by Eva Hudson
Ingrid walked back to the turning circle and noticed that the garage was asymmetrical. The open side didn’t run the full length of the barn: the door she had tried had to lead to a stairwell and up to the man cave.
“Hey there boy,” she said to the dog. “Who’s here with you? Eh?”
The dog’s wagging tail was visible above the hood of the Roadster. She walked round the car and saw he was pawing at the bottom of the door. She tried the handle again, then knocked hard.
“Hello!” she shouted. “Anyone up there?”
Ingrid looked at the dog. He really wanted to be let in: there had to be someone upstairs. Someone who wasn’t answering. Someone who was hiding.
“Tom? Mr Kerrison?”
She didn’t have time to wait until he came down. She barely had a day left to find Kristyn and get her on a plane. Now was not the time for a stake out. She shouldered the door. It didn’t budge.
“Stand back, fella,” she said to the dog and felt inside her jacket for the Glock. “Seriously, you want to be well away. Shoo!” She kicked the dog gently. The dumb mutt didn’t even yelp. “If there’s anyone behind this door, you want to step away now. In three seconds I am going to blow the lock off. If you’re hiding behind this door, step away.” Deep breath. “One. Two. Three.”
Ingrid pulled the trigger and fired a bullet into the lock. The dog started to howl. Twelve bullets left. She tried the handle. It still wouldn’t budge. “I’m sorry, Cully, but I’m going to have to do that again.” She fired again. Down to eleven. Keeping her gun at shoulder level, she kicked the door and it opened.
“Hello?” she said, stepping inside. In front of her was a staircase. There were no other doors, no other possibilities. Just a staircase rising into a darkened room above. “Hello? Tom?”
She thought she heard something.
“Who’s there?”
No response. The dog stopped howling. The only sound was her heartbeat, heavy, slow and hard. Ingrid took the first stair. Scuff marks ran the length of the stairwell. There were muddy footprints on the treads. The smell of gasoline told her she was entering a workshop. After another step she stopped and looked up into the void. Keeping the gun at shoulder level, she placed her foot on the next tread.
The dog pushed past her and bounded up the steps, his claws scratching on the bare wood. He reached the top of the stairs, turned right into the room and out of sight. He barked hello to someone.
“Ssshh.” A man’s voice? A woman’s voice? Ingrid couldn’t tell.
“I know you’re up there,” Ingrid said. She looked up at the final four steps. “As you must have heard, I am armed. Do not, I repeat, do not make any sudden moves.”
Footsteps. Ingrid moved the gun in a narrow arc, aiming to the right to cover any approach.
A figure appeared tentatively at the top of the stairs. A young woman, hair unwashed, face trembling, eyes wide like the doe on the path, her belly round and taut. Kristyn.
Something leapt inside Ingrid’s chest. “It’s OK,” she said and lowered the Glock.
The girl’s eyes darted sideways. Ingrid followed her gaze and saw a shadowy figure standing above the banister. A man. A tattooed man. Holding a wrench. He brought the tool down hard on Ingrid’s head, sending her reeling backwards down the stairs, knocking the Glock from her hands.
41
Ingrid’s shoulder slammed into the wall as she fell. She extended her right arm, bracing herself, stopping herself from tumbling further. Her heart pounded so hard it hurt. The man rushed down the stairs at her, the wrench still in his hand. Perfect. He was going to make it easy for her. He brought his arm down hard, aiming again at Ingrid’s head. His momentum and his flailing arm made him topheavy. All Ingrid had to do was obstruct his ankle and he fell forward, flying down the stairs headfirst.
The man found his feet. The Glock was on the floor next to him. Ingrid leapt down the stairs to kick the gun away, clattering it out onto the concrete floor of the garage. He scrambled up on his haunches, pushed his arms against the wall to lever himself upright. Ingrid raised her knee, jamming it under his jaw as he leaned forward and smashed his head back against the wall. The loud thud his skull made against the brick told her he wouldn’t be getting up anytime soon. She stepped out into the garage, scrambled the Glock and holstered it.
