The Ingrid Skyberg Mystery Series: Books 1-4: The Ingrid Skyberg Series Boxset

by Eva Hudson

  “Did you know they were planning a trip to London?”

  “Carrie never mentioned it.”

  “But you’d say you and Carrie are quite close?”

  “I’m the closest thing she’s got to a best friend. I don’t understand why she never told me about the trip. It’s been bugging the crap out of me.”

  Ingrid was surprised the women were so close: judging by their accents alone they were from different social classes. But she supposed the Air Force threw people together that wouldn’t normally mix in civilian life. “You haven’t spoken to her since she left?”

  “I tried calling when I saw what happened on the news. But I think her cell must be out of juice. It goes straight to voicemail.” She shook her head again. “She must be going through hell.”

  “She’s coping. Spending most of her time with Molly.”

  “Can you get a message to her from me?”

  “Sure.”

  “Tell her we’re all thinking of her. We’re all praying Molly pulls through.”

  “I’ll let her know.” Ingrid smiled at the woman. “It’d help if you told me your name.”

  The woman opened her eyes wide. “I forgot you didn’t know it. Rachelle. Rachelle Carver.”

  “Shall we go downstairs, Rachelle? Sit down and get a little more comfortable?”

  “I can’t stay long. My eldest is looking after his two sisters. I only left the house to pick up a few groceries from the commissary.”

  Ingrid led the way downstairs to the living room.

  “Do you mind if we step outside?” the woman asked. “I need a smoke.” She was out of the front door and pulling a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of her cardigan before Ingrid had a chance to answer. “Can’t do this at home. Mustn’t set a bad example, huh?” She offered Ingrid a cigarette.

  “Not for me, thanks.”

  “You can judge me all you like. Doesn’t bother me.”

  “I wasn’t judging at all. Every time I tried smoking when I was a teenager, I just threw up,” she lied.

  “I need all the help I can get.” She drew deeply on the cigarette and blew smoke from her nostrils.

  “Help?”

  “Getting through the next eighteen months of Billy’s tour of duty in this shit hole of a country.”

  “You’re having a tough time?” It wasn’t the way Ingrid would have described the UK. So far she had a pretty good impression of the place. But then she’d spent most of her time in the capital. Freckenham seemed a nice enough village. She wondered if Rachelle Carver had actually ever ventured far beyond the base.

  “I miss my friends, my family. A decent pizza.”

  “I guess every military wife posted abroad feels the same way.”

  “You think I’m whining about it?”

  “Not at all—I can imagine how difficult it must be. Is it like that for Carrie too?”

  She puffed smoke over Ingrid’s head. “That’s not for me to say.”

  “I’m just trying to get a picture of her life here.”

  “Maybe you should ask her.”

  “She has other things on her mind right now.”

  Rachelle Carver narrowed her eyes as she exhaled again. She stared at Ingrid through a cloud of smoke. “Carrie doesn’t talk about home a whole lot.”

  “Yet she seems like such a family-oriented person.”

  Rachelle continued to puff on her cigarette as if she were in a race to finish it, but didn’t comment.

  “How well do you know Kyle?”

  “I only know him through Carrie. So not really that well at all.”

  “But well enough to form some kind of opinion of him?”

  “What are you getting at?”

  “Did you like him?”

  “I think he must have fooled a lot of people. He seemed like a regular, straight-up kinda guy. If anyone had asked me two days ago, I’d say he adored his wife and kids. Couldn’t do enough for them. Just shows you how wrong you can be about somebody.” She took another long pull on her cigarette then flicked the glowing butt away. “Maybe he went on one mission too many. Maybe something cracked inside him that couldn’t be fixed.”

  “But you can’t blame him for that.”

  “If you’ve got a nervous disposition, you shouldn’t join the military. My Billy went on three tours in Afghanistan. He’s just fine. You can’t blame the job for something that happens in your own head.”

