by Eva Hudson
“I am not discussing that matter here. Besides, there’s nothing more to discuss.”
“I never intended to hurt you. I just couldn’t let things go on—”
“Shut. Up.” He turned and flung open the door. Ingrid watched him stride down the corridor.
She felt relieved that the termination of their fourteen month engagement had gotten to him a little. She also felt a little sorry for him. He disappeared around the corner and she let out a long breath and sucked in another. Right now she had more important matters to focus on. She returned to her desk and reread the case files.
Less than ninety minutes later, Ellis told the Marine guarding him that he wanted to speak to Agent Skyberg again. Louden, Marshall and Ingrid reconvened in the observation room ten minutes after that.
“You’re confident you can handle this?” Louden asked.
“One hundred per cent.” Ingrid tried to make her tone convincing. Everything depended on whether Ellis had truly decided to cooperate. If he had, Ingrid supposed she wouldn’t be much more than an over-qualified note taker. But if he still wanted to play games, there wasn’t much she could do to stop him.
She entered the interview room without the earpiece she’d been wearing earlier. Ellis had made it a condition of their meeting. Which was fine by Ingrid. She was relieved to be free of Marshall’s unhelpful interjections.
She sat down slowly and rested her hands in her lap, keeping her upper body as relaxed as she could. All her tension had transferred to her thighs, which had started to twitch. Thankfully they weren’t visible beneath the table.
“I guess you’re wondering why I changed my mind and decided to talk to you?” he said.
“I’m not, but feel free to enlighten me.”
“A sense of completion. I’ve achieved everything I set out to. I think that deserves a little celebration.”
“I left the balloons and party poppers at home.”
“We can make our own fun.”
Ingrid’s legs twitched a little harder under the desk. She wanted to get this over with. Fun and games Cory Ellis style she could do without.
“Where shall we start?”
“Why not be conventional and choose the beginning?”
“Way back then?”
“I don’t mean the first kill. When did you decide there would be any kills at all? Was it after your mom committed suicide?”
Ellis tilted his head sideways and stared hard into her face. The muscles in his cheeks flexed. Any mention of his mother seemed to hit a nerve. “There wasn’t a specific tipping point. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that these things fester and ferment over time. Must have been the same for you, with the loss you suffered.”
Ingrid had already decided that if Ellis started to make things personal, she’d terminate the interview. She ignored the comment. “OK, let’s move on to your first kill.”
“I made a plan for every single one long before that.”
“You drew up a list?”
He nodded back at her. “I like to be thorough. I worked out an exact plan for each one back then too. Obviously, I had to adjust and amend the details over the years. But it was good to start out with a blueprint, a framework. The outcome was the same, no matter the exact execution method.”
“Each one based on what you saw as a weakness in the victim?” Although it was petty, Ingrid wanted Ellis to confirm another of her theories.
“I had to make it a little challenging for myself. There would have been no fun in gunning them down with a semi-automatic, now would there?”
“So, getting back to the prison guard.”
“Thomas Greerson. That name haunted me right through my teenage years.”
“That was 2002. Exactly a year after your mom’s death.”
He tensed again, this time across his shoulders. “No better way to honor her memory, wouldn’t you say?”
Ingrid held his gaze. Raised an eyebrow. “And when you shot Greerson in the chest and the face… how did that make you feel?”
“I’m giving you a comprehensive list, not participating in a counseling session. It’s none of your goddamn business how I felt.”
Ingrid leaned forward in her seat. “OK—tell me about David Brite.”
“He was called David Fuller when I killed him.” Ellis’ nostrils flared as if he’d just smelled something unpleasant. “If Brite had kept his mouth shut, none of this would have had to happen.” His eyes sparked with an intensity Ingrid hadn’t seen before. “Brite was making a fortune. And it was my dad who made it possible.”
“He was breaking the law.”
“No one really got hurt. Lots of people were making a lot of money.”
“It wasn’t sustainable.” Ingrid wondered just how deluded Ellis was about his dad’s illegal investment scheme.
Ellis shrugged.
“So you killed David Brite in 2003. What happened in 2004?”
“Nothing.”
“But you had a plan.”
“I was busy making a living. I worked on Wall Street 2004 through 2007.”
“Really?”
“Have you any idea how expensive these operations can be? I had to get some cash together.”
“So what happened in 2008?”
“Plenty.”
Ingrid shifted in her seat. She’d meant to remain perfectly still, hoping to appear supremely in control. So far she felt as if she’d been wriggling around in her chair like a five year old. Ellis, meanwhile had barely moved. Mostly he seemed relaxed, almost Zen-like in his repose.
“I could see what was around the corner,” he continued. “The crash was so inevitable it’s amazing it took anyone by surprise. Time to get out of finance. I’d made enough not to have to work again. Enough to dedicate myself to my… mission.”
For a moment Ingrid thought he was going to say ‘art’.
“Who did you kill in 2008?”
He pulled a face. “Highsmith was asking for it. To have the audacity to run for Congress after what she did to my dad? She might as well have waved a red flag. Taunting me that way.”
“Her allergic reaction in the restaurant in D.C.? That was you?”
