by Eva Hudson
“What is it, Ingrid? Can I help with anything?” Jennifer was wearing her concerned girl scout expression. Ingrid was getting a little sick of it.
Then Isaac jumped up from his desk. “What’s happening? Anything I can do to help?”
Ingrid wanted to shout at them to shut up and sit down. All she needed was just a little time and space to think. “Jennifer—you can get me that coffee I asked for?”
Jennifer nodded meekly.
“And Isaac—find out anything you can about possible links between Ambassador Byrne-Williams and Barbara Highsmith outside of their college connection. Anything at all. Though I’m most interested in any link the ambassador may have to Washington state.”
“Washington State?”
“Any connection to the US Attorney’s Office there.”
Isaac hesitated.
“You understand what I’m asking you to do?”
“Sure. I’m on it.”
Both Jennifer and Isaac slunk away from Ingrid’s desk. Ingrid leaned back in her chair and exhaled. Was it possible Cory Ellis did plan to kill someone else in London? Could the ambassador be the next victim on his list?
38
After the double espresso had been duly delivered by an unsmiling Jennifer and drunk in two gulps by Ingrid, a good thirty minutes had passed. So far Isaac had found no connection between Highsmith and Byrne-Williams except for Wellesley College. Ingrid’s own search was just as unsuccessful. She got Jennifer on the case too.
“Can I ask why we’re looking for a separate link?”
Ingrid decided not to go into the details. At this stage, the ambassador’s possible connection to her investigation was so tenuous she didn’t want to risk saying it out loud and triggering an overreaction. “It’s just a little theory I’m working on.”
“Hey—did you know Highsmith was poisoned by peanuts?” Isaac called over to Jennifer.
“She was?”
“She had an allergy.”
“Poor Frances. She must have been so devastated when she found out.”
“And her killer is still on the loose.” Isaac seemed a little too ghoulish in his revealing of the facts.
“Is that the investigation you’re working on?” Jennifer asked Ingrid. “Are you looking for Barbara Highsmith’s killer? Does that mean he’s here in London?”
“I can’t go into the details right now.” Ingrid glared at Isaac, who seemed completely oblivious. “We’re still looking for a link, remember,” she told him. “Details about the murder are irrelevant.”
“Not if he’s planning to poison someone else,” Isaac said.
If Frances Byrne-Williams had nothing to do with the Henry Ellis case, there was no reason to think she would be on Cory Ellis’ hit list. But it was possible they just hadn’t found the link yet. Ingrid grabbed her cell from her desk and headed for the door. “Carry on with that research,” she told Isaac and Jennifer as she left the room.
Halfway down the corridor she called Sol. Running her crazy theory past him was the sanity check she needed. If he felt the ambassador was in any danger, he could decide to contact the Regional Security Officer, who in turn could ramp up Byrne-Williams’ security detail.
Her call went straight to voicemail. She thought about leaving a message, but it was just too complicated to explain. Instead, she called DI Mbeke. He was more than due an update.
“Ingrid. You’ve been very quiet,” Mbeke said in place of a simple ‘hello’.
“I’ve been a little tied up.” She then proceeded to tell the detective inspector everything she’d learned about the Henry Ellis case, his son Cory, the very definite connection between the Fuller and Highsmith poisonings, and the possibility that Cory Ellis was still in the country because he hadn’t finished yet.
“How long have you known all this?”
“Is that relevant?”
“I thought we were sharing everything, as and when.”
“Like I say, I’ve been tied up. It was impossible to call any sooner.” Ingrid really didn’t need to be given a hard time by Mbeke.
“And you think this Cory Ellis is still here in London?”
“I’m saying it’s a possibility. We’ve discovered a link between the woman he poisoned in Savannah and…” She hesitated. Could she even voice her theory to Mbeke?
“Yes?”
“The ambassador.”
“Your ambassador?”
“It seems Highsmith was something of a mentor for Frances Byrne-Williams.”
“But have you found a connection between the ambassador and the original Ellis fraud investigation?”
“Not yet. We’re working on it.”
“But you’ve raised the ambassador’s protection level while you do your research?”
“The whole thing seems a little far-fetched to me. I figured I should have a more robust connection before I go spreading panic.”
“Better to be safe than sorry, surely.”
Ingrid had been wrestling with that question for a while now. She really needed to locate Sol. “You think?”
“I suppose I’d do it just to cover my own arse. Imagine if you did nothing and something happened to her.”
“Point taken.”
“I have a little news of my own,” Mbeke said.
“You do?”
“Two things. Patience Toure has contacted me. Initially all she would tell me was what a good man Miguel Hernandez was, how she was sure he wouldn’t hurt anyone. How she didn’t want to get him in any trouble. Eventually she told me she was calling about the picture on the front of the Evening News.”
“She’d already seen that photograph.”
“Not the photograph—the artist’s impression. She said maybe it looked a bit like Hernandez. With some more encouragement from me, she was prepared to admit that it looked a lot like him. She apologized for not recognizing him before, told me he’d always been very good to her, then rang off.”
