Kill Plan (Ingrid Skyberg FBI Thrillers -) (25 page)

“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.”

“I assumed it was a friend’s house.”

She shook her head.

“Well, heck, honey. When were you planning on telling me?” He stepped back from her and narrowed his eyes. “Does this mean you’re making the job permanent?”

“No! I don’t know. Not permanent. But I do want to stay for at least another six months.”

“And when the hell were you gonna share that with me? What about the wedding? Are you expecting us to get married and then live four thousand miles apart?” His cheeks had started to flush.

“No! I’m not expecting anything—” She pulled up short. They couldn’t have this conversation here. She didn’t even know for sure how she wanted the conversation to go. They had a job to do. They needed to focus on it. Bring their personal relationship into the equation, and things would get too messy to work around. “We can talk about everything later, when all this is over. Sitting down, in a calm environment. I’ll buy you dinner, huh? The biggest steak in London, how about that?”

His face softened a little. He opened his arms wide. “I’m sorry, honey, you’ve been through a traumatic experience. I should be a little more understanding. It’s OK now—I’m here to protect you.” He took a step forward, but Ingrid was too fast for him, she ducked sideways and away, and left him hugging nothing but air.

He quickly recovered and clapped his hands together. “I need to get started.” He turned on his heels and headed back toward the office.

“Where are you going?”

“I’ll need some help. But I don’t want to exhaust you. What’s the name of the skinny black kid sitting in the corner?”

“Kid? He’s a twenty-three-year-old grown man. You need to treat him with some respect. His name is Isaac.”

“Good, I’ll use him as my assistant for the time being. I need to speak to the RSO, find out exactly how secure the ambassador is. And we’ll need to stop any food that’s come from the kitchen being consumed by her.”

“Or anyone else,” Ingrid interjected.

“What?”

“If you genuinely think it could be poisoned, no one should be eating it.”

“No, of course not. I’ll see to that. Plus we have to interview all the staff.” He shook his head. “My God—it’s a huge job.”

“You really think Wyatt is right here inside the embassy?”

“He got himself pretty embedded in the restaurant in Savannah.”

“But security is so tight. There’s no way he could be here.”

“Why take chances? Who do I need to talk to? I’ve got to get the kitchen staff isolated.”

“I thought you were here to see me.”

“You need to take it easy. I’ll keep coming back to check on you. OK, honey?” He pecked her on the top of the head.

“You’re wrong about this, I’m sure of it.” Ingrid was controlling the urge to punch her fiancé square in the jaw.

“We’ll see, I guess.” He smiled at her, screwing up his eyes the way he did when he wasn’t really smiling at all.

He marched her back to her desk, grabbed Isaac and headed for Deputy Chief Louden’s office. Ingrid was pretty sure Amy Louden wouldn’t go for Marshall’s scheme. She was content to let him fall flat on his face. It’d make a nice change.

As she watched him hurrying away, an awestruck Isaac trailing behind him, Ingrid decided she’d get back to basics. If Cory Ellis was still in London because he had someone else to kill, maybe studying exactly who was involved in his father’s arrest and conviction would yield some piece of information that might actually help her track him down.

40

“So that’s your fiancé, huh?” Jennifer stared at Ingrid, her expression hungry with the need for information.

Ingrid blinked. She sat back down at her desk.

“How long have you been engaged?”

“I’m sorry, Jennifer, I’m just too busy for a girlie chat.”

“Me too. I’m really busy.” Jennifer flicked through a stack of Post-It stickers to prove it. “There’s a message here for you.” She unstuck the little yellow note from the pile and read it aloud. “Please call DC Fraser.”

“Did he say what it was about?”

“He couldn’t have—or I would have written it down.”

Ingrid quickly found his number on her phone and dialed.

“I thought you’d lost interest,” Fraser said when he picked up.

“I’ve been a little… indisposed. Do you have news about the case?”

“We think we’ve identified her. Name of Marija Jansons, family haven’t heard from her since January. Her brother’s flying over tomorrow to make the formal ID. You can speak to him if you like.”

“Thanks. Thanks for letting me know. I appreciate that.” Ingrid took a deep breath. “I guess you’ve been pretty busy getting lots of calls about the picture on the front of the
Evening News
yesterday?”

“Not as busy as I might have expected.”

“I have a name for the murder suspect, but I doubt very much he’s using it now.” Ingrid went on to repeat everything she’d told Mbeke. Apart from the current presumed threat to the ambassador. There was no way Fraser should know about that.

“So you think he’s killed, what… three people?”

“It could be more.”

“Jesus. And he’s not left the country yet?”

“That’s the hunch we’re working with at the moment. It’s possible he’s not finished yet.”

“Bloody hell. I’ll need you to put all that in writing. And you should probably speak to the DCI too.”

“Sure.”
But it won’t be anytime soon
.

She threw her phone on the desk and thought about the dead woman. Marija Jansons had gotten involved with the wrong man. Ingrid supposed Bella Townsend in Savannah was damn lucky to be alive. If she’d stumbled across something she shouldn’t have, presumably Ellis wouldn’t have hesitated to dispatch her in much the same way. What Ingrid still had trouble understanding, was the fact that Ellis had left the details of his old bank account accessible to Jansons in the first place. The man was a meticulous planner. That just seemed too sloppy. It didn’t fit with his profile. Every move he made was deliberate, carefully prepared in advance. Maybe Marija Jansons was smarter than he’d given her credit for.

