by Eva Hudson
She followed him to the dove-gray chopper. As she approached the big helicopter—it was easily over fifty-foot long—she was reminded of the last time she had flown in one. It was during her first ever case at the embassy. Her stomach lurched a little as she recalled the turbulence they’d endured on the flight back to London, as they tried and failed to outrun a big winter storm. She swallowed hard. At least the weather today was a lot calmer.
Once they were safely harnessed inside, the helicopter rose into the air, and Ingrid spotted Angela Tate standing in the road that led to the helipad in Battersea, looking disheveled and maybe even a little defeated. Ingrid felt a twinge of pity for the reporter.
The feeling soon passed.
The journalist must have followed them all the way from Willesden, no doubt determined to get a better story for the front page of the Evening News than a child being snatched by a disgruntled father from his estranged wife. Tate would be on the hunt for bigger headlines and wouldn’t stop until she got them. Ingrid was pretty sure that the reporter’s expense account wouldn’t stretch to hiring a helicopter of her own. For a while at least, their destination would remain classified information.
Gurley tried to fit his long legs into the cramped space, twisting his body one way then the other. He finally resorted to resting his feet on the backpack with his knees up somewhere around head height.
“Maybe you didn’t need to bring all that gear,” Ingrid said, adjusting her headset so it sat more snugly on her head.
“I wasn’t going to leave it behind—I just bought this stuff. Besides, we don’t know how Foster is surviving. He’s probably living off the land, sleeping outdoors. You might find some of this stuff useful if we have to track him.”
“I might?”
“I can get all the supplies I need from the base.” He thudded the backpack with the heel of his boot. “Think of this as a small gift from me to you.”
Gee, I’m touched.
“On that subject—tracking—I want to make it clear now, I can’t have you slowing me down,” Gurley told her, his expression solemn. “No offense. It could get very physical.”
“I run five miles most days—do you?”
“It’s not just about stamina, you need strength too.”
“Don’t you worry about me.” She managed to resist the urge to have him squeeze her biceps just to prove her point.
Gurley didn’t comment. His silence told her plenty. Although she might not be capable of overpowering him in an arm wrestling contest, she was damn sure she could outrun him. But there was nothing to gain in getting pissed at his attitude, so she got back on topic. “Assuming this sighting is reliable—”
“It is.”
“OK—I guess we’ll find out soon enough. Assuming it was Foster, why would he return to Freckenham? Why get anywhere near the base? Do you think he’s planning to turn himself in?”
“He could have walked into any station house to do that.”
“Not if he thinks he can be tried in the US if he surrenders to US personnel. Maybe he just wants to go home.”
“You’re still making the mistake of assuming he’s thinking rationally. He’s gone postal—nothing he does now can be predicted with any measure of accuracy. We don’t know what’s going through the crazy S.O.B.’s head.”
Something didn’t fit with the crazed airman picture Gurley was painting. Right now Ingrid couldn’t put her finger on it. “So why do you think he’s here?”
“Maybe to seek revenge?”
“On who?”
Gurley shrugged.
“You think he really might want to hurt the people on the base?”
“Worst case scenario—maybe some folks in the village too.”
“Then we really should inform the local cops.” Ingrid didn’t want get the Suffolk force involved, but wasn’t sure she could keep the new intel from them.
“The local cops were supposed to be keeping the train and bus stations under surveillance. They didn’t do a real good job, did they?”
“Assuming this sighting is reliable.”
“Like you say—we’ll find out soon enough.”
The journey from London to Suffolk was uneventful. Ingrid’s attempts at engaging Gurley in any conversation that wasn’t directly connected to the hunt for Foster were either ignored completely—more than once Gurley feigned sleep—or slapped down as either irrelevant or too damn personal. Silence was just fine with Ingrid. It was a relief to concentrate on the view out the window than make excruciating small talk.
