Deep Hurt

by Eva Hudson

  “He wanted to know how Molly was. I refused to tell him unless he put Tommy on the line.”

  “You actually spoke to Tommy?”

  “No. Foster went quiet after that. Then hung up.”

  “Couldn’t you have given him the information first, then asked to speak to Tommy? The guy’s clearly concerned about his daughter.” Ingrid felt like shaking Gurley.

  “How is that relevant? I kept him on the line long enough to trace the call to some village. How hard can it be to find him there?”

  “Except that he’s probably already on the move.” Ingrid walked away, just in case the temptation to slap Gurley in the mouth became too overwhelming to resist.

  She wheeled back around when the landline on the desk rang. Tyson grabbed it. He nodded a couple of times, thanked the caller and threw the handset back onto the cradle. “Unsurprisingly, we’ve just had confirmation the convenience store is also in Tring.”

  “How quickly can we get there?” Gurley asked the detective sergeant.

  “With blues and twos? 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 skirted around the little town.

  A whole team of detectives and uniformed officers were there to meet them. Ingrid and Gurley were forced to wait around while DCI Radcliffe was debriefed by his opposite number on the Hertfordshire force. When the conversation passed the five minute mark, Gurley lost his patience. He strode over to the two men and stood between them.

  “Sorry to break up your cozy chit-chat, detectives, but wouldn’t it make more sense to say everything once?” He turned to Ingrid who had followed him over. “After all, my colleague and I are going to be asking you the exact same questions.”

  The Hertfordshire cop looked at Radcliffe, who gave him a nod.

  “What do you have on the ground?” Gurley asked.

  The cop stuck out a hand. “DCI Strickland.”

  “Major Jack Gurley, this is Agent Skyberg, FBI.”

  Strickland shook Ingrid’s hand too. “Pleasure.” He gave them both a little smile. Ingrid could sense Gurley’s impatience increasing. “We’re conducting door to door inquiries on the High Street—where the convenience store is situated. We’ve got officers—in plain clothes—patrolling the local bus and train stations. Plus a dozen squad cars cruising the vicinity.”

  “Any new sightings from the public?” Ingrid asked.

  “Nothing that’s proven particularly reliable.”

  “What resources do you have in the air?” Gurley asked.

  Strickland glanced up at the darkening sky. “Traffic have put a helicopter at our disposal for the rest of the night. It’s equipped with powerful searchlights and infra-red equipment. At the moment we’ve got it flying low over open ground within a five mile radius of the last confirmed sighting.”

  “Has anyone spoken to the owner of the convenience store?” Gurley asked. He pushed up his sleeves.

  “We’ve interviewed him extensively.”

  “Did he tell you why he hung up? Did Foster threaten him?”

  “Nothing that extreme. Apparently a couple of schoolboys were acting suspiciously at the back of the shop. The owner’s had a
lot of trouble with shoplifting of late. He rang off so that he could deal with the two lads.”

  “And you believe him?” Gurley didn’t seem convinced.

  “I’ve no reason to doubt him.”

  “Have you searched his premises?” Ingrid asked.

  “We did. Nothing to report.”

  “What about roadblocks?” Gurley was shifting his weight from one foot to the other, glancing around the park, finally fixing his gaze on a large clump of trees.

  “We can’t close the roads,” Strickland said firmly.

  “Why not?”

  “Foster’s not exactly a threat to the general public.”

  “What if he’s armed?”

  “What makes you say that?” Radcliffe suddenly started paying attention. “Is he?”

  “I think Major Gurley is just saying that we don’t know that he isn’t,” Ingrid interjected. She attempted to change the subject. “You’ve got a trace on the cell phone Foster used to call us earlier?” she asked Radcliffe.

  “There’s no signal. Presumably he’s started using a new burner phone and switched the other one off.”

  Gurley glanced back at the trees. “What if he’s gone to ground? You have a lot of woods round here?”

  “A fair amount.”

  “The chopper won’t help you find him there. Are you using dogs?”

  Strickland let out a snorting laugh. “We really don’t have those kind of resources. If we knew where to start looking I could get a couple of dog handlers involved. But without an approximate location they’d be totally wasting their time.”

  “Jesus.” Gurley walked away.

  Strickland looked at Radcliffe who shrugged back at him. They both looked at Ingrid. “He’s a little frustrated right now,” she said, unsure why she was making excuses for his rudeness. “He feels personally responsible for getting Foster back.” She gave both detectives a weak smile and hurried after Gurley. “You can’t speak to them that way,” she said when she caught up with him. “We’re all on the same side here. Doing our best with the resources we have.”

  “We’re looking for a man and an eight-year-old boy. How hard can it be? If it were Foster alone I could understand it—the man’s been trained to evade capture. But Tommy must be slowing him down, holding him back.”

  “We must work with the cops now, or risk getting shut out of the investigation completely. They still have access to intel we need.”

  Gurley rubbed a hand across his face. “Foster’s probably miles away by now. Headed God knows where.”

  “We don’t know that. We have to accept the local cops are doing everything they can.”

  “It’s not enough.”

  Ingrid could quite easily have slapped Gurley across the face. What did he think could be gained by bitching about the cops? It wasn’t as if he was coming up with a better strategy of his own.

  Out the corner of her eye, Ingrid noticed some activity among the uniformed officers. One of them ran over to Radcliffe and Strickland, who had now been joined by DS Tyson. She started to jog toward the little group. “What’s happened?” She made sure to address DCI Strickland, out of courtesy, given this was his patch, and in the hope he might react favorably to the gesture. He didn’t answer right away. He was too busy scowling over her shoulder, presumably at an approaching Jack Gurley. “Chief inspector?” she prompted.