  Ingrid thought Rachelle’s little speech sounded less than convincing. As if she were reciting a script rather than telling her what she really thought. Maybe she was just repeating what her husband had told her. “But up until what happened on Monday, Kyle seemed like one of the good guys?” Ingrid asked.

  “A regular superhero. For a while there, Carrie and Kyle seemed like the perfect couple. If you want the truth… I was a little jealous of their relationship. I thank God now mine is nothing like theirs.”

  “Perfect in what way?”

  “Every way. Kyle doted on Carrie and Tommy.”

  “And Molly?”

  Rachelle considered her answer. “Sure—I guess. But now that Kyle hurt her so bad… Jeez, I don’t know. Who am I to make a judgment?”

  “You think maybe Kyle was closer to Tommy than Molly?”

  “I’ve been going over things in my mind since it happened—driving myself half crazy trying to work out why he did what he did. Looking for clues in his behavior, you know?”

  “And have you come to any conclusions?”

  Rachelle shook her head. “Not really. Except maybe… It’s not my place to comment.”

  “Whatever you tell me is in the strictest confidence.”

  “I don’t know. Feels like I’m betraying Carrie’s trust.”

  “What if you don’t tell me something that could have helped find Tommy? Whatever you tell me can only help Carrie right now.”

  Rachelle took a deep breath. “You swear this is between you and me?”

  “You have my word.”

  The woman raised her eyebrows as if Ingrid’s word meant nothing to her.

  “After Molly was born I noticed a change in the way Carrie and Kyle were with one another. It was a gradual thing, like they just grew apart. New babies can do that to people sometimes. If I’m completely honest? I guess Carrie started to withdraw from Kyle. I figured they’d work through it. I think Carrie did too. Turns out we were both wrong.” She played with the pack of cigarettes, turning it over and over in her hands. “You will give Carrie that message, won’t you?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Maybe I should send something to the hospital. A card or something, can I do that?”

  “I think she’d like that. If you want to really help, maybe you could arrange for all the fresh produce in Carrie’s refrigerator to be disposed of?”

  “The fridge is full of food?”

  Ingrid nodded.

  “Why would she go grocery shopping if she was going away?”

  “I asked myself the same question. Maybe Carrie knew nothing about the trip. Maybe Kyle surprised her.”

  “I guess.” Rachelle shoved the cigarettes into a pocket. “I should be getting back to the kids. Before the third world war breaks out.”

  Ingrid handed her a business card. “Any time you want to speak to me, if you think of anything that might help us locate Kyle and Tommy, just call.”

  Rachelle stared down at the card. “You know, Kyle really was a good husband. And a good dad. I can’t believe what he did.” She glanced over Ingrid’s shoulder and tensed for a moment.

  Ingrid turned around and saw Gurley approaching. “MPs really are as unpopular as their reputation, huh?”

  “I just don’t trust the guy.”

  “Gurley? Why?”

  She shrugged and slipped Ingrid’s card into her pocket. “Forget I mentioned it. I spoke out of turn. OK?” She hurried away.

  25

  “What were you talking about?” Gurley eyed Ingrid suspiciously as he a
pproached.

  “Do you have a problem with Rachelle?”

  “No, why would I?”

  “Earlier, upstairs… the atmosphere seemed a little tense.”

  “Don’t know what you’re talking about.” He stared at Rachelle as she scurried away. “What did she tell you?”

  “She just wanted to know how Carrie and Molly were doing. She’s concerned.”

  “And what did you tell her?”

  “That Carrie was doing OK, in the circumstances.”

  “You think so?” He started chewing the inside of his lip.

  “I had to be a little upbeat.”

  “Did you find out anything from her that might help locate Foster?”

  “Not really. But she did tell me Carrie and Kyle were the perfect couple before Molly was born.”

  “She did?”

  “Maybe Carrie spent a little too much time with the new baby and Kyle felt excluded. Maybe that was when Kyle’s problems started.”