The chopper landed in a designated helicopter zone on the base and a jeep arrived within moments to convey them to a windowless low-rise block situated at the edge of the complex. One of Gurley’s sergeants escorted them to a stuffy room at the end of a long corridor. Inside was a man in his late thirties or early forties, a little overweight, dressed in civilian clothes. He was pacing up and down behind a table and four chairs.
“Is that it? Am I going to the police station now?” He had an English accent, with a slight lilt to it. Ingrid supposed he was a local. The man had directed his question at Gurley, ignoring Ingrid completely.
“Mr Cooper?” Gurley said, “Mr Glen Cooper?”
“You know who I am, for God’s sake. What’s going on here?”
“We need to speak to you, sir.”
“Christ, what do you think you’re doing? You have no right to hold me like this. Where are the police? I asked the other bloke I spoke to—Lieutenant Grayson—to call them. Where the hell are they? Finally he turned his attention from Gurley to Ingrid. “And who the hell are you?”
Ingrid showed him her badge. “I’m from the American embassy. We’re very interested in finding out exactly what you saw this morning.”
“Oh, is that right? Well maybe I don’t want to tell you. I’ve done nothing wrong. I’ve got other deliveries to make. You can’t keep me here. It’s not legal.”
“Why don’t you let us worry about what is and isn’t legal?” Gurley pulled out a chair from the table and sat down.
“Piss off.”
Ingrid sat down too. “The faster you tell us what you saw, the faster you’ll get out of here.” Ingrid felt sorry for the guy, locked up for the past two hours as if he were a criminal. What the Air Force was doing was illegal, but if it meant that they tracked Foster down sooner, she was willing to be party to a little bending of the rules.
“I know you, I’ve seen you around the base, you look different out of uniform. Smaller somehow.”
“My name’s Jack Gurley—I’m a major in Security Forces. I need you to tell me everything you saw.”
“I can’t hang around here. I thought I was going to speak to the police. Not bloody Mulder and Scully. I’ve got a business to run. Deliveries to make.”
“You’ve made that quite clear. Why don’t you sit down and tell us what you know?” Gurley folded his arms and tilted his head to one side, the picture of a patient interrogator.
“I’ll talk just as soon as that door’s unlocked and the armed man outside has been dismissed.”
“Not possible.” Gurley scraped back his chair and stood up. He hurried around the table and squared up to Cooper. He towered over the man.
Cooper flinched, and raised his arms across his face.
“What? You think this is going to get physical?” Gurley said.
“I know what you Yanks are like, Guantanamo and all that.”
“Then you must know how determined we are to get the information we need.” Gurley forced a smile.
Ingrid got to her feet, staying on her side of the table, but preparing to launch into action if Gurley did overstep the line. “You say you have a business to run, Mr Cooper?” She maintained a quiet and even tone, despite being sorely tempted to holler at him. “You deliver supplies to the base?”
“And I have been doing for years. You really shouldn’t be treating me like this.”
“So I’m guessing you rely on the base for a large part
of your income. I’m guessing it’d be… significant, in terms of your… profitability, if you lost the RAF Freckenham contract.”
Cooper lowered his arms and his shoulders drooped. He stared into Ingrid’s face, then down at the floor and shook his head. “That’s how you’re going to play it. Threatening my business.” He looked at Gurley. “She’s good. You could learn a thing or two from her, Mulder.” He shuffled to the table and sat down opposite Ingrid. “Let’s get on with this bloody interview, then, shall we?”
Gurley gave her a begrudging smile as he returned to his seat.
Cooper interlaced his fingers and flexed them outwards, forcing the cartilage to pop noisily. “What do you want to know?”
21
They had been at the base for over thirty minutes, and still hadn’t gotten the first nugget of intel from the eyewitness. It was clear to Ingrid that Cooper had been locked up and isolated to maintain first mover advantage. She suspected Gurley wanted to bring Kyle Foster in himself, single-handedly, if he had a choice.
If he thought for one second he could shake her off, he needed to think again.
