Ripple Effect

Chapter Thirty-Two: ...this is where the iguana comes in.

Conrad

Thursday, 15th November, 2018

9:31 AM

The door to the Oval Office swung open before Conrad had time to register the rap-tap of knuckles against it, let alone beckon anyone to enter.

"Morning, sir." Russell strode inside, his gaze buried in his cell phone, a stone blue manila file pinned to his side beneath his elbow, whilst Mike B trailed less than half a step behind.

"Russell." Conrad's brow furrowed. He braced himself against the desk and pushed himself to standing. "What's going on? I'm meant to have a meeting with Gordon in five minutes."

"Sec Def can wait." Russell slipped his phone into his jacket pocket, and as the thunk of the door slotting into the frame echoed through the pause, he stopped in front of the desk and looked up at Conrad. Mouth open, he drew a breath. "There's been a development."

"What do you mean 'a development'?"

Russell opened the file, and balancing it in one hand, he pulled out a single sheet of glossy paper with a crisp swish and pushed it across the desk. His fingertips lingered at the edge of the sheet for a moment, as though he were hopeful that they might be able to soak up the ink and make the image fade to white. Then, when the seconds had passed and nothing had changed, he tapped the page, smearing the faint whorls of fingerprints that he left behind, and he withdrew his hand.

Conrad hesitated. He dragged the picture towards himself. The light from the chandelier that hung at the centre of the room cast yellow dapples across the surface of the paper, and the sheet scraped over the oak. He frowned down at the image, and then up at Russell. "What is this?"

"This—" Russell rubbed the trenches of his brow. "—is a photograph of Elizabeth taken in the early hours of Sunday morning." His hand fell back to his side, and his shoulders deflated. "Just as she was leaving for the clinic."

Conrad sank into his seat. He held the picture by its margins, so that the back of the sheet rested against the lip of the desk, and his frown both deepened and softened as he studied it.

Yes, it was Bess. Though not as he knew her, or at least not as he'd seen her in a long time. Huddled in a black woollen coat that could have been made for someone twice her size; her hair half falling across her face and fully dishevelled; whilst beneath the amber glare of street lights, her cheeks appeared a touch too hollowed; and her eyes...her eyes...well, gaunt didn't quite cut it.

His lips tensed, whilst he fought to still the currents that seethed like rapids beneath his surface. "Somebody's been watching their house."

A pause, weighed down by the gloom that seeped past the gauze curtains.

Russell's mouth hung open and his gaze flitted over Conrad. He gave a slow nod. "Yes, sir. I think it's safe to say that's a fair assessment."

"And I take it from the fact that you're presenting me with this, not to mention the sheepish looks on both your faces, that DS failed to notice."

Russell cast Mike a sideways glance, though Mike had found fascination in a spot on the carpet, not far beyond the ends of his shoes, and then he returned his gaze to Conrad. "Yes, sir, that's correct."

"Well, what if whoever took this—" Conrad gestured to the photograph. "—had put their camera down and tried to do something? Would DS have noticed then?"

"You'd certainly hope so. Though I'm beginning to have my doubts."

"And what about now? Have they tracked her to the clinic?"