Look Twice (Ingrid Skyberg Book 8)

by Eva Hudson

  Ralph perched on the edge of the desk. “You think he’ll get off? For Megan? For the two other girls?”

  Ingrid twisted off the top of her water bottle. She lifted her eyebrows. “I think it all depends on how much the jury likes him. We both know that a charismatic killer holds a weird appeal for a lot of folks. The defense’s strategy might be good enough.”

  “But if he’s going to jail for the others, won’t the jury think he’s going down for nine, he might as well go down for all twelve?”

  Ingrid pulled a face. “It’ll come down to the forensics. The hyoid thing is inconclusive, but who knows how much a jury understands. He says three bodies were already in the yard when he got to Fielding Ranch, but again, how much do jurors really take in about soil samples and pollen residues?”

  Ralph shrugged. “I guess. Must be agony for you, waiting for the verdict.”

  Ingrid didn’t answer.

  “You think this Bill Starr character really existed?” Ralph asked to fill the silence.

  Ingrid took a slug of water, then wiped her lips. “I’ve heard some crazy defenses in my time. Voices in my head. My father’s ghost. Iron Maiden lyrics. My non-existent twin brother. But inventing a man that no one remembers,” she sighed. “That’s a bold move.”

  “But do you think he actually existed, or did he totally make him up?” Ralph kept both eyes on the screen.

  Ingrid nodded. “We know he did. Sadly, there is plenty of video evidence in seized porn collections of a man who isn’t Jones abusing Ellen McDormand, the first victim to disappear. And Jones would only have been sixteen when Ellen was taken. So, yes, I think there’s a chance the jury will believe he was coerced by an older man into making snuff movies. But.” Ingrid couldn’t continue. Just talking about the trial exhausted her. “But, his claim he’s just another of Starr’s victims won’t have gone down well. My guess is they’ll want to punish him for that.”

  Ralph picked up a pen and rotated it between his fingers. “Look. That’s our container. It’s on the move.” He leaned in for a better look, then checked his watch. “It should be here in, what, eight minutes? Ten?”

  An unexpected chill snaked up the back of Ingrid’s neck. “Let’s hope all these months of planning don’t blow up in our faces.”

  Ralph looked to his shoes. “It’ll be all right. Whenever the rehearsal is a disaster, the opening night is a five-star triumph.”

  Ingrid raised an eyebrow. “And that’s based on your extensive experience of theater?”

  He blushed. “I must have read it somewhere.” He opened a packet of chips that smelled like farts and offered her the bag. She didn’t even have to say no before he withdrew his hand. “So, um, is anyone looking for this Bill Starr?” He really had been paying attention to the trial.

  Ingrid inhaled slowly. “Think a manhunt will wait for the verdict. If Jones is convicted of all twelve murders, no police department is going to spend resources looking for him. Would you?”

  Ralph leaned back in his chair. “It’s the sort of thing you take on when you retire, isn’t it? One last case.” He was suddenly distracted by something. “Look.” It was a bee. “I was too scared to check on the room at the end when I got here. I just kind of assumed they’d have moved on by now. The alarm hasn’t gone off since.”

  The bee settled on top of a file cabinet. Ingrid peered at it. “No,” she said, “that’s from a different hive.”

  Ralph’s eyebrows shot up. “You can tell?”

  Ingrid smiled. “I grew up on a farm.”

  Ralph stood up to inspect the bee. “So, go on then, how can you tell?”

  “Well,” Ingrid said, “you see this wing here?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, it doesn’t have the logo on it.”

  “Logo?”

  She pulled back from him and folded her arms. “Yes, Ralph, the team logo.”

  He grimaced. “Ah, I see. Very funny. Ha bleeding ha.”

  On the screen, the shipping container was lowered onto the flatbed of a truck. Aziz’s voice crackled over the radio. “Target on the move. All units prepare.”

  Ingrid looked at Ralph. “You okay? Nervous?”

  “A little.”

  “We need to run through things one last time?”

  “Sure,” he said. “Might as well.”

  “All right then. Truck pulls into the yard. Crane lifts it on to a flatbed trailer.”

