve got something so new it hasn’t even made it onto your books yet.” Ingrid treated him to her most fulsome smile. Then she pulled her badge from her purse. “I’ll be a very reliable tenant.”

He wrinkled his nose while he considered her request. “Oh, what the hell.” He reached into a pocket and pulled out a set of keys. “I only got the instruction yesterday. Haven’t see the property myself yet. It won’t have been cleaned or anything.”

“I think I have the imagination to see beyond a little dirt.”

“It’s in a mansion block—all services included in the rent. Fully furnished. About five minutes away. On the Maida Vale—St John’s Wood borders.” He said it like it was meant to impress her.

“Sounds perfect.”

It was a little more than five minutes, the property was on the far eastern edge of the area Ingrid had identified, but as soon as she walked through the apartment door she knew she had to have it. It was on the top floor, which meant it was light and airy and had fantastic views right across Regent’s Park. Leading off the square lobby area were five doors. The one right opposite the apartment door led into a large, high-ceilinged living area, sparsely furnished, white walled and wooden floored. Just the way she liked her apartments. She stood at the southern-facing of the two windows and gazed toward the park. Between the two windows was a door. Ingrid tried the handle—it was locked.

“Do you have the key?”

The real estate agent produced a key from a pocket and opened the door. It led out onto a small roof terrace. Ingrid stepped outside and inhaled. This was why she had to get out of the hotel: she needed to see the sky when she woke in the morning—to get a sense of space. She turned back toward the agent, he was barely inches away, literally breathing down her neck. “Can I have a little time to think about it?”