The Ingrid Skyberg Mystery Series: Books 1-4: The Ingrid Skyberg Series Boxset

by Eva Hudson

  “The main incident room is being remodeled. All the case files have to be transferred.”

  “Don’t you have people to do that for you?”

  “Supposedly.” The elevator arrived at the sixth floor and the doors slid open. McKittrick hurried through. “Only it’s much faster if I do it myself.”

  Ingrid felt much the same way about delegation. By the time you’d prepared for it, explained the situation, then dealt with whatever was thrown back at the end of the process, it was just simpler and more effective to do everything yourself. She tried to get a glimpse of the file on the top of the pile.

  “Do you have the final autopsy report?”

  McKittrick inhaled slowly. “I do.”

  “Great—”

  “But I can’t let you see it until my boss has approved it for release.”

  “And how long will that take?”

  “You can see how busy we are.”

  Ingrid tried to see what case files McKittrick was carrying. “Is that the Shelbourne case?”

  “I’m sorry to say this, but in the scheme of things, Lauren Shelbourne’s death barely registers as an event. It’s certainly not worthy of a dedicated incident room.”

  “You make it sound like you’ve closed the investigation.”

  “We’re not far off.” McKittrick, more harassed than ever, marched down another long corridor lined with closed doors glazed with opaque glass on either side.

  Ingrid matched McKittrick’s pace stride for stride.

  “Lauren’s parents have arrived.”

  “I know. Who do you think organized the viewing at the mortuary?” McKittrick stopped abruptly and kicked open a door. It swung wide to reveal Detective Constable Mills standing at the far end of the large, brightly lit office. He was rubbing marker pen off a wide whiteboard with a paper towel. He turned as they approached.

  “I’ll take those, boss.”

  McKittrick dumped the files into his arms, and Mills let out a grunt, his forehead puckering as he concentrated hard on not letting any of the loose paperwork slide to the floor. In that instant, Ingrid realized who the detective reminded her of and blushed.

  Clark Swanson.

  Her first crush in junior high. The boy who broke her heart without knowing it. He hadn’t even known she existed. The extra forty pounds she was carrying at the time effectively made her invisible to all but the geeks and weirdos. Geeks and weirdos like her. She found herself involuntarily smiling at the memory. Mills made eye contact and quickly looked away. Was he blushing? She definitely was and she didn’t like how it felt.

  Ingrid turned back to ask McKittrick a question and discovered the overworked inspector disappearing into the corridor. She ran after her, her left ankle still complaining. “I spoke to that journalist yesterday,” Ingrid told her as she caught up with her again. “Angela Tate.”

  “Not someone I’d recommend having cozy chats with. What did she want?”

  “I just happened to run into her.”

  “Knowing Tate, I expect she planned it that way. I suppose she wanted the details on the Shelbourne investigation?”

  “She’s writing about the suicide on campus. Thought you’d want to know.”

  McKittrick wiggled her nose.

  “She thinks the girl didn’t kill herself.”

  “Well, there’d be no angle for Tate if she had.”

  “Did you hear anything about it?”

  “Didn’t get as far as my team. The detectives on duty called it in as a suicide. No one else involved. Cut and dried. No need for HSCC to wade in with our size nines.”

  “There’ll be an inquest though?”

  “That’s a formality.”

  “Tate told me she was drunk.”

  “Hardly surprising, she’s a gin-soaked old hack.”

  “She meant the student, as you well know.”

  “So?”

  “So the girl never drank.”

  “And your only source of information is Tate?”

  The elevator doors opened and three uniformed officers stepped out with a nod of acknowledgment for McKittrick. Ingrid and her friend stepped back inside. Ingrid reached into her bag and pulled out a candy wrapper.

  “What’s this?”

  Ingrid opened it to reveal the paint-soaked tissue. “It’s a sample of the paint used in the graffiti on campus. The one that said Lauren Shelbourne is a whore?”

  McKittrick peered at the tissue. “You’re serious. You’re handing me an old tissue?”