  Gurley shoved his hands in his pockets.

  “Where have you been?” she asked him.

  “Speaking to the medical officer.”

  “The one treating Foster’s PTSD?”

  He nodded.

  “What did she tell you?”

  “Not much more than what was in his medical report.”

  Ingrid wasn’t sure she believed him. “Maybe I should speak to her too.”

  “We’re not supposed to be duplicating work.”

  “She must have been able to give you some background.”

  “Do you know how many service personnel and their families she treats in a week?”

  “Not that may suffering from PTSD.”

  “Foster’s been going to regular counseling sessions, making good progress, she said.”

  “And that’s all she had to say?”

  “There was nothing more to say.”

  “What did she make of what happened in London?”

  Gurley looked away.

  “Major?”

  He screwed up his face. “She was surprised. Shocked. He seemed to be doing fine, she said. She thought he had his anger issues under control.” He folded his arms. “Just shows you how anyone can make mistakes.”

  Ingrid wasn’t happy that Gurley had interviewed the doctor without her. Was there something he wasn’t sharing? “Does the doctor have any inkling what his next move might be?”

  “I didn’t bother to ask her. I knew she wouldn’t know a damn thing about it.”

  “So, what’s next?”

  “We both know the manager of the bar was lying.”

  “About something, maybe.”

  “So we go back to the village and watch her for a while. See where she goes. See who visits her.”

  It wasn’t the dumbest idea, and in the absence of anything better, Ingrid couldn’t really object. “OK—but we limit the surveillance to a couple of hours.”

  “How about six hours and I’ll buy you dinner after?”

  “How about four and you promise me you weren’t actually asking me out.”

  “Have no fear of that. You’re really not my type. No offense. Four hours and you can buy yourself a pizza, eat it all on your lonesome.”

  “Deal.”

  After Ingrid had updated both DCI Radcliffe and Sol Franklin, she and Gurley returned to the village in a less conspicuous vehicle than his Oldsmobile. Gurley had somehow managed to get hold of a beat up Land Rover that blended right into the rural surroundings. Ingrid insisted she drive and that Gurley slide down in the passenger seat as far as he could and wear a dark knitted hat over his bright blond crew cut. He was a difficult man to disguise.

  Ingrid parked forty or so yards from the Hare and Hounds, making sure they had a clear view of the front and rear exits. Unless the pub had some kind of tunnel leading from its basement to a neighboring property, they’d be able to observe anyone leaving or entering the premises. She looked at her watch. “Four hours.”

  Half an hour into their surveillance, Ingrid’s cell phone beeped with a text message. It was from Ralph Mills. She’d been letting his calls go to voicemail since their date on Monday night—she didn’t want to be distracted by him in the middle of a manhunt. Not that he’d called her that often. In fact, he’d probably judged the amount of attention he was giving her just about right. His messages had been sweet and funny. He wasn’t hassling her for another date, just letting her know she was on his mind. Given she had nothing better to do for the next three and a half hours, she couldn’t see any reason not to reply. She didn’t want him thinking she wasn’t interested. She quickly tapped a message into her phone:

  Good thnx, u? on stake out w/ gurley need entertainment

  She could sense Gurley was glancing toward her. He was somehow managing to demonstrate his disapproval merely by altering the pattern of his breathing.

  Only jokes i know are infantile or adolescent… sorry to disappoint

  How about a poem?

  There was a young lady from minnesota, who… used up the state’s hog feed quota

  Is that it?

  Her pigs were so big, she needed to dig…

  Huh?

  Nope sorry… run out of rhymes

  Gurley let out a long sigh and shifted in his seat. “If this mission is getting in the way of something more important, I could just complete it without you.”

