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

by Eva Hudson

  Ingrid had been wondering how Faber was managing to resist petting such a cute canine specimen. “But you feel safer now you’ve moved out of your apartment?”

  “A little, I guess.”

  “Good. And your mom’s friend is happy to let you stay for as long as you want to?”

  “She is. If I don’t wring her neck first.”

  Ingrid smiled. She was pleased Faber was up to making a joke. The girl was much calmer than their previous meeting. “You’ve got to admit Hampstead is a nicer suburb than New Cross.”

  “I feel like I’m on the set of a Hugh Grant movie.”

  “And having access to the Heath”—Ingrid gestured to the almost rural landscape surrounding them—“is great for clearing your mind.”

  Faber pulled the dog away from a French poodle he’d taken a shine to. “So, what did you want to talk about? Did you speak to Klaason?”

  “Not yet. I’m having some… issues tracking him down. I was hoping you could tell me a little more about him.”

  Faber inhaled sharply. She was marching up the same hill Ingrid had run up two days previously. “Like I said before, I don’t really know him. Not personally.” Her voice sounded strained. She lengthened her stride, and the dog trotted along obediently beside her. Then she suddenly pulled up and did a three-sixty turn, scanning the horizon in all directions. “You’re sure no one knows you’re meeting me here?”

  “No, nobody. You’re quite safe.”

  “You can’t guarantee that.”

  Ingrid held onto the young woman’s arm. “I’m not going to let anyone hurt you.”

  The dog barked once and buried its nose into Faber’s thigh.

  “And you’ve got this guy looking out for you too.” Ingrid held Faber’s gaze.

  Faber pulled away, changing direction toward a lake at the bottom of the hill. The dog’s tail wagged in anticipation. “No!” Faber told him. “No swimming for you.” She turned to Ingrid. “He got me drenched when I let him in the pond yesterday. Scared the shit out of the ducks too.”

  They walked several yards in silence as Ingrid tried to find the right words to get what she wanted out of Faber. “Do you know why Klaason left Loriners last semester?”

  “Left?”

  “Just before the spring break.”

  “He hasn’t left.”

  “He has, according to the registrar.”

  A gaggle of schoolgirls in dishevelled school uniforms pushed past them, teasing one another and shouting and giggling as they went. Faber tensed at the noise. When they were gone, she bent her head close to Ingrid’s, as if she wanted to make sure their conversation wasn’t overheard. “The registrar’s office must have made a mistake. Klaason is a psychology undergrad though he spends more time partying than studying. Somehow he still manages to pass all his assignments.”

  “And he’s running a drug-dealing operation on the side.”

  “I never said he was a drug dealer. I get the impression he’s more of an enabler. Though he did try to sell me some coke once at a party. He got really angry when I refused.”

  “You should tell the police.”

  Faber shuddered, then said softly, “I shouldn’t even be talking to you about him. There’s no way I’m going to the police.” She grabbed Ingrid’s arm. “And you promised me you wouldn’t tell anyone.”

  Ingrid patted her hand. “I know. I won’t.” They started walking again. “How well did Lauren know Klaason?”

  “Um. I’m not really sure. But they were in the same research group.”

  This time it was Ingrid’s turn to grab Faber’s arm. “Wait a minute. Professor Younger’s research group? Your research group right up until the spring break?”

  Faber’s expression remained fixed.

  “You were all in the same group together?”

  “It’s a big group. Around thirty people or so.”

  “I thought Klaason was an undergrad.”

  “He is. But…” Faber’s right eye twitched as she surveyed the distant horizons again. “I don’t know if I should tell you this.”

  “Haven’t we moved beyond that by now?”

  “Klaason’s useful to the professor, so Younger lets him assist in the research. Klaason’s practically his right-hand man.”

  “Younger knows him that well?” Ingrid was careful to keep the tone of her voice neutral.

  Faber wriggled her arm free of Ingrid’s grasp and walked ahead. “I’ve just said, haven’t I?”

