by Eva Hudson
“He was shot dead. Three shots to the chest, two to the face. Point blank range.”
That didn’t match Ellis’ profile at all. To be so close to the victim at the time of death? Plus he carefully planned and executed the killings. That just sounded like a wild shooting spree. And how did it have anything to do with a weakness or vulnerability in the victim? At the end of a gun, everyone is vulnerable.
“Perpetrator was never found.”
“Can you tell me anything about the guard himself? I’m looking for some kind of weakness he might have had. Something that maybe most people didn’t know about him.”
“It’s hardly likely to turn up in the police report, if nobody knew about it.”
Ingrid felt like she was flailing. She reminded herself that, despite his claims, Mike Stiller wasn’t actually a miracle worker.
“But I can tell you something about the poor schmuck,” Mike said.
Ingrid waited. Knowing Mike he would want to pause a beat for an imaginary drum roll.
“The guard was shot in his bed, naked, handcuffed to the headboard.”
42
“The guard had a sex addiction?”
“Maybe, but that’s not the perceived weakness I was shooting for. According to the regular bartender at the local gay bar, on the night he died, the guard picked up some dark handsome stranger and took him home with him. Something he never did. Because of his job, he was always real cautious. Seems the dark stranger made him an offer he couldn’t refuse.”
“Ellis?”
“Can you think of any more likely candidates?”
“How did Ellis even know he was gay?”
“All he had to do was follow him for a few nights. If the perpetrator is as smart as you seem to think he is, it wouldn’t exactly have taxed his intellect to discover the guard’s little secret.”
“What year was this?”
“Two-thousand five.”
“And the date?” Ingrid had a feeling she knew the answer already.
“May 15th. Just like Highsmith and David Brite.” Mike paused again. “Wait a minute. That’s today’s date.”
Ingrid closed her eyes.
“OK—let’s look at exactly what we’ve discovered so far,” Mike said. “Holy crap.”
“What is it?”
“I’ve got a meeting I should be getting to.”
Ingrid took one last look around Sol’s office and left the room. Where the hell was he? “Any help you can give me, Mike, you know I appreciate it.”
“I’ve only got a coupla minutes.”
“We have four victims either directly or indirectly involved in the Henry Ellis investigation. The investor who testified against him, the investor’s son, the prosecuting attorney and the prison guard who shot him dead.” Ingrid was more convinced than ever that there was no connection between Cory Ellis and Frances Byrne-Williams. She should go and speak to Marshall about it.
She headed for the cafeteria in the basement.
“Listen, I’ll call you back,” Mike whispered down the line. “My boss just walked in the room.”
Ingrid reached the entrance to the cafeteria. A Marine was standing sentry. She waved her security pass at him, followed by her badge. Eventually, he stood to one side and let her enter.
All the harsh overhead lights had been turned on in the cafeteria. Ingrid recognized some of the counter staff sitting at the tables, sipping at cans of soda, nibbling on candy bars and potato chips. All of them looking royally pissed off. Then there were lots of faces she didn’t recognize, judging by the way they were dressed, they had to be kitchen staff. They looked severely pissed off too. None of them, however, looked in any way tense or guilty. No one was trying to leave. They just seemed resigned to their fate, as if this sort of thing happened every day.
“Excuse me.” A woman dressed in a white tunic and checkered pants stood up and touched Ingrid on the arm. “Do you have any idea how long this is going to take? Only I have some slow-cooking pot roasts in the ovens. Pretty soon, they’re going to start burning.”
“I’ll look into that for you,” Ingrid said, without the slightest intention of doing any such thing. She needed to find Marshall, try to convince him again how wrong he was. At the far end of the cafeteria was a small office used by the restaurant manager. From what Ingrid could see through the window in the door, it seemed Marshall was using it to interview the kitchen and cafeteria staff. Another armed Marine was guarding the door.
Ingrid’s cell phone started to buzz in her pocket. She pulled it out and answered quickly.
“When are we going to get our cell phones back?” one of the kitchen staff asked, the tone of her voice somehow managing to be accusatory and defeatist at the same time.
Ingrid ignored her. “Mike, did you get out of your meeting?”
“I’m joining them in five minutes. Now, where were we?”
“Trying to work out the identities of other possible victims on Ellis’ list.”
“Sure. If we work backwards, I guess we should look at who the arresting officers were. Who was investigating Henry Ellis before he even got arrested.”
“Was it a cop or a Federal agent? Should have been a Fed, in that kind of fraud case, shouldn’t it?”
“Just looking that up now.”
Ingrid’s left ear was suddenly filled with the sound of nasal breathing coming all the way from Washington D.C.
“Holy shit.”
“What have you found?” Ingrid started to edge closer to the small room Marshall was occupying, and the six feet something Marine standing to attention outside.
“Tell me you’re sitting down.”
“Please don’t make me go through all of that again. Is it someone you know? Someone I know?”
“I can’t believe it, but here it is in black and white.”
“Goddammit, Mike, who?”
“Special Agent Solomon Franklin.”
Ingrid stopped in her tracks. “Sol? You’re sure?”