The man was slumped at the bottom of the stairs, concussed if not completely knocked out. His skull tattoo was partially visible as his head lolled to one side. Ingrid stepped over him and ran up the stairs, taking them three at a time, racing into the room at the top.
She looked around. A tool bench. Racks of screwdrivers, ratchets and spanners. An empty desk and a kitchenette with a kettle and a fridge. A tattered couch. Where was Kristyn? Where was the dog? At the other end of the room was a door. Ingrid walked toward it.
“Kristyn? Are you OK?”
There was no answer.
“Kristyn, my name is Ingrid. You’re safe now. I promise.” Ingrid approached the open doorway. “Kristyn, I’m going to come into the room now.”
Kristyn stood opposite the door, wearing a gray tunic dress, a maternity version of something from Manuela’s collection, the dog sitting dutifully at her feet. Behind her was a single bed, a metal safe and a wooden chair. She was holding a pry bar that was shaking in her wavering grasp. Ingrid held up her hands in surrender.
“Hi.”
“Get away from me.” There was steel in her eyes and iron in her voice.
“I’m here to help. I’m from the embassy.”
“I know who you are.” The bar wobbled in her hands.
“You do?”
“Tom said you might find this place.” Kristyn took a step toward Ingrid, holding the pry bar like a baseball player on strike. “Get away. Leave me alone.” The dog started to whine. There were heavy footsteps behind and Ingrid turned sharply. The tattooed man staggered toward her, dazed but still dangerous, the wrench in his right hand.
Ingrid stepped toward him and grabbed his right wrist, twisting it outwards until he dropped the weapon. She brought her right hand up under his chin, shoving his head up and back. He was no taller than she was, but he was muscular and strong, a street fighter. She stamped hard on his foot with her heel as he swung an empty right fist at her jaw. The rings on his fingers scratched deep into her cheek.
Ingrid hit his jaw again, slamming his teeth together, slicing his tongue. He grabbed both her shoulders and slammed her against a wall. He brought his head forward and down, jamming his forehead into her temple. She brought a knee up hard and fast, making decisive contact. He lurched backwards, clutching his crotch. Ingrid kicked him in the jaw, aiming for the exact same spot she’d hit before. The toe of her boot rammed up into his chin, snapping his head back and sending him to the floor. This time he was out cold.
Ingrid glanced up at Kristyn, standing on the threshold into the bedroom area, still holding the bar.
“You seen any rope in this place?” she asked the girl. Ingrid stepped over the man and rushed to the tool bench. There were a couple of sets of keys, one of which looked like it was attached to a rosary, oil cans and engine parts. “I need to tie him before he wakes.”
“There’s duct tape,” Kristyn said, nodding in the direction of one of the desks.
Ingrid swiped a roll of tape and hurried back to the man. “Who is this guy?” she asked.
Kristyn watched as Ingrid rolled the man over and bound his hands together behind his back. She lowered the pry bar. “He was going to kidnap me.”
Ingrid tore the tape between her teeth. “Don’t you mean he did kidnap you?” Ingrid couldn’t work out what was going on. She shoved her arms under his armpits and dragged him across the floor. He was a dead weight and the exertion immediately raised her temperature and heart rate. The dog followed. “Hey there, buddy, keep your distance.” Ingrid looked up at Kristyn. “Can you keep a hold of the dog. I don’t want him licking this guy awake.”
Kristyn dropped the bar onto
the couch and lowered herself down. “Come here boy.”
“I can’t work out if he’s one of the smartest dogs I ever met or one of the dumbest,” Ingrid said in an attempt to start a conversation. She pushed the man up against the banister and felt inside his jacket. The hilt of a knife. She carefully pulled it from its sheath. A nine-inch blade. A murder weapon-in-waiting. She kicked it across the floor and patted his pockets. A passport, a wallet. She dropped them on the floor and started to run the tape around his chest, through the rails and around his chest again, like a bridegroom against a lamppost on a stag night prank. Ingrid checked his pulse. Slow but steady. No need to call an ambulance. She bound him at the ankles, knees and feet. Satisfied the man wouldn’t be going anywhere anytime soon, she switched her attention to the girl.
