Deep Hurt - Eva Hudson Page 0,86

Rush hour traffic? It’s going to take the best part of an hour. Maybe more.”

“We don’t have that much time. I’ll call the base, get a chopper.”

“I can get in touch with the Hertfordshire force. At least get some bodies on the ground.” Tyson was already reaching for the phone. “Maybe get the traffic cops in the air too.”

“If we’re going we should get down to the helipad,” Ingrid said.

Gurley scowled at her, but said nothing. She’d expected him to refuse to take her, point blank.

“I’m coming with you.” she said, forcing the issue.

“I guess so,” Gurley said, reluctantly. “Foster asked for you by name.”

“He did what? How does he know my name?”

“He didn’t say.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Is there anything you need to tell us, Agent Skyberg?” Tyson took a step toward her.

“No! Why would he ask for me specifically?”

“Has Kyle Foster made contact with you before?” Tyson asked.

“What is this? Of course he hasn’t. He must have called the embassy or something—I can get the phone logs checked—see who’s been making inquiries in the Criminal Division in the past twenty-four hours.” Although she was desperate to find a reasonable explanation, the likelihood of Kyle Foster calling the American embassy seemed pretty remote, even to Ingrid. “Maybe he’s been back in touch with Yvonne Sherwood. She could have mentioned my name to him.”

Gurley glared at her. “Maybe you can give Sherwood a call. See what she has to say for herself.”

44

Even though Gurley’s suggestion was clearly meant to be sarcastic, on the way to the helipad in Battersea, Ingrid did try calling Yvonne Sherwood. As soon as she’d introduced herself, Sherwood hung up on her. Each time Ingrid tried after that, her calls went straight to voicemail.

“That’s your answer right there,” Gurley snapped at Ingrid after her third attempt. “She must have heard from Foster and now she’s avoiding you.”

“On the plus side, maybe she told him he could trust me. It’s possible, isn’t it? If he’s asking for me specifically.”

She and Gurley were sitting in the back of a Metropolitan Police patrol car, the driver and Radcliffe sitting up front. Tyson and another uniformed driver were following behind. Both cars had sirens wailing and blue lights flashing, trying to get through the evening rush hour traffic as fast as possible. Gurley had reluctantly agreed to let the two detectives ride in the US Air Force helicopter to Tring. He couldn’t really refuse.

Gurley was still pissed at Ingrid over the Carrie Foster interview and she was mad as hell that he’d tried to have her removed from the investigation. But for the time being at least, they were stuck with one another.

Ingrid decided it was time to clear the air.

“Sol told me you’ve been talking to the chief at the embassy.”

“I pretty much guessed that.”

“Can we agree on a truce for tonight?”

Gurley continued to stare out the window as the car swerved and slalomed through the heavy traffic.

“Come on, Jack. Meet me half way here. I’m just as pissed as you.”

He snapped his head around toward her. “What have I done?”

“If you have a problem with me, you should tell me to my face. Not report me to the boss.”

Gurley exhaled noisily through his nose. “I was frustrated. Sometimes it feels like you can be more of an obstruction than a help.”

“Is that what you really think?”

“Why have you started taking Kyle Foster’s side?”

“I haven’t. I told you already. I just want to find out the truth.”

“Everyone else accepts Carrie Foster’s version of events. They seem happy with the truth as it stands.”

Ingrid noticed that DCI Radcliffe had tilted his head sideways into the gap between the passenger and driver seat, obviously trying to listen in. She dropped her voice. “I can’t ignore it when things don’t add up.”

“You are incredible.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Gurley shook his head. But Ingrid thought she detected the slightest of smiles play across his lips.

“We both want the same thing: to find Foster and recover Tommy, safe and sound.”

Gurley nodded.

“So,” she said, sticking out her hand, “a truce?”

After a moment’s hesitation, Gurley wrapped his hand around Ingrid’s and shook on it. “For tonight.”

The helicopter ride to Tring lasted only fifteen minutes. They landed in a park that had been closed to the public about a half mile from the convenience store Tommy had been in. The area of parkland was enclosed on all sides by stands of tall trees. Through a gap between two of them, Ingrid could make out the main highway that