“He led the team of investigating agents. It looks like it was quite a coup for him at the time. Got a juicy promotion out of it.”
“I’ve got to go, Mike.” She hung up and tried Sol’s cell phone again. It switched to voicemail. Just like it had every other time she’d attempted to speak to him today. The phone was probably still on the desk in his empty office.
Ingrid marched up to the Marine guarding Marshall’s interview room. “I need to speak to SSA Claybourne,” she declared, “right now.”
“He’s a little busy.”
She flashed her embassy ID and her FBI badge. The Marine wasn’t impressed. Ingrid stepped to one side and banged a fist against the door, and kept on banging until the armed guard physically restrained her. Marshall turned around and yanked open the door.
“What the hell is it?”
43
Ingrid pushed into the makeshift interview room, glanced at the man dressed in white tunic and checkered pants sitting very upright in front of the desk, then turned her attention to Marshall.
“For God’s sake, what do you think you’re doing?” Marshall was trying to keep his booming voice down and failing.
“You need to stop this charade right now.” Ingrid could feel the Marine’s hot breath blasting against the back of her neck. He was standing just inches away. In theory, one word from Marshall and he could have her bundled away.
“Charade? What the hell are you talking about?” Marshall glanced at his interviewee, a hint of embarrassment on his face. “These interviews are highly sensitive. They have to be handled in the right way.”
“And I’m telling you to stop.”
Marshall grabbed her arm, walked her past the Marine and straight out the office. He didn’t let go until they were in the corridor outside the cafeteria. “Were you deliberately trying to humiliate me in there?”
“I can’t worry about hurting your feelings, you’re wasting your time interviewing these people. The ambassador is not the target.”<
br />
“You have nothing to back that up.”
“The target is Sol Franklin and I have plenty to back it up but no time to explain. We’ve got to find Sol. I haven’t been able to reach him for hours. The killer will strike today. Maybe he already has.” Ingrid drew down an unsteady breath. “We can’t waste any more time.”
Much to her amazement, Marshall seemed to be considering what she’d said. He was chewing the inside of his cheek as if it were a plug of tobacco. Then he shook his head decisively. “If I didn’t know better I’d think you were trying to… sabotage this operation. Just because I’ve come here and—”
“Taken over?”
“Exactly.”
“You seriously think I’d put the ambassador’s life in jeopardy out of… some petty resentment?”
He shrugged at her. “I know you never say anything, but it’s got to be hard seeing me get promoted over and over. It’s only human. I don’t even blame you.” He gave her a patronizing smile with the corner of his mouth.
She wanted to slap it.
“Listen, Marshall. I am one hundred percent sure about this. I need the manpower you’ve been assigned to search the building for Sol.”
“You think the suspect intends to poison Sol?”
“Poison? No!” She hadn’t had time to consider what method Ellis might use. “I don’t know how he plans to do it. Just that he will. We have to find Sol.” She grabbed Marshall’s thick arms and squeezed them, hoping that might somehow make him take her more seriously.
“I love you, honey, but you’re just not making any sense. You obviously came back to work too early. Why don’t you go back to the hotel and I’ll join you there just as soon as I can.”
“Goddammit, I don’t have time to argue with you. You have to help me.”
“Explain to me properly why I should, and I’ll consider it.”
“I’ve already told you—we don’t have time.”
“I’m not going to let some crazy, half-assed theory get in the way of my investigation. Take it up with Deputy Chief Louden if you’re not happy about it.”
Ingrid let go of his arms and strode away. She called Louden. Maybe the deputy chief would agree to some resources to help her search. The call switched straight to voicemail. Ingrid wasn’t going to get any help there.
Time was against her. Left to search on her own, it would be practically impossible to find Sol. He could be anywhere in the building.
She ran toward the elevator, not really knowing where she would go when she got there. She passed another armed Marine guarding the door to the stairwell.
“What are you doing here?” she asked him.
He stood a little taller and raised his chin. Ingrid showed him her embassy ID and FBI badge. “Please, tell me why you’re here.”
“To ensure none of the kitchen or cafeteria staff leaves the basement. There’s a man stationed at every exit.”
“Really?”
“Orders from above.” He looked toward the ceiling.
Typical. Marshall Claybourne overkill. Trying to prove how much power he could yield. What a waste of resources.
“I’m guessing it’s OK for me to leave the basement?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He opened the door for her.
Ingrid got through the door, heard it clang shut behind her, and wondered what the hell she was going to do next.
Sol had to be inside the building. No way would he go anywhere without his cell. If Ellis really was within the embassy, was it possible he’d forcibly taken Sol some place? Wouldn’t somebody have noticed? Sol would have put up too much of a fight. It was much more likely that wherever Sol had disappeared to, he’d gone of his own accord. But then what had happened? And it still didn’t explain what his cell was doing on his desk.
Ingrid was finding it hard to believe that Cory Ellis was working within the embassy. But then he had gotten on the cleaning staff at Fisher Krupps without any problems. Maybe he’d done the same thing at the embassy. She’d seen all the cafeteria and kitchen staff, and none seemed to fit his description. Perhaps he was part of maintenance and engineering, or the janitorial team.
