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

bad at it. The question was, why? Why wouldn’t he give her any information about the case? Her desk phone rang.
    “Do you want me to get that?” Jennifer started to get up from her chair.
    Ingrid held up a hand to stop her. “Agent Skyberg, US Embassy, Criminal Investigation Unit.”
    “Do you know, I didn’t actually realize that’s what your little outfit was called.” The unmistakable tones of Angela Tate. “So, when are we going to fix up this interview?”
    “Don’t you have better things to do than harass me?”
    “Harass? I haven’t even started. It’d be much easier for you to give me what I want, believe me.”
    “And what is that? You still want to do this damn fool fly-on-the-wall thing?”
    “It’ll be fantastic, trust me.”
    “OK! Friday. Ten a.m. I’ll meet you at the embassy gate.”
    “Fine.”
    “Good.”
    Ingrid slammed the phone down. It took her a few moments to realize the two clerks were staring at her. “What’s the matter with you? Don’t you have work to do?” Her cell phone started to buzz. She jumped up from her desk and answered the call outside in the corridor. “Hey, Natasha, that was quick. Does that mean there was a tattoo?”
    “No.”
    “Oh.” Ingrid had felt certain the portrait she’d seen on the news report was the cherry soda haired Latvian from Dulwich. “Are you sure?”
    “Not at all.”
    “Wait a minute. Then what are you saying?”
    “There was no tattoo on the victim’s throat because there was no skin there either.”

12
    As soon as Ingrid ended the call from McKittrick, she tried Marshall again. This time her call went straight to voicemail. She cursed him silently and started back toward the office. If she just had the identity of the suspect he was monitoring, she could decide for herself how significant his M.O. was.
    Jennifer and Isaac were both looking up at her expectantly when she entered the room.
    “What’s happened?” she asked them.
    “Shouldn’t you be leaving about now?” Jennifer said. She pointed to Ingrid’s desk. “Kristin Floyd said she had a window between eleven and twelve.” It’s in my note.
    Ingrid glanced down at the indecipherable scrawl and tried to remember who Kristin Floyd was. She wasn’t sure it was a name she’d even heard before.
    “Matthew Fuller’s girlfriend—she’s back in London. You wanted to speak to her. I arranged it for you yesterday evening.”
    “OK—thank you. Can you text me the address? Is it some place I’ll be able to park the motorcycle?” She noticed Isaac had grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair.
    “We’re going on a bike? Awesome!”
    What the hell was going on? “Wait a minute. We are going nowhere.”
    “Agent Franklin said I should accompany you the next time you interview someone. To use my victim support skills.”
    Ingrid vaguely remembered Sol mentioning it the day before. Dammit . Isaac’s skills better be worth it. “Could you book me a car, Jennifer? I’d really appreciate it.”
    A half hour later they arrived at an upmarket glass and steel apartment block in Bankside, just a couple hundred yards from the Tate Modern art gallery.
    “Do you want me to lead on this?” Isaac innocently asked Ingrid as they ascended the building in an external glass elevator.
    “As it’s your first case, why don’t you just observe on this one? Let me do all the talking.”
    “But I really want to be able to help.”
    “Trust me, a sympathetic smile can make all the difference in the circumstances.”
    His shoulders slumped and he stuck his hands in his pockets. Ingrid wondered if he might sulk his way through the entire interview.
    “This isn’t about what we want. It’s all about Kristin Floyd. We’re putting her needs first, OK?”
    He nodded his head rapidly and stood a little straighter. If he’d put up any kind of argument, Ingrid would have told him to go wait in the car.
    The elevator arrived at the twenty-first floor and Ingrid straightened her