  “It gets yanked into the C & C building where Danszak and his team are—”

  “That’s the thing I don’t like most about Aziz’s plan, that Danszak is the one inside C & C. He’s a loose cannon.”

  Ralph twitched his nose. “He’s not so bad. Okay, so they start to unload the boxes. That’s when I go out and move my car—”

  “You sure your tire’s flat?”

  “I stuck a really big blade in it when I arrived, so I won’t be going far.”

  “Okay, so you block the rear exit, and then?”

  “Then we wait and see what happens to those boxes of bananas.”

  They both bit the inside of their lip and smiled as they noticed the other doing the same thing. “Be a bloody big cock-up if there’s only bananas in them boxes, won’t it?”

  “Oh yes,” Ingrid replied. “I do not look forward to the paperwork on that.” She pointed at the laptop. “Is the top left image Danszak’s bodycam?”

  Ralph narrowed his eyes to check. He was on the cusp of needing reading glasses. “Yep. Look, that’s Desi behind him. That’s definitely inside C & C.”

  Ingrid looked up through the high windows to the sky. “It’s still really light, isn’t it?”

  “Guess the floodlights at the docks mean it never gets dark round here. It’s a twenty-four-hour operation, innit.” He nodded in the direction of the laptop. “It’s weird to think those images are coming from less than a hundred yards away.”

  “Listen.”

  “What?”

  “Isn’t that the truck arriving?” Ingrid said.

  On the laptop, the camera in the courtyard showed the truck approaching. “Your hearing’s good,” Ralph said. “That took less time than we thought. I suppose it is only over there.”

  They watched the operation to get the shipping container onto the flatbed trailer in silence. Ingrid switched her view from the courtyard camera to the bodycam as Aziz’s voice gave out the standby command for Ralph.

  “You definitely don’t know how to change a tire?” Ingrid checked as he got to his feet.

  “With this face?” He asked. “All I have to do is ask nicely.”

  Ralph picked up his jacket from the back of his chair and slipped it on to cover the holster and the Glock.

  “Very smart,” Ingrid said. “Light gray was a good choice.”

  “Thank you. That’s what I thought. Makes it more believable that I wouldn’t want to get dirty and change my own tire.” He smiled at her. “Right. See you on the other side.”

  “Don’t say that. It makes it sound like you’re dying.”

  “Oh.” He looked perplexed. “Does it? How about see you in the Jolly Sportsman in a couple of hours?”

  “Much better.”

  Ralph scooped up his car keys and turned to leave.

  “Hey.” Ingrid held out one of the radios.

  “Thanks.” Ralph took it from her. He looked nervous.

  “Switch it to silent.”

  “Yep, of course.”

  Ingrid heard his footsteps on the metal gangway. They were even louder when he bounced down the stairs into the cavernous storage area. Then there was the faint clunk as the front door closed behind him. Two minutes later, Ingrid watched Ralph cross the yard toward his BMW X-5.

  She felt the explosion before she heard it, rattling the high fragile windows but not shattering them. Several seconds of deep, throbbing silence followed.

  And then all hell broke loose.

  27

  The feed from Danszak’s camera was black. Three more deto
nations followed in quick succession. Ingrid heard them twice, first through the air and then their electronic echo over the radio. Then the alarms started. Sirens tripped by the explosions overlaid each other in an unbearable cacophony.

  Ralph.

  The radio erupted with so many call signs they cut out over each other as everyone tried to report their position. Ingrid got to her feet and staggered as if her body were belatedly absorbing the shock. She pushed on out into the corridor, ran along the metal walkway, and tore down the stairs before racing out into the alleyway outside. She had to get to Ralph.

  Ingrid ran between the warehouses. The air was thick with cordite and shouting. She turned left and accelerated between the buildings. The yard was strewn with broken glass. Smoke funneled out of the C & C warehouse. Stunned workers staggered outside, unable to speak, looking blank.

  She ran toward the parked cars in search of Ralph. Where was he?

  “Ralph? Ralph?” Her voice sounded distant over the ringing in her ears. She doubted he could hear her. “Jesus.”