“So we have a motive for Ellis to kill Fuller, and a witness confirming the man seen at the Latvian’s apartment was also the cleaner at Fisher Krupps. It’s all fitting together.”
“But we’re still no closer to finding the perpetrator.”
“I’ve created a profile of Cory Ellis that you might be interested in taking a look at. Might help you work out where he could be holed up. I’ll email it to you.”
“I suppose I should liaise with the team investigating the Latvian’s murder. You’re sure Ellis is responsible for that death too?”
“As far as I can be. Let me contact the team first. Like I said before, I’ve been a little tied up. I need to bring them up to speed.”
“Are you all right?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You’re slurring your words a bit.”
“I am?”
“I wasn’t going to mention it.”
“I had a night at the hospital. But I’m fine now.”
“You don’t sound fine.”
“Fully recovered. Right as rain. One hundred percent.”
“I hope you’re managing to convince yourself.”
“What was the other thing you wanted to tell me?”
There was a long pause, as if Mbeke had forgotten. “Actually, it’s some good news for once. The maintenance man, Colin Stewart, has been released from hospital. He’s made a full recovery.”
Ingrid couldn’t quite believe just how good that news seemed. She felt like she needed something to go right. “That’s great. Really great. Thank you for telling me. ”
“My pleasure.” He said goodbye and hung up.
As she’d already walked as far as the elevator, Ingrid decided to pay Sol a visit.
She stepped out onto the fifth floor and hurried to his office. His door was open and the office was empty. She tried calling him again. Got the voicemail again. Patrick Mbeke’s words had started to haunt her a little. What if she did nothing and something bad happened to the ambassador? Without Sol acting as her sounding
board she felt lost and adrift. The fact that her head was still so foggy didn’t help the rational decision making process one little bit. She headed back to her office.
“Have you found any other connections between Highsmith and the ambassador?” she asked before she was even through the door.
Isaac and Jennifer shook their heads.
“Maybe it would help if you could tell us why we’re looking for one,” Jennifer unhelpfully suggested.
“Do you think the peanut poisoner wants to kill the ambassador?” Isaac asked. He glanced at Jennifer who scowled back at him. It seemed to Ingrid as if they’d discussed the matter between themselves and then agreed not to raise it. Isaac had just broken ranks.
Ingrid took a deep breath. “I don’t want to rule anything out.”
“We should tell the RSO—Frances’ protection should be increased,” Jennifer said.
With the risk that Jennifer or Isaac might act unilaterally and contact the head of diplomatic security without her knowledge, Ingrid had no choice but to do something herself. “It’s OK—I’ve got this covered. You carry on looking for a link, I’ll deal with the RSO.”
In Sol Franklin’s absence, she headed for his boss’ office. Thankfully, when she arrived, she discovered Amy Louden, the deputy chief, sitting behind her desk. Taking her time, making sure to enunciate as clearly as possible, Ingrid outlined in brief what she had discovered so far.
“You think there’s a clear and present danger?”
“That I can’t say. We don’t have a concrete reason why Cory Ellis might consider the ambassador a target. But I thought it better not to take any chances.” As Louden stared at her and said nothing, Ingrid was acutely aware that the potential threat she’d just outlined must have sounded crazy to any rational individual. She tensed, waiting for Louden’s final verdict.
“You’ve done the right thing. I’ll have a quiet word with the RSO, the ambassador need never know anything about it.”
Ingrid rocked backward on her heels. She hadn’t anticipated such a sympathetic hearing. She supposed that now a potential threat had been raised, maybe Louden was just covering her own ass. She couldn’t just ignore it. It was hard to tell if the deputy chief was pissed at her, or genuinely pleased she’d brought the matter to her attention.
“Well done, Ingrid.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“Close the door on your way out.”
By the time Ingrid stepped out of the elevator onto the third floor, she could already sense something had changed. As she passed fellow Feds, Marines and Diplomatic Security agents in the corridor, she felt each of them had a little more purpose in the way they moved. A tangible sense of urgency had somehow filled the air. Amy Louden sure worked fast. The RSO must have set some protocol in motion immediately. Ingrid couldn’t help wondering if it was all a terrible overreaction.
She returned to the office and slumped heavily into her chair, her limbs as exhausted as her brain. She was starting to question the wisdom of returning to work so soon. She shook her head in an attempt to clear the cobwebs from it and only succeeded in making herself feel slightly dizzy and a little nauseous. She closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths.
“Man, it’s harder to get into this building that the goddamn White House,” a voice called from the other side of the room. Ingrid’s tired brain had started to play tricks on her. That voice didn’t belong here. She opened her eyes and turned her head slowly toward the doorway.
No way.
With a suit carrier slung over his shoulder, a huge grin plastered across his face, Marshall Claybourne sauntered toward her.
39
Marshall dumped his bags on her desk, leaned over and planted a kiss on her open mouth.
“Hey, honey, aren’t you pleased to see me?”
Ingrid glanced over his shoulder to see Jennifer and Isaac staring at them, their jaws dropped lower than hers. “What are you doing here?” she managed to say in an urgent whisper, once she’d recovered the power of speech.