  Ingrid pushed her hands deep into her jacket pockets. Faber was too relaxed about contradicting herself, and this wasn’t the first time she’d remembered a fact when it was convenient to do so. She caught up with her. “Why didn’t you tell me you were part of Lauren’s research group before? Working with Younger.”

  “I’m sure I did. I definitely told you I don’t agree with his methods, and that was why I left his group.”

  That was true, but it still felt like a lie. “Yes, I remember. So does that mean you have some mutual friends? People who can help me track him down.”

  Faber stood a little straighter. “I can give you one or two addresses. Friends of friends of friends. But you didn’t get them from me—is that clear?”

  “Crystal.” What was less clear, however, was why Madison Faber was suddenly trying to be more helpful.

  24

  After a fruitless night keeping vigil outside one of the addresses Madison Faber had given her, Ingrid was not in the best shape to handle an early morning meeting with Louden and the Shelbournes. Two double espressos and a couple of Tylenol weren’t enough to deal with the pain in her side and the intense fatigue fogging her head like a thick wad of cotton.

  At least a dozen CIA field officers and their superiors huddled in groups of twos and threes in the bull pen outside her office. There were faces she didn’t recognize. They lowered their voices or stopped conversations altogether as she approached. It was as if someone had called a crisis meeting at the embassy and hadn’t bothered to mention it to her. Sol was waiting for her outside Louden’s office when Ingrid arrived, pacing up and down, his face grave.

  “Hey—I thought Saturdays were sacrosanct for you. What’re you doing here?” Ingrid’s smile wasn’t returned. She lowered her voice. “Is it something to do with whatever the hell is going on around here?”

  He said nothing.

  “Imminent invasion? National emergency? Help me out here. I’ve never seen so many spooks outside Langley.”

  Sol gnawed his bottom lip.

  “You’re scaring me now. What is going on?”

  “It’s nothing that concerns you. Or me, really, just some high-level CIA stuff.”

  Ingrid folded her arms. “You mean you can’t tell me because my security clearance is too low.”

  “Something like that.”

  “Should I be buying canned goods and a year’s supply of batteries?”

  Sol ignored her flippancy. “I’m looking into it, by the way. Raising your clearance.”

  Well, that was a surprise.

  “But there are issues.”

  “Such as?” she asked, suspecting he was giving her the brush-off.

  “It’s nothing to do with you.”

  “Then who is it to do with?”

  He bit his lip, then leaned in. “Your predecessor.”

  “Mulroony?”

  Before he could elaborate, the elevator doors opposite Louden’s office opened and the Shelbournes emerged.

  Ingrid set her face in what she hoped was compassionate understanding, doing her best not to tilt her head to one side. Lauren Shelbourne’s parents stepped into the corridor and both acknowledged her with a nod. They didn’t look at one another. There was no supporting arm from Anthony Shelbourne for his wife to lean on today.

  “Have you met my colleague, Sol Franklin?” Ingrid asked.

  Sol stretched out his hand. “I am so sorry for your loss.”

  The Shelbournes nodded mutely. Alex Shelbourne curled her l
ip, tired of the platitudes.

  “I hope you’ve got some news for us,” Anthony Shelbourne said.

  “It’s this way,” Ingrid said, guiding them toward Louden’s office.

  Alex didn’t move. “I need the bathroom.”

  “Yes, of course,” Ingrid said, “it’s just along there.” She pointed out a door a short distance down the corridor, and when Alex brushed past her, she pressed a folded square of paper into her hand. Ingrid slipped it into her pocket, glancing uncertainly at the girl’s parents.

  Alex emerged a few moments later, her face glistening with moisture. “Just needed to freshen up,” she said pointedly.

  They knocked on Louden’s door. Alex Shelbourne glowered at Ingrid as they waited for the deputy chief to open it.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Shelbourne.” Amy Louden outstretched her hand. “I’m so sorry we’re meeting under such sad circumstances. You must be Alexandra. Won’t you all come in.”

  Louden ushered them toward two couches facing each other across a low mahogany coffee table laden with a selection of international newspapers and huge photo books about America. New York From The Air. A Journey Through Yellowstone.