Kristyn was still sitting on the couch, one hand stroking the dog’s ear, the other her distended belly. She looked bemused rather than scared, stunned more than relieved. The girl winced: she was in pain. Ingrid stayed on her knees next to the man, understanding that the girl needed a bit of space to process, to breathe.
“This was supposed to be my safe house,” Kristyn said. Her tone was weary, her voice quiet. “First he shows up, now you. I could have been in the main house.”
“Why weren’t you?” Ingrid didn’t move. She knew how to gain a vulnerable child’s trust and invading their personal space was the best way of making them push back. More than anything right now, Ingrid needed Kristyn to trust her.
“Tom said no one comes here. No one has a key even. Except him.”
“What is this place?” Ingrid stretched out a hand for the man’s passport.
“It’s where the driver lives.”
“They have a driver?” Ingrid looked at the passport photo, then back at the man. The passport was stolen. One of the advantages of the tattoos, she reasoned. Who could say what this man would look like without them?
“I don’t think so. Maybe the people who used to live here had one.”
Ingrid opened the wallet. Over £400 and credit cards in several different names. “But it was Tom who brought you here?”
Kristyn shook her head. “He told me to come, gave me keys, but he didn’t bring me. I took the train. Tom brought the dog yesterday. To keep me company till he can come back after he’s got everything figured out.”
Ingrid was confused. “What do you mean, figured out?” She got to her feet, but didn’t walk toward the girl.
Kristyn slumped back against the couch and looked up at Ingrid. “Surprised you haven’t guessed.”
Ingrid bent down and picked up the knife before dropping it into the sink. She exhaled and leaned against the short row of kitchen units. When she ran her fingers through her hair, she felt a bump where the wrench had struck her. Should she say something? No. Let the girl talk. If she’s talking, just let the words flow, that was how things worked best. The more someone talks to you, the more they come to trust you. The more you talk at them, the more likely it is you’ll drive them away. But the girl didn’t talk, she just sat on the couch, stroking the obedient dog and staring into the middle distance. Ingrid couldn’t risk the silence enduring any longer. She needed to form a bond with the girl.
“Do you need a doctor?” she asked.
Kristyn looked up at her. “No, but you might.”
“Why?”
“Your face.”
Ingrid felt her cheek and pulled her hand away. Blood. Not too much. “I’ll heal. Are you hungry? Thirsty?”
Kristyn shook her head. “No, I feel sick.”
“What about Cully? Has he eaten?”
“He got fed this morning. Just before Vinny got here and threw him out.”
“Vinny?”
Kristyn indicated the duct tape mummy.
“You know him?”
The girl nodded.
“From Aurora?”
Fear flashed across Kristyn’s features. It had been the wrong thing to say, Ingrid had shown her cards too soon.
“I’m so sorry about your sister.” She took a step toward the girl, sensing now was the time to empathize. She knelt down in front of her. “It must be hard for you right now. You’ve got so much to deal with.”
Kristyn’s face was taut. She refused to meet Ingrid’s gaze. “Stop playing nice.” The determination had returned to her voice. “I know who you are and I know why you’re here.”
“You do?”
“You’re not from the embassy. Tom said you were FBI. And I’m telling you like I told Vinny: I will not testify.”
“Vinny? Why’d he want you to testify?” Ingrid was confused. If he wanted her to testify, then he definitely wasn’t working with Avery Donaho.
Kristyn risked a quick glance at Ingrid, disgust evident in her expression. “You people. You think you’re the solution, but you’re the fucking poison.”
“Kristyn, I—”
The girl grabbed the pry bar from the couch next to her and swung her arm in an arc to land a blow across Ingrid’s ear, knocking her sideways onto the grubby carpet. The room started to spin. “What the hell?” Ingrid slumped, her body floored by both the impact and the shock.
Kristyn used both arms to haul herself to the edge of the couch. She pushed up with one hand, struggling to get upright. When she had her balance, she stepped over to the work bench, swiped a set of car keys and disappeared down the stairs.