“I’m not sure that’s any sort of welcome, honey.”
She jumped up and grabbed his hand, then marched him straight out the office. She dragged him all the way down the corridor and into a small kitchen area before she let go. Once she had, he took the opportunity to wrap his long arms around her, pinning her arms to her sides, and scooped her off her feet. He squeezed her hard and rocked her from side to side. Eventually he returned her to the ground and kissed her again.
She took a good look at him. He’d gained a few pounds since she’d last seen him five months ago. His sandy hair was a little thinner too, at the temples. There were definitely more lines around his eyes and mouth. As they stood there for a moment, looking each other up and down, she supposed he was thinking the same thing about her. Sprinkled across his nose, Ingrid noticed the start of dark golden summer freckles. Somehow it still seemed kind of cute.
“Aren’t you pleased to see me?” He looked a little crestfallen.
“I’m just so surprised you came all this way.”
“I’d be a pretty crap fiancé if I didn’t come see you after some lowlife tried to kill you. I love you, baby.” He kissed her on top of her head. “You’re using a new shampoo. I like it.”
Marshall hadn’t been this attentive even before she left the US. It was unnerving her. She wasn’t sure she would have jumped on a plane and crossed the Atlantic if the same thing had happened to him. Which made her feel as guilty as hell.
He searched her face some more. “You look a little tired, honey. I can’t believe you’re back at work so soon.”
“Wouldn’t you be?”
He grinned at her. “I guess.”
“I still can’t believe you’ve just dropped everything and come all this way. I told you on the phone last night that I was perfectly fine.”
“I was already at the airport when I spoke to you. You think I was just going to stay home when somebody tried to kill you?”
“When did you leave D.C.?” It suddenly occurred to her that Marshall may have found out about her continuing investigation into the Darryl Wyatt case.
“I just said—I was at the airport when we spoke. Why?”
Ingrid thought it through. There was no way he could have found out about the progress she was making on the case. She’d only found out herself that Cory Ellis might still be alive a few hours ago. She couldn’t help but smile. Marshall couldn’t have known about the case and yet here he was, in his six feet three, two hundred and ten pound glory. In exactly the right place at exactly the right time, slap bang in the middle of a minor crisis that needed solving. It was quite a knack.
“What’s going on around here, anyway?” he said, “has there been a terrorist threat? There were so many armed Marines manning the reception I thought there’d been an invasion.”
Ingrid really couldn’t face the prospect of explaining everything she’d discovered. As soon as she’d finished, she knew Marshall would insist on taking over. She stared at the floor and said nothing.
“Honey? What is it?”
“There’s probably some stuff you should know.” Ingrid then spent the next ten minutes bringing Marshall partially up to speed. Although she confirmed a man fitting the description of Darryl Wyatt had been seen visiting the dead Latvian, she stopped short of revealing what she knew about the Henry Ellis case and the connection to Matthew Fuller’s death. She felt she had to keep a little something back for herself.
“And the ambassador has a direct link to Barbara Highsmith?” Marshall asked once she was through with her little speech.
“She does. But I’m not one hundred percent convinced that makes her his next target.”
“Does she have an allergy?”
“No—not as far as I know.”
“But he may choose a similar method. He could be right here in the embassy cafeteria. Or maybe working in the kitchen of the official residency. Has anyone interviewed the kitchen staff?”
“
We literally just got the ambassador’s protection ramped up moments ago. Nothing else has happened. Not yet.”
“We should put the kitchen and cafeteria into lockdown. Plus the kitchen at the residence.”
We?
As Ingrid had feared, Marshall was taking over. It was second nature to him. She wasn’t even sure she blamed him. But she sure didn’t have to like it. “Just because he once poisoned someone in a restaurant, doesn’t make that his M.O. I mean, look at what he did to the Latvian woman.”
“You still think that was him?”
“I’m certain.”
“How long have you known about Wyatt’s presence here?”
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Wait a minute. I tried right at the beginning. You crapped all over my theory.” Her earlier vaguely warm feelings toward her fiancé were rapidly cooling. It wouldn’t be long before she was just plain mad at him again.
“But I’m listening now. What a stroke of luck I should be here when this all kicked off.” He was grinning at her like a big idiot. “Aren’t you pleased for me, honey? All the hard work, all the promotions and the commendations, they’re all for you, you know. For us.” His smile grew wider. “I’m making a better future for us both.”
It had never felt that way to Ingrid and she certainly didn’t want to think about their future together right now. She wasn’t sure they even had one.
“I booked into the same hotel as you for my stay. I wanted to get you all moved into my suite while I’m here, but someone must have screwed up with the reservations or something. The manager said you moved out a couple days ago. I told him he didn’t know what the hell he was talking about. Stuck to his story though. Fool.”
This was not the way Ingrid had intended telling Marshall she was planning to extend her stay, but in the circumstances, she could hardly not mention it. She took a deep breath. “I moved into my own apartment.”
“What?”
“The heater with the leaky flue that nearly killed me? That was in my bathroom.”