  “I meant to give it to you yesterday. The janitor cleaned it off before your team would have had a chance to take a sample.”

  “You know I can’t take that, Ingrid.” She glowered at her. “A Twix wrapper is hardly an evidence bag. It would be inadmissible.”

  Ingrid scrutinized her friend. “But you’re tempted though, aren’t you? You suspect there’s something odd going on at Loriners too, don’t you?”

  The elevator reached McKittrick’s floor and the detective shot through the half-open doors as if a starter pistol had just gone off.

  “The only thing worth looking at was the fact security around the admin block—the building the Canadian girl jumped from—was found wanting. It’s the highest point on campus.”

  “Found wanting?”

  “A maintenance crew inadvertently left a door unlocked. The incident was fully investigated. Why are you so determined to link the suicide to the Shelbourne case?” she asked Ingrid. “Please don’t tell me it’s a hunch.”

  Ingrid was still holding the tissue. “I’m just following the evidence.”

  McKittrick rolled her eyes. “I can’t spare anyone to investigate a teenage prank.”

  “Lauren’s parents want to repatriate her body as soon as possible. I want to be sure we know what happened to her before we lose a vital forensic asset.” She hated referring to Lauren that way. “You might not have the manpower, but I do. And if I don’t look into it, Lauren Shelbourne’s father is going to hire a private detective.”

  With a long, exasperated sigh McKittrick opened a nearby file cabinet and picked out a slim folder. She placed it carefully and deliberately on her desk, then held Ingrid’s gaze. “I need to visit the ladies’. You’ll be OK waiting in here for me, will you?”

  Ingrid glanced down at the file, saw Lauren Shelbourne’s name printed on a neat label in the top right-hand corner, then nodded her understanding to McKittrick. Natasha was still in her corner after all.

  “I won’t be long.” McKittrick left the room, opening the door wide on her way out, and made a point of leaving it open.

  Ingrid checked the hallway outside. The coast appeared to be clear. She returned to the desk and flipped open the file, her back toward the door, obscuring what she was doing from anyone passing. There was no time to read the contents now. She opened the camera app on her phone and snapped a picture of the first page. The flash went off as she did.

  Damn.

  Ingrid disabled the auto-flash function and moved on to the second page. She had photographed all but the final sheet when she heard a noise behind her. She spun around and saw Mills standing in the doorway. Ingrid slumped heavily onto the edge of the desk, at the same time reaching an arm behind her back. She groped for the switch on the side of the phone and clicked it, hoping she’d captured an image of the last page.

  “Hey! Ralph, isn’t it?”

  The detective nodded slowly.

  “Natash—I mean DI McKittrick has slipped out for a moment.” She smiled at him as innocently as she could.

  He narrowed his eyes, tilting his head sideways to get a better view of the surface of the desk. “Everything OK?”

  “Perfectly.” In a single smooth movement she stood up, flipped the file closed and took a step toward him. “How are you?” He was still frowning at her, looking more and more like Clark Swanson from Middleton Junior High.

  “Can I help you with anything?”

  “No, I’m fine.” She folded her arms. />
  “I’m glad we’ve got a few moments on our own.” He closed the door behind him.

  “You are?”

  He glanced again at the desk. “I’ve been really interested in the FBI since I was a kid.”

  Ingrid’s heart sank. “Don’t tell me—The X Files, right?”

  “Am I that much of a cliché?”

  Ingrid threw her arms out wide. “Hey—it was a great show. I was a fan of it myself.” Geeks and weirdos.

  “Is that why you joined up?”

  “Kinda.” This was neither the time nor the place to reveal the real reason.

  “I don’t suppose you could tell me a bit about it? The training and all that? Maybe over a coffee or something?”

  Was he actually hitting on her?

  “I’m so busy these days. Work pretty much takes up all my time.”

  He shifted his position and stared pointedly at the desk. “Perhaps we could… pool our knowledge.”

  “Knowledge about what?”

  “Any of our current cases you might be interested in.”