  She found him lying flat on his back between a Jaguar and his BMW with its door open. He was unconscious and had a large welt on his forehead. She crouched down as the yard filled with men and shouting.

  “Ralph?” She stroked his face. “Ralph. Wake up.” She shook his shoulders and he let out a moan. “Ralph. It’s Ingrid. Wake up!” She slapped his cheek and his eyes flickered, then opened.

  “What the—”

  As best Ingrid could make out, he must have just opened the car door when the first explosion happened, thrusting the metal forcefully into his skull. He’d either passed out standing up, or had been knocked unconscious when his head hit the cobbles. The muscles in his face tightened, he looked at her then gave up, closing his eyes and letting his body go limp. She slapped his face again.

  “Ralph, wake up. Come on, buddy.”

  The ground shook with footsteps. Ingrid glanced over her shoulder. A small army gathered outside the C & C warehouse. She couldn’t tell how many were Operation Pinball colleagues and how many were local workers.

  “Come on, Ralph.” She was desperate to be heard over the sirens. “You can’t stay like this.”

  His hand reached for hers and he held it against his face. Ingrid was shaking. She didn’t know if it was from adrenaline or relief. For several terrible seconds, she had envisaged having to tell Shelbie that the father of her unborn child had been killed. But he was squeezing her hand. Ralph would be okay.

  “Come on, sit up. I need you to sit up.” She pushed her other hand under his shoulder, encouraging him to move.

  He pursed his lips. He understood.

  “Come on, now.” She forced her arm under his neck and helped him to a seated position. When she took her hand away, it was covered in blood. There was a pool of it where his head had been. “Let me look.”

  Ralph’s eyes swam in their sockets. She feared he would pass out again, so she leaned him up against the car door. The gash wasn’t too bad, but he would probably need stitches. Ingrid took off her jacket and pressed it against Ralph’s head. She knew it wouldn’t be long before ambulances arrived, but she also knew whatever had happened inside the C & C warehouse would mean Ralph wasn’t the only casualty. She kept the jacket against his scalp and stared into his eyes. “You’re going to be okay, buddy. Help is c—”

  A bullet tore through the air and ripped into the Jaguar. Ingrid turned. “Govno!” The air fizzed with semi-automatic gunfire. The open driver’s door was their only protection. “Ralph, I’ve got to move you. We need to be behind the car.”

  His body softened against the car as he moaned. His head started to loll. “Go,” he said.

  “I’m not leaving you.”

  His breathing was heavy. Speaking was an effort. He grabbed her hand and squeezed it. “Go.”

  “No!” She wasn’t going to leave him. She reached inside his jacket for the Glock and climbed into the BMW. She lay across the front seats and rested the muzzle in the V between the open door and the side of the car. She raised her head tentatively and surveyed the yard. Shots were coming from the second floor of the C & C warehouse. Met officers in the engineering factory were returning fire. Smoke escaped from C & C’s doors. Stunned workers ran for cover.

  A gunman appeared at an upper window of C & C. It was a long-range shot for the Glock. Ingrid breathed in deeply, steadied herself and pulled the trigger, sending a bullet across the yard. It shattered the glass next to the gunman who retreated briefly, then rolled back into view and returned fire, obliterating the windshield. Ingrid ducked. Ralph’s head was protected by the open car door, but his legs and lower torso were vulnerable to a bullet that raked low. If she fired again, she would put Ralph in too much danger.

  “You okay, Ralph?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Ralph?”

  Garbled commands were audible over the radio in a lull between shots, but Ingrid couldn’t make out their instructions. Lying flat across the front seats, she stuck her head out and checked on Ralph. He turned to look at her and mouthed the word ‘go’ just as the car shook with the impact of another round.

  Ingrid scrambled out of the car, looped her arms under Ralph’s shoulders, and hauled him up into the BMW. She laid him flat on the front seats so he was shielded by the hood and the dash, then crouched down in the passenger footwell. Her chest hurt with the urgency of her breaths, the cordite searing the insides of her lungs.