  “We have CCTV footage of a man and boy, fitting the basic description of Foster and his son, boarding a London-bound train.”

  Ingrid turned to Radcliffe. “How quickly can you get a team down to the station in London?”

  “I’m afraid we’re too late for that, agent,” Strickland said. “The train was due in at Euston over an hour ago. The best we can do now is get personnel looking at the CCTV recordings for the surrounding area. We might at least be able to discover which direction he was heading in when he left the station.”

  Behind her Ingrid heard Gurley exhale noisily. She was grateful he didn’t make any comment.

  “Well, there’s no point staying up here,” Radcliffe said. “Thanks for all your efforts, Ted. I think it might be time for you to get the troops to stand down.” He shook Strickland’s hand. “Really appreciate your help.”

  When just Tyson and Radcliffe remained, Gurley said, “I guess you’ll be wanting a ride back?”

  “Actually we’ve arranged alternative transport. Thanks all the same.” With that the DCI walked away, closely followed by his number two.

  “Wow—I really pissed them off, huh?” Gurley shook his head.

  Ingrid was about to reply, when she was interrupted by the trilling of Gurley’s cell. He peered down at the number. It was clear he didn’t recognize it. He stabbed the answer key. “Major Gurley,” he said, “who is this?” He quickly turned away and started walking.

  Ingrid ran after him.

  “It isn’t that straightforward,” she heard him say. “What the…?” He glared at his phone.

  “Was it Foster?” Ingrid asked him, grabbing his arm.

  “Sonofabitch is still making demands.”

  “The demands haven’t changed? He wants safe passage for Tommy?”

  “He said he’s calling again tomorrow with ‘full instructions’. He made one thing very clear.”

  Ingrid watched the expression on his face turn from anger to something approaching satisfaction. “Well?”

  “On no account should we get the police involved.”

  45

  After a restless night, Ingrid arrived at the embassy ahead of Jack Gurley. They had arranged to meet there so that Foster’s call could be more easily traced. The technical team assured her the tracking process would kick in just as soon as he called. All she could do now was wait.

  She sat at her desk in the Criminal Division for a few minutes enjoying the silence. No phones were ringing, Jennifer wasn’t bombarding her with questions, even the air conditioning seemed uncharacteristically quiet. She rested her chin on her hands and closed her eyes, then tried to make her muscles relax and her mind go blank.

  It was a mistake.

  A sudden image of the house in Jackson filled her mind. She snapped her eyes back open. How many more bodies were they going to recover? What kind of monster were they dealing with? Immediately her head was full of all the messages she’d ignored from Svetlana. Of the shoebox crammed with memories from her past. Of Ralph’s silent departure in the middle of the night.

  Maybe silence was overrated.

  Much to her relief, it was shattered a few moments later by the ringing of her cell. It was DCI Radcliffe.

  “You’re at work early,” she said in lieu of a greeting.

  “Did I wake you?”

  “Not at all—I’m at the office.”

  “Is Gurley there with you?”

  “No. Why?”

  There was a pause. As if Radcliffe didn’t believe her.

  “What is it?”

  “I got back to my desk last night to discover a preliminary forensics report. There’s been a new development.”

  “Forensics? From the hotel? What is it?”

  “I don’t want to tell you over the phone. Face to face. Without Gurley.”

  “I can’t exclude him from something like that.”

  “You’ve had no qualms about excluding us. Gurley’s a royal pain in the arse. If you want the information, you meet me on your own. Can you get down to the station now?”

  “I have a meeting this morning… with the chief,” she lied. “It’s the reason I’m here so early.”

  “Call me when you’re out of it. This new evidence—it could be a game changer.”

  “Can’t you even give me a clue?”

  “Not over the phone.”

  “I swear he’s not here.”

  “Call me later.” He hung up.

  “Who’s not here? Who was that?”

  Ingrid swiveled in her chair to see Gurley standing in the doorway. She felt her cheeks warm and hoped to God they weren
’t glowing red. How long had he been standing there? “Radcliffe. You’re not too popular with him right now.”

  “That’s why he was calling? To bitch about me?”

  “Sometimes it helps to let off a little steam. Unfortunately, he chose me to listen to him vent.”

  “You want me to call him?”

  Ingrid flinched at the thought. She hoped Gurley hadn’t noticed. “Best leave him to calm down.”

  Gurley grabbed a chair from the other side of the office and dragged it to Ingrid’s desk. He slumped down on it. Ingrid thought it might collapse under his weight.

  “Foster gave no indication what time he’d call?” Ingrid asked Gurley, even though she already knew the answer.

  “No. I guess all we can do now is wait.” Gurley rested his chin on a fist. “Seems to me it’s all we’ve been doing. Foster has made us look like fools.”

  “He’s a man determined to stay hidden. There’s not much anyone can do about that.”

  Gurley pulled his cell from a jacket pocket and slid it onto the desk. Both he and Ingrid stared wide-eyed at it for the next few minutes in silence. There wasn’t anything else to say or do.

  When the phone finally rang, the vibration buzzing it across the desk toward Ingrid, she involuntarily jumped in her seat.

  “The trace is set up?”

  “We’ve been ready since six a.m.”

  Gurley snatched up the phone, hit the answer key, and the speakerphone option, but said nothing.

  “The silent treatment makes a change,” Foster said. “Aren’t you going to spend the next minute trying to persuade me to give myself up?”

  Gurley cleared his throat. “I think we’re beyond that now, don’t you?”

  “Pleased to hear it.”

  Ingrid leaned forward in her chair. It creaked noisily.

  “Who’s there with you?” Foster demanded.

  “This is Agent Skyberg,” Ingrid said.

  “Good to make your acquaintance, Ingrid. I’m hoping you can drill some sense into Major Gurley’s skull.”