“Would have killed her then if her aide hadn’t been carrying a spare EpiPen. How could I have known a thing like that?” He shook his head, the bitterness fierce in his eyes. “No aide to save her the second time.” In an instant the bitterness transformed into something approaching glee. “But I’m skipping ahead. You want strict chronology, I’m sure.” He leaned back in his seat and yawned. “In 2009 I eliminated the FBI agent who was second in command in Sol Franklin’s team. Agent Franklin had left the country by then, so I plumped for the next best thing—his able lieutenant. Not the order I’d planned originally, but over the years I’ve learned to be flexible. Sometimes you have to improvise.” He stared into her eyes. “Were you quite close to Sol? I saw a little tension around your eyes just then, when I mentioned his name. Was he a mentor maybe? A father figure?” He searched her face.
Ingrid was determined not to react. When Ellis realized he wasn’t going to get the response he wanted, he eventually looked away.
“There I go, skipping forward again,” he said. “Where were we?”
“Twenty-ten.”
“Oh yes, 2010 it was the turn of the reporter from the local paper. That bitch hounded my mom after Dad was convicted. She wouldn’t quit. Finding new angles to write about, anything to twist the knife just a little more.” He shook his head. “Then I found out why she was so diligent in her work. Her dad was one of the investors who lost money. It was a personal vendetta. Got so bad Mom couldn’t take it anymore. We moved towns. Ended up some place Mom had no friends, no job, no life. All she did was look after me.” He looked down toward the table. Ingrid thought she’d detected a slight moistening of his eyes. “She could have been so much more.” He sat motionless for a few moments and said nothing. Then his head snapped back up and the gleeful glint was back in his eyes. �
��I guess we’re nearly through. I dispatched the defense attorney in 2011.”
“The attorney who defended your dad?”
“He had to be the most incompetent lawyer ever to pass his bar exams. Assuming of course he actually did. A better lawyer may have gotten my dad off.”
There was no doubting Ellis’ dedication to his task. He certainly had been thorough.
“So, we’re practically up to date.” Ellis sniffed. “That bitch Highsmith last year. And Sol Franklin just three days ago. A complete set.”
“What about Matthew Fuller?”
“He was a bonus I wasn’t expecting. He hadn’t actually made it onto my list. He was only a kid at the time of the conviction. I came here to eradicate Franklin. But when I discovered Matthew Brite was in London too—some people really are careless with what they post to their social media accounts—it seemed too good an opportunity to pass up. Especially when I discovered he was suffering from OCD. Got my creative juices flowing.”
“So you got yourself a job at Fisher Krupps?”
“Do you know how easy it is to get into all sorts of places when everyone sub-contracts their cleaning and maintenance work? You should maybe check who else you have working here at the embassy. You might be surprised. Shocked, even.” He glanced over Ingrid’s shoulder toward the glass. Ingrid pictured Marshall scrambling for the phone, demanding a list of all the staff.
“And that’s it,” Ellis said. “A full lid. I’ll of course provide methods, dates, times. Everything you need for the complete picture.”
“What about everyone else who got killed along the way?”
“Collateral damage. Unavoidable.”
“Do you even remember them all?”
“Sure—I can make you another list. The only one I truly regret is Marija. She was a great gal. But I needed to test the FBI response, as I’m sure you’ve worked out by now. Marija was the best way of doing that.” He slumped back in his seat. “A shame, but unavoidable.” He flashed a smile at Ingrid. “I guess we’re done. I won’t say it’s been a pleasure, Agent Skyberg. But I do rather admire your determination, not to mention your apparent cockroach-like indestructibility. I hope there are no hard feelings between us. You were getting in the way just a little too much. I couldn’t have you jeopardizing what I’d come here to do. And ultimately, you didn’t. So it all worked out for the best.” He smiled more broadly at her.
Ingrid scraped back her chair and got to her feet. “I would maybe tone down the smugness, if I were you.”
“Oh please, allow me a little self-congratulation. Twelve years ago I had quite a to-do list. And I’ve achieved everything I set out to. How many people can say that about their miserable lives?”
“Not quite everything.” Ingrid smiled down at him. “And there’s absolutely nothing you can do about it now.” She pulled out her phone and scrolled through her photo gallery.
Ellis frowned up at her, his chest rising and falling a little more rapidly. But he said nothing.
“Oh come on,” Ingrid said. “You’re dying to know what I’m talking about. Admit it.”
He glared at her.
“Now that you’ve… unburdened yourself, I thought it was the least I could do to keep you up to date with the latest developments. I thought you might appreciate that.”
“What could you possibly have to say that would interest me?”
“Something that’ll change your whole perspective. It’ll certainly destroy your sense of… completion.”
“Don’t bother trying to play games—you’re no good at it.”
“I wouldn’t dream of playing games with you. I just thought you’d be interested to know Assistant Deputy Chief Franklin says hi.”
Ellis started to laugh, but as the pain in his shattered shoulder took hold, the laughing abruptly stopped. “Really? Is that the best you can do? And you expect me to believe you?”
“Sol Franklin regained consciousness a little before you did on Wednesday afternoon.”
“You’re lying.”
“Now I expected you to say that. So I came prepared.”