Her cell phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen as it gently vibrated against the desk. It was McKittrick, no doubt wanting to know how she was doing. Ingrid hesitated before picking up.

“I’m fine,” she said, before McKittrick even got a chance to inquire after her health.

“That’s nice. So am I. That’s not why I called. I’ve just got off the phone. I’ve been talking to a certain chief inspector working on an attempted murder case I think you might be interested in.”

“Oh yeah, whose?”

“Whose? Yours, you daft cow!”

Although Ingrid’s sore temple and fuzzy head had been bothering her all morning, she hadn’t given much thought to what had caused them in the first place. “They finally found some of those goddamn arrows?”

“What? No. No, I’m talking about the investigation into the
second
attempt on your life. The arrows I can’t help you with.”

“So what do you have?”

“I’m trying to tell you.”

“Have they identified a suspect?”

“Not exactly. They’ve been speaking to the other estate agents who were working with your lettings man on Monday afternoon.”

“Has he turned up yet?”

“No—they didn’t have any new information on him, but they did tell the chief inspector that a bloke with an American accent—claiming to be your husband, can you believe it—tipped up shortly before five p.m. He and the lettings agent left shortly afterwards. That was the last anyone saw of them.”

“My husband?”

“The theory the DCI’s working on is that this mysterious American chap—seemed to know all about you, by the way—lured the agent somewhere, somehow got him out of the way, then presumably went to the flat, tampered with the boiler, left the keys on the main door, where you found them, and… well, you know the rest.”

“‘Got the agent out of the way,’ you just said. You think the guy’s dead?”

“I’d put money on it. Expect a call from DCI Renton later this afternoon. He wants to ask you some more questions. In the meantime, you’ve got to work out who this American bloke might be. Someone so intent on bumping you off, that he’s not at all worried about collateral damage. Poor bloody agent just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Ingrid’s breath got caught in her throat as she tried to speak. She coughed and tried again. “Did the realtors provide a description of the guy?”

“They were a bit sketchy about the details. But they were both certain he was just under six feet tall and quite slim. But he was wearing a baseball cap too low for them to get a proper look at his face.”

“I guess they didn’t see his left arm?”

“You mean the rose tattoo? They didn’t mention it. So you are thinking what I’m thinking—that it was Darryl Wyatt?”

“Darryl Wyatt, Cory Ellis, Miguel Hernandez. Whatever the hell he’s calling himself today.”

“I thought Cory Ellis was dead.”

“There have been some… developments.”

“He’s alive?”

“He could be.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me?”

“It’s been a little hectic around here.” Ingrid glanced up at Jennifer, who quickly looked away. “Marshall turned up about an hour ago.”

“He did what?”

“He’s right here at the embassy. He’s taken over the investigation.”

“Can he do that?”

“It’s complicated. And too long a story to get into right now.”

“At least nothing untoward has happened so far today. Unless there’s something else you’re not telling me.”

“What’s special about today?”

“Bloody hell—don’t you remember? I think it’s fair to say you may have lost your edge. Should you even be at work? ”

“What are you talking about?”

“Today’s the 15
^th
of May. The killer’s preferred kill date. You didn’t think I paid attention, did you?”

Ingrid gasped in a breath. How could something like that slip her mind? She had to shape up, and fast.

“So with Marshall on the scene, I suppose you won’t be staying at my place again tonight? I was planning to go to Marks and Spencer and pick up a few treats for dinner.”

Ingrid thought about the suite Marshall had booked at the hotel. The way she felt right now she couldn’t even bear to look at his face. “Thanks—I’d like that. I’ll call you later to let you know when I’m leaving.” She hung up and carefully placed the cell back on the desk. She sat very still and pondered what McKittrick had just told her. She’d never known her brain feel this sluggish. But then she’d never suffered carbon monoxide poisoning before. She took a deep breath and considered the facts calmly and objectively.

An American man, same height and build as the man seen at Marija Jansons’ apartment, lured away the realtor, most probably to his death, in order to get into Ingrid’s apartment to tamper with the boiler. He knew all about the apartment. He must have been following her since she set off from her hotel last Saturday to go apartment hunting with McKittrick. If he stayed around long enough to remove the poisoned soap from the restroom, there was every chance he’d seen her at the murder scene at Fisher Krupps. Had he been following her ever since then? Had he been watching her when she visited Marija Jansons’ apartment?

Ingrid tried hard to remember who she’d seen on the street that evening. She was pretty sure there were only two other people around. A dog walker and some guy washing his car. Ellis could have been either of them.

Then it struck her.

Maybe Ellis hadn’t been careless with his bank details. Maybe he wanted Jansons to access the account to test the response it provoked. Then sure enough, less than an hour after the account was accessed, the FBI agent he’d seen at Fisher Krupps turned up at the apartment in Dulwich, using some lame story to get inside.

Ingrid suddenly felt very stupid. And, if she allowed herself a moment’s self-indulgence, not a little scared.

41

Ingrid grabbed her phone and jumped up from her desk. She hurried out of the office, trawling through her contacts list as she went.

“Nick?”

“Hey—I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon. Are you on the move? Want some back-up?”

Ingrid sucked in a breath, trying to calm her nerves. “Not yet, I’ll call again later. Just thought I’d update you on developments.” She briefly explained the investigation she’d been working on and who she thought was responsible for the two attempts on her life. She then gave him as detailed a description of Ellis as she could. “But I’m just going by the eye witness report that resulted in the artist’s impression on the front page of yesterday’s
Evening News
.”