mine.”
Ingrid headed for the door. “See you back in there, I guess.”
“I’ve just finished a double shift. I’m going home. If I’m lucky I might just get there before it’s time to come back again.” She smiled at Ingrid. “Good luck.”
“Thanks.” Ingrid had a feeling she might need it.
10
Ingrid returned to the incident room. It seemed even busier than when she’d left it. The forty-foot square, open-plan office was jammed with desks, two people answering phones at each one. The large room was brightly illuminated by unflattering fluorescent overhead lighting, more than bright enough to expose all the flaws in her hasty repair job.
She saw Ralph Mills sitting on the edge of a desk, chatting to a detective whose name Ingrid had forgotten. Ralph was dressed in combat pants and a vintage tee shirt, a pair of Timberland boots on his feet. He must have been home to get changed after work. He looked restless, nervously picking the label off a bottle of beer. She was relieved he seemed just as anxious as her about their ‘date’. She took a deep breath and marched toward him.
A moment later Ralph spotted her and his anxious expression melted away as he smiled warmly at her. In that instant, Ingrid was reminded, just as she had been many times before when Ralph smiled at her, of Clark Swanson: her very first junior high school crush. Something about that smile made her stomach flip, as if she were thirteen all over again.
She gave him a little smile in return and he jumped up from the desk and hurried toward her.
When he reached her, a long, awkward moment passed, both of them unsure how to greet one another. Finally they simultaneously opted for a safe peck on both cheeks, a sanitized European-style ‘hello’ that couldn’t carry any subtext. He stood back and beamed at her. “You look fantastic.”
His dopey grin was infectious. She found herself grinning back at him so hard her cheeks started to ache. “You too.”
“I’ve managed to commandeer a spare desk in a relatively quiet corner of the room.”
“Hey, I’m really sorry about this.”
“I completely understand. You can’t just drop everything. But I’ve had a quick chat with the incident room manager, I’ve wangled you the next twenty minutes off.”
“A man with influence, huh?”
“I have my uses. Why do you think the boss has put up with me for so long?”
Ralph’s senior officer, DI Natasha McKittrick, was the nearest thing Ingrid had to a good friend in London. In fact, Natasha was pretty much the closest friend she’d had in her adult life. After Megan Avery had disappeared, Ingrid had made it a rule not to get too close to people. In each of the field offices she worked in her eight years in the Bureau, she’d done no more than made acquaintances. No real friends. She was grateful Mike Stiller still took her calls.
“Which reminds me,” Ralph said, breaking into her thoughts. “The boss says ‘hi’.”
“You told her about our… this… I mean, tonight?”
“Didn’t you?” When he took in the appalled expression on her face, he made a silent ‘o’ with his mouth. “I just assumed you chatted to her about everything. Thought I’d get in early, try to prevent some of her piss-taking.” He sighed. “Needless to say my strategy didn’t work—she’s been ribbing me about it all day.”
Even before Ingrid had made the break from Marshall, McKittrick had done her best to act as Cupid. The detective inspector seemed determined to get the two of them out on a date together. Now McKittrick had finally gotten what she wanted. In the end it was easier for Ingrid to give in to her friend’s ham-fisted attempt at matchmaking than continue to pretend she wasn’t interested.
“She just won’t let up,” he said. “She’s been worse since you broke off—” He stopped himself, no doubt encouraged to by the admonishing look Ingrid was giving him. “That was out of order. Shouldn’t have mentioned it. Sorry.”
“It’s not like it’s a taboo subject or anything. But I’d rather not spend whatever time we’ve got this evening talking about my ex.”
Ralph turned away, suddenly unable to look her in the eye. He ducked between desks, not stopping to look back until he’d reached the promised ‘quiet corner’. The small desk was flanked on both sides by long tables occupied by a half dozen cops speaking loudly into their phones. Ingrid joined him and they perched on the edge of the desk, facing toward the wall.