She turned her phone around and showed Ellis a picture of Sol Franklin smiling up at the camera from his hospital bed with a copy of yesterday’s Washington Post lying across the bed covers. It had taken all of Sol’s will power and determination to pose for the photograph. He was completely exhausted afterward. But it had been worth it for this moment. Worth it to witness the bewildered, distraught look on Ellis’ face.
“I guess you didn’t achieve what you set out to do after all,” Ingrid said. “And you never will.”
Deep Hurt
An Ingrid Skyberg Mystery
INKUBATOR BOOKS
Previously published under the same title by Two Pies Press (2014)
1
Ingrid Skyberg reached the stairway in her apartment building and stupidly looked up at the dozen or so flights ahead of her. The action meant she lost momentum completely. It was a bad habit she’d gotten into after her daily five-mile run, and that brief pause made the final climb seem ten times harder. Nevertheless, ignoring the burn in her thighs and calves, she pushed on up, two steps with each stride, her breath labored, but her mind gloriously clear.
Triumphantly, she reached the top floor and punched the air. Just as she was putting her key in the lock, her cell phone buzzed. She answered the call without looking at the screen to see who was calling. Big mistake.
“Ingrid? Is that you?” Svetlana Skyberg’s Russian accent was still unmistakable even after nearly forty years in the US.
“Who else would it be? You’re calling me on my cell.” Ingrid turned the key and kicked open the apartment door. Speaking to her mother instantly made her feel like a petulant teenager. She tried to subdue the irritation the sound of her mother’s voice always provoked. “Everything all right? You OK?” Ingrid hadn’t spoken to her in months.
“Me? Of course I am OK. Why wouldn’t I be?”
The indestructible Svetlana Skyberg: two packs of specially imported unfiltered cigarettes a day for the last forty years and still going strong. Ingrid shut the apartment door with her behind and wandered into the kitchen. She pulled a fresh bottle of water from the fridge. “Then why are you calling?” A split second later, she remembered. How could she have forgotten? Svetlana only contacted her when… Ingrid got a sinking feeling in her stomach.
Oh no, not again.
“Have you seen TV? It is on the news in England?”
“I don’t own a TV.”
“Why not? Is FBI not paying you enough to buy a TV now?”
“Mom… tell me why you’re calling.”
“They found another house.”
Ingrid closed her eyes and made a low moaning sound.
“What? You’re complaining? You don’t even know what I am going to tell you. You need to know. You must listen to me.”
“Please, Mom. I don’t have time for this. I have to get ready for work.”
“So now you can’t spare five minutes for something so important?”
Ingrid knew the amount of time she spent speaking with Svetlana was irrelevant—as soon as she put the phone down she’d replay the events of eighteen years ago over and over. It was the anger and resentment, swiftly followed by guilt and remorse, that would go on for hours afterwards.
“Three girls, they found this time. Alive. You hear me? Alive.” She took a deep breath. Ingrid pictured her sucking on one of her long cigarettes. “What am I saying? They are not girls. Not now. They are full grown women. One of them is thirty-two. For God’s sake, Ingrid—don’t you see what I’m saying? She is Megan’s age.”
A chill ran across Ingrid’s shoulders and down her arms. Her hands started trembling. She was still sticky with sweat from her run, but suddenly so cold. “Have they identified them?”
“Not yet. Already they have given the police their ages. But not names. Or maybe the police are not telling the news people.”
Ingrid wander
ed into the living room and rested one hand on the back of the beaten up old leather couch to steady herself. Was it possible? Could Megan Avery still be alive? Her mouth had gone dry. “What else do the news reports say? Have they apprehended the perpetrator?”
“You mean have they arrested the stinking bastard who did this? What’s the matter with you, sounding so much like a cop? You’re speaking to your mother. We are talking about your friend.”
“I’m an FBI agent, how do you want me to sound?”
“Like a goddamn human being for once.”
Ingrid pulled the phone from her ear and considered hanging up. She could hear her mother still speaking at the other end, the words indistinct, the sound just an annoying buzz in the distance, but the tone of her voice was unmistakably angry. Like a wasp trapped inside a jar. They always had this effect on one another, Svetlana had an uncanny knack of pressing all of Ingrid’s buttons. It wasn’t even the words themselves, her accusatory tone was enough to make Ingrid want to scream at her. And yet her mother was the picture of charm itself with her friends back home. She saved her criticism for her only child. Ingrid had never been able to do anything right in Svetlana’s eyes.
“Did they say if the women are unharmed?” Ingrid asked, cutting across whatever venomous statement her mother was in the middle of.
“How can they be unharmed? They have been held against their will for years and years. God knows what tortures they have suffered.”
“Are they in the hospital?”
“The police sent them all straight to the nuthouse for assessment. It’s not their brains that need testing. It’s that goddamn evil bastard’s.”
Ingrid walked shakily to the door leading out onto the roof terrace of her apartment. After struggling for a moment with the stiff key, she stumbled outside and drew in a deep breath. “You still haven’t answered my questions: have the police arrested him?” She paced to the end of the roof, the wooden deck creaking beneath her feet. “Are they looking for anyone else?”