  Was he offering to keep her updated on the Shelbourne investigation? “I suppose I might be able to find some time in my calendar.” She pulled a business card from her pocket and handed it to Mills. “We’ll set something up. Call me.”

  He smiled at her, his cheeks showing just the hint of a blush. “Excellent.” He turned and opened the door, but didn’t leave. Instead he stood beside it and looked at her expectantly.

  “It’s all right. The inspector said I could wait for her in here.”

  “No. That’s why I’m here. The boss specifically asked me to escort you from the building.” He smiled and she was suddenly looking right at Clark Swanson.

  “She did?” He knew exactly what she’d been doing in McKittrick’s office, and now Natasha was giving him the nod to help her out. That’s what friends are for.

  Outside, Ingrid waved an awkward goodbye to Mills, already inventing excuses to turn down whatever date he suggested for their meet-up. She retrieved her cell phone from the back pocket of her pants and opened the photo gallery, enlarging specific parts of images that seemed relevant. Everything was more or less what she suspected until she reached the final page. The picture was a little blurred, and the left-hand side of the page cut off completely. But as she enlarged and brightened the image, the information she needed came into focus.

  According to the Metropolitan Police toxicology report, at the time of her death, Lauren Shelbourne’s bloodstream contained ‘significant’ amounts of LSD and methamphetamine.

  15

  Ingrid tied a double knot in the lace of her running shoe and scooted out of the embassy building, along Upper Brooke Street, across the eight-lane highway of Park Lane and finally into Hyde Park. Her second visit in as many days. Despite the soreness in her left ankle, she cruised along somewhere between a fast jog and a sprint. She eased up as soon as she saw the outline of her boss fifty yards away. Or rather her boss’s boss. Amy Louden was further up the food chain than Sol. She was only forty-three years old, yet was already the deputy chief of the FBI’s legal attaché program in the most prestigious US Embassy in the world. Ingrid was coming up to thirty-two. She was running out of time to have a meteoric rise of her own.

  Louden had insisted their meeting take place in the park while she ran. Two birds with one stone, she’d said. “Let’s show the boys how to multitask, shall we?”

  Ingrid watched Louden’s uneven gait as the woman ran holding a cell phone in one hand, a wire trailing out of the top. Ingrid stepped up her pace a little and effortlessly caught up with the deputy chief, pulling in alongside and quickly mirroring her stride pattern. Louden glanced at her from the corner of her eye without turning her head. She finished up her call and navigated to an app on the phone without missing a stride. It seemed looking where she was going wasn’t a priority for Louden.

  “Steady at ten miles an hour; metabolic rate increased fifteen percent,” she told Ingrid. “Three hundred forty-six calories burnt.”

  “Impressive.”

  “Three miles a day, rain or shine.” Louden pointed a thumb toward her own chest. “For me it’s just a part of my daily routine, like taking a shower. It’s a matter of discipline. Like anything else.”

  Ingrid had decided long ago never to compete with a superior officer. She kept her five-mile minimum and parkour routines to herself. She was just glad Louden hadn’t suggested racquetball: somehow Ingrid’s hand-eye coordination got stuck on automatic, and she found it completely impossible to throw a game, no matter how hard she tried.

  “We haven’t had a chance to speak properly since you first joined us. How are you settling in? Enjoying London?”

  “Yes, ma’am. One of the best postings I’ve had.” It wasn’t exactly true, but she knew it was what Louden wanted to hear.

  “Good, good. We like to make new arrivals feel welcome.”

  Ingrid had to suppress a smile. Apart from Sol, no one had bothered to make much of an effort to extend a friendly hand.

  “So, these assignments you’re working on at the moment,” Louden said while checking her running stats again. “Sol tells me you’re not making much headway in the Brewster case.”

  So that was why Louden had ask to meet with her.

  “The trail goes cold at the escort agency. I’ve been contacting other agencies with a description of the suspected perpetrator, but so far it seems he’s simply disappeared. I’m sure I’d have better results if I knew more about the victim.” Ingrid glanced briefly at the deputy chief to check her reaction. Her boss kept her eyes front and center. “I take it there’s a reason why you’re asking me about it?”