  Ingrid turned to look at him. His expression was fixed in a grimace. He really wasn’t joking. “From now on, it has my undivided attention. How about that?” She tapped another quick message to Ralph:

  Expect u to get it finished by next time i see u

  She hesitated before sending. That reply would mean she was suggesting another date. She considered deleting it, but with Gurley breathing down her neck, she hit send before she got to the end of the thought process. Ralph had almost written her a limerick, for God’s sake. No one had ever done that for her before. That fact alone was definitely worthy of a second date.

  I’ll do my best… good luck with mission/gurley

  Ingrid’s phone buzzed again twenty minutes later: Natasha McKittrick calling. She dismissed the call, not wanting to give Gurley another excuse to question her commitment to the case. Her phone vibrated again to let her know she had a voice message. Dammit, Gurley was making her feel like a misbehaving schoolgirl. She turned away toward the driver window, shoved the phone against her right ear, and listened to the message.

  “What have you done to my detective?” McKittrick said, her tone completely deadpan. “He’s got the stupidest grin on his face and is practically bloody useless. I’ve had to send him out for coffee in the hope that the fresh air might blow some sense into him. Call me as soon as you pick this up.”

  Smiling to herself, Ingrid deleted the voicemail and slipped the phone into a pocket.

  “Whoever that was, she has a voice that carries,” Gurley informed her. “You might want to let her know.”

  “Thanks for the tip.”

  “I’m so glad this operation is giving you plenty of time to organize your social engagements.”

  Why was Gurley so pissed at her? She wondered if maybe he didn’t have much of a social life himself. Working in Security Forces on a base in the middle of the English countryside had to be a pretty lonely existence. Maybe she should feel sorry for the guy.

  Three and three-quarter hours later, just as the daylight was starting to fade and Ingrid’s behind was aching due to the thin layer of foam between the worn upholstery and the rock hard driver’s seat, she turned to Gurley. “I think maybe we should call it a day.”

  Gurley tapped a big forefinger on his watch. “Fifteen more minutes.”

  “Nothing’s going to happen now.” Ingrid adjusted her position and tried to shake some feeling back into her numb right foot.

  “You agreed to four hours.”

  “OK!” She threw up her hands in surrender.

  A few minutes later, Yvonne Sherwood appeared at the door of the pub. She
was carrying a large sports bag. The woman struggled with the bag to a nearby car and dumped it on the passenger seat.

  Gurley mumbled something about patience being a virtue and slid a little further down into his seat. “Remember not to get too close.” There was a definite smug tone to his voice.

  “I have tailed a few vehicles in my time.” Ingrid could tell Gurley was frustrated not to be sitting behind the wheel.

  The pub manager’s dinky silver car pulled away from the curb and Ingrid started up the Land Rover once there was a distance of fifty or so yards between the two vehicles.

  The silver car stopped a minute later outside the convenience store and Yvonne Sherwood jumped out. She looked up and down the street, her gaze lingering in their direction for more seconds than was comfortable.

  Ingrid held her breath.

  A moment later Sherwood turned away and disappeared inside the store. She re-emerged after a few minutes with a bag of groceries. She shoved the bag onto the passenger seat of the car. Then, instead of getting back behind the wheel, she returned to the store. She pulled something from her purse and headed for the ATM next to the door. She removed the thick wad of cash that came out of the slot, found another card in her purse and repeated the process. They watched her do the same thing with another two cards, then shove all the cash into a pocket.

  “Goddammit,” Gurley said, when Sherwood headed back to her car. “I knew I was right about her.”

  26

  In the deepening gloom Ingrid and Gurley trailed behind Yvonne Sherwood for fifteen minutes, not daring to put on the headlights of the Land Rover, edging along the narrow country lanes.

  “We’re going to lose her, put your foot on the gas.” Gurley was leaning so close to the windshield, his nose was practically pressed up against the glass.

  “Maybe now’s the time to call the cops. Get some backup.”

  “They made their attitude quite clear this morning. I won’t have them swarming all over the countryside and screwing everything up. We call them when she’s led us to Foster.”