  “What do you think happened?” she asked Ralph. “Were the bananas booby-trapped?” He didn’t answer. “Okay, listen. Your job is to stay awake. Looks like you’ve had two big blows to the head, one from car door the other from the ground, but other than that I think you’re okay.”

  He said something.

  “What was that?”

  “Other than that,” he said through a half smile.

  She placed a hand on his and gave it a squeeze. “I think you’re going to be okay, Ralph Mills.”

  He closed his eyes slowly, then opened them to make deliberate eye contact. “Go.”

  Ingrid reached over and opened the passenger door with her left arm. The movement immediately drew fire. She waited thirty seconds, then climbed out and scampered to the back of the BMW. She raised her head and looked through the rear window at the yard. Most people had taken cover or gone back inside the warehouses. The sirens drilled into her ears, making it harder to think. She glanced left and right and saw people crouched behind the other parked cars. They stared wildly at the Glock in her hand. “Police,” she said. But as she was only wearing jeans and a white tee shirt, they seemed skeptical. Ingrid twisted round and looked through the car windows at the C & C warehouse. A figure was on the fire escape with a carbine rifle. He wasn’t part of Operation Pinball. He was one of the drug gang. He turned and ran. He was trying to get away.

  The fire escape led down to the alley alongside the fruit importers. Ingrid kept low and scurried behind the line of cars, aiming the Glock at the ground. She reached the end of the cars and ran as hard as she could across the yard, then darted into an alley on the other side. Now out of the line of fire, she took a moment to look up to make sure there was no one on the roofs above her. She powered down the alley to where the fire escape descended. At the end of the building, she pressed herself into the wall and raised the Glock. She took a deep breath and turned the corner with the gun out in front of her. There was no one there.

  Was he still on the roof?

  Ingrid felt the bullet as it passed her head and zeroed into the wall in front of her. It had come from shoulder height. There was no way it had been fired from the roof. Someone had followed her from the yard. She accelerated away from the shooter as he fired another shot. Her eyes darted left and right, searching for an escape.

  The smell of something prickled her nose. It wasn’t cordite. It was cotton candy. She was back in Cooper’s Cut, running for her life. The swirl of sirens and gunfire coalesced into the carnival music of a cl
ockwork pianola. Her mouth was dry. Fear tugged on her skin. She could barely keep her eyes open. It was only the closeness of the next bullet that yanked her back to reality.

  Ingrid turned sharply into another alley, giving her respite from the threat of getting shot. She didn’t recognize the buildings. They were all starting to look the same. None of the doors were open. Any second now he would turn the corner and fire again.

  Ingrid risked a glance over her shoulder but turned back just as he came into view. Tall, white, close-cropped hair. She kept running as she tried to lock down his description. The only face she could picture was James Jones’s. Her breaths were short and heavy. Her ankle twisted on the cobbles, but she knew she couldn’t stop. Not until she had somewhere to hide.

  She recognized something up ahead. The warren of alleys had somehow led her back to Shoreham Medical Supplies. Ingrid ran for the yellow warehouse, knowing she had left it unlocked. She ran inside and slammed the door behind her, muffling the alarms and sirens. She darted between the long rows of metal shelving and headed through the unlit warehouse toward the metal staircase.

  The door opened and she froze. The muscles in her neck constricted. She almost couldn’t breathe. Every fiber of her body understood that she was now the prey, and he was the predator. Her jaw went into spasm. She raised the Glock and aimed it at the end of the row of shelves, waiting for him to appear.

  “I’m with the Metropolitan Police,” she said, her voice weak under pressure. “I am armed.”

  He did not reply. She sensed his movement on the other side of the shelving rack. He was stalking her. She caught a flash of him in a gap between boxes and she tracked him, moving her shoulders in an arc. It was one on one. It was him or her.

  Ingrid clenched her teeth to stop them from chattering and locked her arms, aiming them at where she thought he was in the other aisle. Blood pulsed in her ears and the wailing of the alarms was joined by a humming noise. Her arms began to shake, the Glock suddenly heavy and hot.

  Something moved through a gap. Rapid movement. She tried to keep her aim steady as the humming noise got louder. The gunman moved quickly.