She had to remind herself that it was still possible Ellis wasn’t on staff at all and was planning to kill Sol outside of the embassy. Some place Sol was more vulnerable and exposed. But the fact that she couldn’t track down the assistant deputy chief made her fear that something had already happened to him.
An audacious attack within the walls of one of America’s most prestigious embassies fitted Cory Ellis’ profile too—how much of a coup would it be to kill a Federal agent right inside one of the most secure buildings in London?
Ingrid hesitated. Should she head up or down? She tried hard to fit together everything she knew about how Ellis operated when he was working through one of his kill plans. The method of execution would have something to do with a weakness he had discovered about Sol.
Ingrid wasn’t sure she knew Sol well enough herself to have discovered any weaknesses. Maybe he didn’t have any.
The creak of a door opening sounded from the floor below. Someone coming in from the parking lot, presumably. She waited for whoever it was to make their way up the stairs and pass her. But no one came. Maybe they’d gone down instead of up.
She waited a few more moments then shut her eyes tight and pictured Sol in as much detail as she could. What immediately sprang to mind?
What did she see, hear, feel?
She snapped her eyes back open. The strongest sense of Sol she had was his aroma. He always stank of cigarettes. Plus he had the worse smoker’s cough she’d ever heard. Surely his Achilles’ Heel had to be more significant than a nicotine habit. But then if it was something else she had absolutely no idea what it could possibly be.
She tried to picture where he was most likely to go for a smoke. Apart from the courtyard out back and Grosvenor Square itself, she was at a loss. He had mentioned some place inside the building he’d found for himself. A little niche, he’d said. But where?
Another noise sounded from below. This time she heard someone moan. The long, low moan of pain.
Ingrid’s immediate thought was of Sol. She flew down the stairs to the lower floor. The small landing area leading out into the basement parking lot was empty.
She heard the moan again.
She raced down another two flights.
Then she saw him.
Not Sol.
Isaac. He lay in the doorway leading to the third basement level, clutching his stomach with both hands. The heavy fire door had trapped him where he lay. His pants and his shoes were covered in thick dark blood. A pool of blood was spreading across the floor. His eyes flickered open and he looked toward her. He moaned again.
Ingrid bent down low and put her head close to his. “It’s OK, buddy. You’re going to be OK. We’ll get you some help.” She started to move away.
Isaac moaned again. Louder and more insistent this time. “Sol,” he managed to whisper.
Ingrid had retrieved her cell from a pocket and was dialing for assistance. Her fingers fumbled with the phone. “It’s OK—help’ll be on its way real soon.”
“You… gotta… help Sol.”
“What about Sol?”
“He’s… killing him.” Isaac looked down at his hands, both of them slick with red. He swallowed. “Help… him.”
“Where? Where is he?”
Isaac’s eyes closed. His head lolled heavily to one side.
Oh no, dear God.
Ingrid looked at her phone. She wasn’t sure who she could call to get the response she needed. Everything would take just too long to explain.
Then she remembered the armed Marine two floors up.
There was nothing she could do for Isaac now. But she might still be able to save Sol.
44
She sprinted up the four flights of stairs and threw open the door. “I need you to come with me. Now.”
“Ma’am?”
Ingrid flashe
d her badge at him, just in case he’d forgotten her from ten minutes ago. “Come with me.”
“I have orders to secure the stairway on this level. The kitchen and cafeteria staff are in lockdown.”
“I realize that. But I’m ordering you to come with me.”
“Supervisory Special Agent Claybourne outranks you. I’m staying exactly where I am.”
Screw this.
“Give me your gun.”
The Marine’s hand automatically flew toward the holster in his belt. “Step away, ma’am.”
Ingrid puffed out a frustrated sigh. She didn’t have time to argue with him. Still looking him square in the eye, she brought up her knee hard and fast and slammed it right into his crotch. As he doubled over, she kicked him hard under the chin. His head snapped backward at the same time his knees buckled. He fell to the floor like a puppet with its strings cut, folding in on himself.
Ingrid prodded him with the toe of her boot. He was out cold. She popped open his holster and yanked out a Glock 27. Not the model she was used to. But it would do just fine.
She shoved open the door to the stairway and clattered back down toward the level three basement, her feet only lightly touching the edges of the steps.
She quickly reached Isaac. Why the hell did Ellis have to hurt him? He must have just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. More collateral damage Ellis didn’t give a crap about.
Ingrid blinked hard and pushed open the door, unable to avoid jarring Isaac’s body. In the dim basement light, she could just make out a trail of blood smeared along the floor. It led away from the door, deep into the corridor beyond. The corridor that carried all the services to the rest of the building. Thick insulated pipes ran along the low ceiling as far as she could see.
Ingrid struggled a little for breath, it was so hot and airless down there. She stepped over Isaac Coleman’s dead body and gently let the door rest once again against his ribs.
She checked that the chamber of the Glock 27 had a round in it. She hated relying on a weapon she hadn’t personally tested, but she didn’t have a lot of choice. She held the gun outstretched in both hands, two index fingers resting lightly on the trigger. A gentle squeeze would be sufficient to let off the first round. She hoped to hell she wouldn’t have to use it.