  “Thank you for agreeing to meet with us on the weekend,” Lisa Shelbourne said, still studiously ignoring her husband.

  “It’s the least I can do.”

  For the next fifteen minutes, Louden painstakingly went through the police report with them, patiently answering the Shelbournes’ questions whenever they needed something clarified. Alex Shelbourne remained silent throughout, occasionally throwing Ingrid a look. Something was preying on the girl’s mind.

  “Is there anything else you need to know? Any ground I haven’t covered?” Louden said as she closed the file on her desk.

  “You’ve been very thorough,” Anthony Shelbourne assured her. “Thank you for taking the time to go through the report. The police offered to do it themselves, but I feel… more reassured hearing the details from you.”

  Alex shifted in her seat, cleared her throat, then said, “Is it possible they’ve made a mistake?”

  Immediately her parents turned in their seats and the temperature in the room dropped. Louden did no more than raise her perfectly threaded eyebrows.

  “Alex?” her mother said, “where has that come from?”

  “I’m just saying…” She leaned forward in her seat, ignoring both her parents and Ingrid, and leveled her gaze at the deputy chief. “Do you really trust that the local cops know what they’re doing?”

  “I can understand your feelings, I can, really,” Louden said in a voice so gentle Ingrid couldn’t quite believe the words were coming out of her mouth. “You want to know nothing has been overlooked, no piece of evidence, however small, has been missed. Rest assured, the Metropolitan Police Service is one of the best in the world.” She patted the file to reinforce her point. “But, as you know, we have our own officer carrying out an independent investigation.” She turned to Ingrid. “Agent Skyberg, what’s your opinion?”

  Ingrid thought about the note Alex had slipped her. What did the girl know? Was she about to drop a bombshell? She glanced at Sol, who was pulling his gravest face, his eyes urging her not to cause the Shelbournes any unnecessary pain, and mostly not to contradict the deputy chief. Louden steepled her hands and leaned her chin on the tips of her fingers. The Shelbournes leaned forward expectantly. The room was painfully silent.

  “I have full confidence in the Met.” Ingrid’s stomach muscles tightened. She watched as Mr and Mrs Shelbourne slumped back in their chairs, relieved. Everyone seemed to exhale at once. “There was no evidence of a break-in at Lauren’s apartment, no evidence of a visitor, and given the level of drugs in your daughter’s body and the lack of other wounds, I wouldn’t expect the inquest next week to alter the preliminary findings of accidental death.”

  “I’m sensing a but,” Louden said, her face sour with frustration.

  “But…” She stopped herself. “I don’t want to cause you any more pain, but I do think there may be some scope for accusing the university of being negligent in their duty of care to your daughter.”

  Lisa Shelbourne stiffened.

  “I’ve been spending some time on campus,” Ingrid said, “and I’m hearing things about drug dealing and also extreme pressure being put on students.” She told them about the most recent suicide attempt. Sol’s expression collapsed: he really didn’t want his lone criminal investigator wasting her time on this. “I think, until the inquest has taken place, there are a few enquiries I can make. They will not, of course, bring your daughter back, but they may begin to answer why Lauren’s life unraveled so quickly.”

  “See, I told you,” Alex said. Neither of her parents looked at her.

  Ingrid remembered something Faber had said, about Lauren being the happiest she had ever seen the day before she died. It wasn’t the behavior of someone whose addiction had gotten so out of control they lose consciousness the next day. She wanted an explanation. She looked at the Shelbournes’ ashen faces and was momentarily floored by their loss.

  “And might,” Anthony Shelbourne began, “might this lead to charges? To a prosecution of some sort?” He had balled his fists so tight his knuckles were white.

  Louden intervened. “I wouldn’t want you to get your hopes up.”

  “But it might?” Lisa Shelbourne asked.

  Ingrid scratched her forearms. “A slim chance, yes, depending what I find out.”

  “It sounds more like,” Sol said, his eyes boring into Ingrid, “the basis for a civil case against the college.”

