Deep Hurt - Eva Hudson Page 0,7
Radcliffe was planning on giving her. It seemed the Air Force MP had everything sewn up. She needed to make him understand just what the pecking order should be here.
Tyson pushed through the doors and pointed to a couple of chairs lined up against the corridor wall. “Make yourself as comfortable as you can. There’s a vending machine just through those doors. The coffee’s drinkable, but the tea is disgusting. And however desperate you get, don’t be tempted by the soup—croutons or not, it tastes like dishwater.”
“You really just expect me to sit and wait?”
The detective shrugged. “Sit down, stand up. It’s up to you.”
“Take me to the SIO—I need to speak to him.”
“He’ll speak to you when he can. He’s tied up right now.” He tried to move past Ingrid, but she blocked his path.
“Tied up doing what?”
“I’m not sure that’s any of your business.”
“OK—where’s the Security Forces guy?”
“Major Gurley’s with the DCI.”
“Great—I can meet them both at the same time.” Ingrid hurried to the first door along the corridor and tried the handle: it was locked. She moved on to the second. “You could just tell me where they are. Save me interrupting someone else’s meeting.” Before she reached the second door, another, diagonally opposite, opened abruptly and a very tall man dressed in gray and white camouflage battledress stood in the doorway, his head turned towards the room. Ingrid rushed over to him. “Major Gurley?”
He spun around to face her. He was late thirties, with a tanned complexion and blond buzz cut. His features were chiseled, his jawline lean, his eyes pale blue. He wore a puzzled expression, but the quizzical smile faded once he glanced towards Tyson.
Ingrid stuck out a hand. “I’m Agent Ingrid Skyberg, from the FBI’s Legal Attaché program at the embassy. I’ve been assigned to this case.”
Bemused, his gaze switching quickly from Ingrid to Tyson and back again, Gurley shook her hand. “Pleasure to meet you, agent.”
He was joined in the doorway by an ashen-faced man in his early fifties dressed in a suit that looked far too expensive to afford on a cop’s salary.
Ingrid introduced herself again.
“DCI Paul Radcliffe.” His mouth twitched upwards at the corners. “I think you may have had a wasted journey.”
“This is a matter for the US Air Force Security Forces, agent. No need for the FBI to get involved,” Gurley said. “I’ve got it covered.” He gave her a warm smile. If it hadn’t been for the content of what he’d just said, Ingrid might almost have believed it was genuine.
She didn’t smile back.
“Now, I can provide you with an update each day, or a digest every forty-eight hours, if you’d prefer. Though I’d hope we can have First Lieutenant Foster safely in custody by the end of today.”
“Police custody,” Radcliffe added, either for Gurley’s benefit or hers.
“Of course,” Gurley turned his smile on Radcliffe. This time there was no mistaking its insincerity. Ingrid supposed the DCI wasn’t fooled by it for a moment.
“If you could excuse us, detectives.” Ingrid turned first to Radcliffe, then quickly to Tyson. She could be as polite as Gurley if that was the game he had chosen to play. She started to walk away. When the tall military policeman didn’t follow she said, “Major Gurley? If you have a moment?”
“Please—call me Jack,” he said and with two long strides was standing beside her.
“I don’t know whose orders you’re following, but after the Metropolitan Police Force, the FBI has jurisdiction. If anyone has had a wasted journey, it’s you. I’m sorry you’ve traveled all the way from Suffolk unnecessarily.” She forced a smile. “Naturally, I can give you regular updates.”
“There seems to be a misunderstanding here. I’m sure a short phone call to the chief of the FBI program at the embassy can clear everything up for you. My orders come direct from the Pentagon,” Gurley said.
“I believe the misunderstanding is yours, Major.” Ingrid was doing her best to tamp down her rising anger. How dare he patronize her like this? Who the hell did he think he was? As she reached into her purse for her cell phone—she was more than willing to ‘clear things up’ at the embassy—a woman in a dark blue pant suit pushed through a set of swing doors into the corridor. She rushed over to the two detectives.
Ingrid edged a little closer to them.
“The ICU team have taken Molly down for another scan, sir,” the woman said. “Mrs Foster can give you twenty minutes.”
5
Ingrid hurried to