Fresh Doubt (Ingrid Skyberg FBI Thriller series Book 1) by Eva Hudson

Author:Eva Hudson [Hudson, Eva]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Tags: Psychological Thriller
Published: 2014-02-08T16:00:00+00:00

33

From the street Ingrid saw Angela Tate sitting at a table right next to the steamed-up window. The journalist pulled a small silver flask out of her purse and tipped at least half its contents into a blue and white striped tall cup on the table. She stoppered the flask, slipped it back into the purse and swallowed a large mouthful of whatever cocktail she’d mixed for herself.

Not for the first time, Ingrid wondered how much of what Tate told her could be relied upon. Was the woman ever sober? Ingrid pushed open the door and plastered a friendly smile on her face.

“You’re late,” Tate said.

“You didn’t give me much notice.”

Tate had called shortly after Ingrid had escorted Faber back to the mansion block in Hampstead. Still processing what Faber had told her about the supposed affair between Lauren Shelbourne and Professor Younger, Ingrid was in no mood to play “I’ll show you mine, if you show me yours” with the reporter.

“Who punched you?” Tate asked.

Automatically Ingrid’s hand went to her face. “You should see the other guy.”

“I’m sure they’re still scraping the poor bastard off the pavement.”

Ingrid sat down carefully, the effects of the painkillers she’d taken had long worn off.

“My God, you really are in the wars. I’ve got just the thing.” She lifted her cup toward the counter, gestured for two more, then pulled out the silver flask Ingrid had seen only moments before. Tate was quite brazen about it.

“It’s OK—I need to keep a clear head.”

“Sure?” Tate took a quick swig from the flask and slipped it back into her purse.

“You said it was urgent on the phone.”

“And yet still you turn up over fifteen minutes late.”

Give me a break.

“Please—I really don’t have much time.”

Tate leaned toward Ingrid, her hands wrapped firmly around the cup of fortified coffee. “I know what the twisted bastard’s been up to.” She held Ingrid’s gaze, a sparkle in her eyes. “It wasn’t easy—he’s been covering his tracks—but not well enough to fool an old hack like me. I’ve been at this game too bloody long to—”

“You’ll have to be more specific—which twisted bastard are we talking about?”

“Younger—who else?”

“What did you find out?”

“Allow me a bit of trumpet blowing before the big reveal, won’t you? I don’t think you realize how much effort I’ve had to put in.”

The coffees arrived and Ingrid found a stray blister pack of painkillers in her jacket pocket. She popped the last two pills through the foil back. It had been a very long day.

“I finally managed to get through the force field Younger has constructed around his research. It’s genius really, what he’s done.”

Ingrid prayed the journalist would get to the point soon.

“So are you sitting comfortably? It might take a while.”

Ingrid shifted in her seat. She doubted she’d sit comfortably for weeks.

“How familiar are you with CIA history?” Tate asked her.

Ingrid had the feeling the day was about to get a hell of a lot longer.

“The Agency? Can’t help you. But feel free to ask me anything about the FBI.

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