After Gurley had made a show of rolling up his sleeves, to reveal remarkably pale, almost hairless arms, he planted both elbows on the table and leaned forward. “When did you see him?”
“Just before six o’clock. I was only a few miles from here. Running a bit late… that’s a bloody joke, considering what time it is now… anyway, Foster was standing outside the post office, next to the pillar box. Looked as if he was waiting for something.”
“Or someone?” Gurley asked.
Cooper shrugged. “How am I supposed to know that?”
“So you recognized him? From the TV reports?”
“I know him. Not well, but enough to recognize him in the street.”
“What did you do then?”
“I pulled up and got out of the van.”
“Why?”
Cooper paused for a moment. “Actually, I’m not sure. I didn’t think about it. By the time I was out of the cab, he was gone.”
“Why didn’t you call the police right away?” Ingrid asked. Gurley threw her an irritated sideways glance.
“I tried. My phone battery was out of juice. I need to get a new phone, it runs right down after a couple of calls. I just haven’t got round to it.”
“There are public pay phones in the village. I’ve seen them,” Gurley said.
“But have you ever actually seen anyone use one? You won’t have—they’ve all been vandalized. Quick as BT send an engineer round to fix them, so some little bastard smashes them up again.”
“So you continued your journey into the base?” Ingrid asked.
“Seemed like the smart thing to do. I told Lieutenant Grayson I’d seen Kyle. He said he’d phone the police and I should sit tight and wait for them to come out to question me. That was bloody ages ago. And then you two turn up.”
“Was Foster alone when you saw him?” Ingrid said. “Was his son with him?”
“Alone. I expected to see Tommy close by, but there was no sign of him. That’s not good, is it?” He popped his knuckles again. “My youngest is so upset by it all he’s refusing to go to school. Probably just an excuse to bunk off, but you can understand he’d be feeling scared.”
“Your son knows Tommy?”
“Lewis plays footie with Tommy every Saturday. It’s a little local league, nothing to get excited about, but that doesn’t stop some dads taking it very seriously.”
“And was Foster one of those dads? Did he push Tommy to do well?”
“God no. He was just pleased Tommy had made a few friends outside of the base.”
“Why’s that?” Gurley’s upper body tensed defensively.
“You’d have to ask him. But I think I know what he meant. Village life can get like that too. Seeing the same people all the time isn’t healthy for anyone, is it? That’s how tempers fray and arguments start. Well, you tell me, major. I bet it’s like a pressure cooker in here sometimes, isn’t it?”
Gurley didn’t respond. He just narrowed his eyes and set his jaw.
“So Tommy and Lewis play soccer together. How about you and Foster—are you close?” Ingrid asked.
“What are you getting at?”
“How well do you know him?”
“We have a pint after the match on a Saturday afternoon. But if you’re implying that I’ve done anything wrong… that I’m such a close friend I’d protect him or something… then you’re totally barking up the wrong tree. I reported seeing him just as soon as I could.”
Ingrid wondered why Cooper had become so defensive. Could he be hiding something? “What was Foster wearing when you saw him?”
“Dark trousers, a pale shirt. Bloody big boots on his feet. US Air Force issue, they looked like.”
“Was he clean shaven?”
“He looked like he hadn’t had a shave for a day or two. But he didn’t exactly have a beard. His hair was greasy, lying flat against his head.”
“So maybe he hadn’t had access to a bathroom, the past forty-eight hours?” Ingrid asked.
“I suppose not.”
“Did he look as if he’d been sleeping outdoors?” Gurley said.
“He looked bloody rough, so he could have been.”
“Rough?”
“His clothes were creased and muddy. He seemed exhausted.”
“Sounds like you got a pretty good look at him. How long were you staring at him before you opened the door of your truck?” Gurley’s tone had changed from general hostility to outright mistrust.
“Wait a minute, I don’t like the way this is going.”
“What were you planning to do?”
