Free Kill Plan (Ingrid Skyberg FBI Thrillers -) by Eva Hudson

meantime, we’ve all got to get along, OK?”
    Jennifer nodded reluctantly, still keeping her eyes trained on her new rival.
    “Good.” As Ingrid straightened up, something on the 24-hour news channel Jennifer had playing permanently in the corner of her monitor caught her eye. It was an artist’s impression of a young woman with a ghostly pale face and a peculiar shade of red hair. Ingrid pointed at the player window. “Can you make that full screen and turn up the volume?” Jennifer’s fingers flew over the keyboard and suddenly Ingrid was staring at a large portrait of the woman she’d seen two nights ago in Dulwich.
    According to the reporter, the police were appealing for anyone who might know the identity of the victim of a vicious knife attack. The picture changed abruptly to show divers on a river police boat peering into a murky, churned up River Thames.
    “What is it?” Jennifer was staring at Ingrid rather than the news report.
    Isaac was hovering uncertainly next to Ingrid. “You know her?” he said tentatively.
    Ingrid ignored their questions and grabbed her cell from her desk. She quickly punched in McKittrick’s number and waited for the DI—who probably felt as hungover as she did—to pick up. Finally the detective answered, slightly out of breath. It was only at that moment Ingrid remembered McKittrick had an early morning meeting with Internal Investigations. “Can you speak?” Ingrid asked her.
    “I’m out of the Spanish Inquisition, if that’s what you mean.”
    Ingrid left the office and quickly explained both her trip to Dulwich on Monday night and what she’d just seen on TV.
    “If you think it’s her, why are you calling me and not the incident line?”
    “I need you to check something for me. The woman I saw had a distinctive tattoo on her throat, in the shape of a crucifix.”
    “Where was she found? I need to know which murder investigation team to contact.”
    “In the river, beneath one of the bridges, London Bridge, maybe… I didn’t catch it. The body had gotten tangled in some mooring chains of the boats there. According to the report, if it hadn’t, it might not have shown up for weeks. Or ever. The body might have washed right out to sea, if the tide was moving in the right direction.”
    “Leave it with me. I’ll see what I can find out.”
    Ingrid hung up and quickly called Marshall. It was early hours of the morning in D.C., but she figured this was something he should know about as soon as possible. He answered the phone with a mumble.
    “It’s me.”
    “Jesus! Honey!”
    Ingrid heard the rustling of bedclothes.
    “Is everything OK?” he asked.
    “I’m fine. Sorry to wake you, but I thought you’d want to know. That address I checked out for you? I’m pretty sure the woman I met there has turned up dead.”
    There was a pause. Ingrid wondered if she should repeat what she’d just said. Was Marshall even properly awake? Finally he broke the silence. “How did she die?”
    “Stabbed—I don’t have all the details—I figured you’d want to know straightaway.”
    “How many stab wounds?”
    “What’s that got to do with anything?”
    “How many?”
    “I don’t know, enough to be described as ‘vicious’. Why is that important?”
    “It’s not our guy.”
    “How can you be so sure?”
    “That’s not his M.O., is all. He wouldn’t kill in that way. It’s not his style. He doesn’t like to get his hands dirty.”
    “Maybe he’s changed. Who is ‘your guy’ anyway? You didn’t actually give me his name.”
    “It doesn’t matter, because it’s not him.”
    “Why won’t you tell me?”
    “Because it doesn’t concern you.” He let out an impatient breath. “Listen, I have to go. I have an important briefing this morning. I can’t be late.” He hung up.
    Ingrid checked her watch and counted back. It was four-thirty a.m. on the East Coast. Any meeting Marshall had would be hours away. He was lying to her. He was notoriously