42
Ingrid blinked at the indentation the girl had left on the couch. What just happened? She struggled onto all fours and used the couch to get herself upright.
“Why didn’t you stop her?” she said to the dog. “Eh?”
Cully whimpered and cocked his head to one side. Useless.
Ingrid staggered across the room to the staircase, regaining increments of balance with each step. Vinny’s head lolled to one side and blood dribbled from the corner of his mouth. He looked like a drunk who had passed out but he was breathing fine. Safe to be left. Ingrid made her way slowly down the stairs, stumbling as she reached the bottom, her head still spinning.
Kristyn had somehow squeezed herself in behind the wheel of the Mercedes and was trying the key in the ignition. Ingrid lurched in front of the car, placing both palms flat against the hood.
“Why does Vinny want you to testify? I don’t get it. He’s not here to stop you?”
The girl didn’t make eye contact, focusing intently on the key in the ignition, willing the engine to kick into life.
“Tell me who he is, Kristyn. He’s not going to be out cold forever. I can’t just leave him like that. Who is he?”
Kristyn tilted her head and stared at Ingrid. “Work. It. Out.”
The engine made a slight clinking noise. Either the battery was dead or it wasn’t connected. Ingrid could take her time while Kristyn turned the key fruitlessly. Without the car, the kid had no means of escape. Better for her to realize that than for Ingrid to tell her. The dog appeared at the bottom of the stairs, his front paws on the concrete floor of the garage. He looked at Kristyn, then looked at Ingrid.
“OK, I will work it out… He wants Sutcliffe behind bars, that’s got to be it. And he knows your testimony can do that. But you need to know he’d have a helluva fight getting you on a plane right now.”
Kristyn didn’t look convinced.
“All you’d have to do is tell the check-in desk you’re nearly nine months pregnant. Without a doctor’s letter they won’t let you board. He can’t make you testify, Kristyn. He’s got no power over you.”
The girl didn’t respond; she didn’t even make eye contact. She just stared at the ignition and tried the key again and again, desperately trying to resist the moment when she’d have to admit she wasn’t going anywhere.
“I promise you, he can’t make you do anything. And besides, I won’t let him.” Ingrid hoped she was gaining the girl’s trust. “I promise you.”
Kristyn Bowers stopped staring at the key and looked at Ingrid through the windshield. “He says he’ll kil
l Brody if I don’t.”
Ingrid took a second. “Who’s Brody?”
“My sister’s little boy.”
The hideous details of Kate-Lynn’s murder surged into Ingrid’s memory. A toddler left alone with his mother’s corpse. Ingrid swallowed hard, hoping he’d be too young to remember. She stepped round the hood, opened the driver’s door and crouched down. Kristyn looked at her, eyes filled with tears.
“That is one thing I can take care of. Right now,” Ingrid said. “One phone call. I can get him into protection. I can make sure he’s safe.”
“Like Dion? Witness protection didn’t exactly work out for him, did it?”
Ingrid carefully placed a hand on Kristyn’s knee and was relieved when the girl didn’t push it away. “Look, I don’t know much about the trial or what happened in Aurora. It’s not my case, but I do know your friend Dion must have made a mistake. I read he was killed in Skokie: he shouldn’t have been anywhere near Chicago.”
Kristyn was listening.
“He must have told someone. I’m not saying witness protection is easy, because it isn’t, but it does work. We keep people safe for decades. For the rest of their lives. And it works best for kids. Your nephew will be safe, I can promise you that.”
Tears rolled down Kristyn’s face. Her hands held the steering wheel like she needed it for support. “But if I do testify,” she said, wiping her face, “then Sutcliffe will kill me.”
“You can go into witness protection too.”
The girl started shaking her head. Her jaw trembled. Her grip loosened on the steering wheel. “You’re just saying that because you want me to testify.”
Ingrid gently squeezed the girl’s knee. “Honestly, Kristyn, right now I don’t give a damn about the case. I’d rather a man like Sutcliffe was locked up, but all I care about is you and dealing with that man upstairs. Then I want to get you someplace safe where you can have the baby. I swear.”