“I wasn’t planning anything, I told you, I wasn’t thinking at all. I just jumped out of the van.”
Ingrid leaned forward, closer to Cooper than Gurley was. She felt as if she needed to get between the two men before tempers flared even more. “Is there anything else you can tell us about the way he looked?”
It took Cooper a moment to tear his gaze away from Gurley’s face. Ingrid wasn’t even sure he’d heard her question.
“I told you, one second he was there, the next he was gone. I’ve told you everything there is to tell.”
Gurley suddenly stood up and ducked around the table. He crouched next to Cooper, their heads at the same level. “I’m going to ask you this once and I’d advise you to think very carefully before you answer.”
Cooper frowned at Gurley, then turned toward Ingrid. She managed to keep her face expressionless. What the hell was Gurley doing?
“Do you know where Kyle Foster is right now?”
“Of course not! How could I? I’ve been in this place for over two hours.”
“Are you protecting Kyle Foster?”
“No! I barely know the bloke. I wish I didn’t, now I’ve found out what he’s capable of.”
“Did you give him money, or any other kind of assistance when you saw him earlier?”
“What’s going on here? I reported the sighting, didn’t I? Why would I do that if I wanted to help him?”
“I don’t believe you.”
“But I’m telling you the truth. For God’s sake, what do I have to do to convince you?”
Gurley moved closer to Cooper. “Who then? Who else would want to help him? Who was he waiting for when you saw him?”
“How would I know? I’m not a bloody mindreader.” Cooper tried to move his face away, but Gurley clamped a hand around the back of his neck. “Ask Yvonne if she knows anything about it,” Cooper said, his voice coming out in a strangled whisper.
“Yvonne?”
“Yvonne Sherwood. The landlady at the Hare and Hounds—the pub I go to on a Saturday afternoon with Foster. She’s decidedly chummy with the bloke. If you know what I mean.”
22
Ingrid jogged to keep up with Gurley as he strode down the corridor and back outside. “We have to let him go,” she said.
�
��Do we?”
“He’s a witness, not a goddamn criminal—he could make a lot of trouble for the embassy if he decided to go to the press. You know how sensitive this whole situation is.”
“We will let him go. But there’s no harm in having him stew a little longer before we do. That way he might be more reluctant to go to the police when he gets out of here. He won’t want to waste any more of his precious time being questioned.” Gurley stopped abruptly and called over a Security Forces sergeant who was coming out of the adjacent building. “That guy—Cooper—make sure he gets his phone back and is released in thirty minutes. No, make it an hour. If he talks about filing an official complaint, remind him how valuable the US Air Force contract is to him.” He glanced at Ingrid. “That was a nice touch, by the way.”
The sergeant saluted Gurley and disappeared into the building they’d just exited.
“Thank you,” Ingrid said.
“I had no intention of detaining him. I wouldn’t want to make any trouble for you and the embassy.”
Ingrid wasn’t sure she entirely believed him. She suspected he’d make just as much trouble as he needed, if it got him the right result. “You do know we’re supposed to keep DCI Radcliffe informed of what we’re doing, if we discover anything new,” she reminded him.
“So far we’ve had an unconfirmed sighting. Geographically we might be a little closer to Foster, but practically? We’re no further forward than we were two hours ago.”
It seemed like a fine line they were walking, but for the time being, Ingrid was prepared to go along with Gurley’s approach. It wasn’t as if Radcliffe could offer them much assistance right now, and involving the local cops would only slow them down. “OK—let’s go talk to Yvonne Sherwood. Then we can make a decision whether we pass on the information. Maybe she’ll tell us nothing useful. No point in wasting anyone else’s time.”
“Couldn’t agree more. We’ll take my car. We don’t want to roll into the village in an Air Force vehicle. No need to announce our arrival.” He set off at top speed once again.
“Do you know her—the manager of the Hare and Hounds?” Ingrid asked, breaking into a jog to catch up with him.