  Louden slowed slightly and inclined her head toward Ingrid for the first time. “Somebody leans on me, so I lean on you.”

  “Do you know who Greg Brewster is? Or what he does?”

  Louden took several strides to answer. “I can tell you that’s not his real name. But, no, I don’t know what his legal name is, before you ask.”

  Ingrid was intrigued. “And this alias is approved by…?”

  “I’m not entirely sure we should be discussing this.”

  “Due respect, ma’am, you want an update on a case I can’t give you because I can’t investigate it properly. Could you at least see if my security clearance could be raised?”

  Louden didn’t answer.

  “Just for this one case?”

  Still no response.

  “I’ll get you the answers you need if you let me know who Brewster is.”

  They rounded a corner of the path and found themselves running between flower beds alive with spring bulbs.

  “I can’t. I don’t know. But I’m getting pressure from the Department of Defense, so I’m guessing it’s military. That enough for you?”

  It was a start.

  “Thank you. I appreciate that.” It was a lot less than she’d hoped for, and Ingrid felt a spike of anger erupt in her chest and travel to her legs. She wanted to take on a fast sprint or throw herself over a wall, burn away the fury, but neither of those two options was open to her in present company. She settled for clenching her teeth instead.

  “Good. I hear the Shelbourne case is almost wrapped up. Such a tragedy.”

  “I’ve seen the toxicology report. She’d taken LSD and methamphetamine.”

  “She sounds like a very unfortunate individual.” Louden was distracted by whatever her fitness app was telling her.

  “Don’t you think it’s strange to find that combination of drugs in her system?” Ingrid skirted around a fresh pile of horse dung and landed heavily on her left foot. Fireworks of pain shot upward into her knee.

  “She was obviously a young woman with serious problems.”

  “There’s no record of previous drug offenses.”

  “That doesn’t mean she was clean.”

  “I’m seeing her parents again later. I just want to be able to tell them it was a tragic accident.”
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br />   “But you have reservations?”

  They reached an enormous plane tree and Louden pulled up sharply. She tapped something into her smartphone and nodded with satisfaction. She looked at Ingrid. Ingrid hesitated.

  “Well?”

  “I have a few causes of concern. About the investigation. I want to make sure the Met hasn’t missed anything before they release the body for repatriation.”

  “Tread carefully, agent. The Shelbournes have suffered enough. I don’t want them upset needlessly.” She tore her gaze away from a long list of ‘missed call’ alerts and turned to Ingrid. “Do I make myself clear?”

  Ingrid suppressed a sigh. “Perfectly.”

  “Do everything you can to repatriate the body in the next few days.”

  “I’m not sure the inquest will happen that fast.”

  “Let’s ensure it does, shall we?”

  “It feels like we’re rushing things when there’s no need.”

  “You don’t have children, do you, Ingrid?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  Louden leveled a stare at her. “Try to imagine what those two souls are going through.”

  Ingrid only just managed to unclench her teeth to speak. “I’ll do my best.” She forced a smile and left her superior officer to continue with her carefully planned warm-down exercises. Ingrid sprinted back to the embassy as quickly as she could.

  Showered and dressed, with a strong strapping of elastic bandage on her left ankle, Ingrid returned to her desk to collect her bag. She retrieved her cell and did something she should have done days ago.

  Marshall picked up immediately. “Hey, sweetie. I was about to call your boss to find out what had happened to you.”

  “Sorry. It’s been crazy here the last few weeks.” Ingrid walked through the bull pen toward the elevators.

  “I’ve been calling.”

  “I know. I got your messages.”

  “Why didn’t you call back?”

  Ingrid didn’t have a good enough answer. Absence, it was turning out, wasn’t making her heart grow fonder. She reached the elevators, then pushed through the doors to the emergency exit and took the stairs.

  “I’m sorry, Marshall, but this isn’t a social call. Can you see if you can find something out for me, on the down low?”