  She understood the subtext: this is not a criminal matter, move on, agent, and don’t waste the Bureau’s time. She nodded at Sol, then turned to the Shelbournes. “With your blessing, I’d like to use the next few days before the inquest to gather more evidence. But you should know that if I do find something, and the coroner accepts it, it may mean Lauren’s body is not released for—”

  Lisa Shelbourne gasped before Ingrid could say the word repatriation.

  A smile stretched Alex Shelbourne’s lips. Anthony’s hand—finally—reached for his wife’s arm. “Yes, please, agent Skyberg, please continue your work.”

  Ingrid tried hard to keep the satisfaction from her expression: Louden and Sol wouldn’t stop her now the Shelbournes had endorsed her plan. “I will let you know what I find out,” she said.

  “Thank you,” Lisa Shelbourne said. She had not responded to her husband’s timid show of affection.

  “If that’s it…” Anthony Shelbourne shuffled forward in his seat.

  “I’m sorry we don’t have more for you at this stage,” Louden said, “but agent Skyberg will keep you up to date.”

  Shelbourne got to his feet and stuck a hand out toward Sol. He shook it, encasing Sol’s hand in both of his. Then he extended the gesture to Louden. He turned to Ingrid. “We really do appreciate everything you’re doing.”

  Lisa Shelbourne grabbed Ingrid’s arm on the way to the door and gripped it firmly. She went to say something, but she didn’t need to: her eloquent eyes expressed more than words. Find who did this. Ingrid nodded that she understood.

  “I’ll show you out,” Ingrid said.

  “Actually,” Louden said, walking back to her desk, “Sol, would you please escort the Shelbourne family to the lobby.”

  He raised an eyebrow but said, “Of course.”

  He held the door for Lauren’s family, then followed them out of the room.

  “Ma’am?” Ingrid turned to Louden.

  Louden looked at something on her monitor, then at Ingrid. “I was just wondering what progress you’ve made in the Brewster case? Any closer to that laptop?”

  Ingrid took a moment before answering. “Ah. Not much.” What was Louden’s interest in Brewster? “Without knowing the victim’s real identity, or the likely thief’s, I’m at a serious disadvantage.”

  Louden frowned.

  “But I have a meeting later today.” It was a weak
lie, and if interrogated further, she’d have nothing to reinforce it.

  “With whom?” The words shot out of Louden’s mouth with the force of a bullet.

  “A… another escort agency. And I’m interrogating other databases.” Or rather, the pliable Ralph Mills was.

  “Good… good.” Louden was distracted by whatever was on her screen.

  “Sol mentioned my clearance level was being looked at.” Ingrid stood a little straighter, sending a spasm of pain across her ribs. “If it’s going to take a long time, perhaps you want to assign this investigation to an agent with the appropriate authority?”

  Louden looked at her as if she hadn’t understood. “I’m sorry. I really have to deal with this.”

  Ingrid nodded. “Of course. I’ll keep you updated.”

  Louden had already picked up the phone and wasn’t listening. Outside in the hallway, Ingrid exhaled very slowly and shoved her balled fists into her pockets. She felt the folded piece of paper Alex Shelbourne had given her and quickly retrieved it.

  There’s something you need to know about Lauren.

  25

  Ingrid stabbed the ‘B’ button inside the elevator and willed the metal doors to close. But by the time she reached the parking lot in the basement, there was no sign of the Shelbournes’ car. She considered racing to the exit at street level, but the car was probably long gone. She had no means of contacting Alex Shelbourne short of turning up at the hotel. Not something she wanted to do unless she knew Lisa and Anthony Shelbourne were elsewhere. Whatever it was, Alex didn’t feel she could reveal it in her parents’ presence.

  She returned to her desk and checked her emails. Brewster’s laptop hadn’t shown up on any of the registers of secondhand computers. She entered the make and model into eBay but didn’t find a match. Just about the only thing she knew for sure about the theft was that whoever had stolen the laptop was interested in its contents, not in blackmailing Brewster. In any normal investigation, knowing the motive would make it easier to identify potential suspects. But unless someone told her what was so valuable, she was fighting blind. Hopefully Marshall would track down Dennis Mulroony and she could swap notes.