GIRL, FORLORN by Blake Pierce

Author:Blake Pierce [Pierce, Blake]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-12-18T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY

Ella approached the reception desk in the foyer of the Stamford Insider, where a young woman with an attentive smile greeted her.

‘Good morning, how can I help you?’ she asked.

‘We need to speak with David Hargreaves. It’s important,’ Ella said.

The receptionist clicked around on her desktop and said, ‘Mr. Hargreaves isn’t expecting anyone this morning.’

Ella waited for a follow up but none came. ‘If he’s not expecting anyone, that means he’s free.’

Ripley leaned on the desk and flashed her badge. ‘FBI. We’re not leaving until we speak with Hargreaves. Make it happen.’

The receptionist recoiled at Ripley’s comment and scrambled for her telephone. She punched in a three-digit number and tapped her fingers while she waited for the call to connect. A moment later, she replaced the receiver.

‘No answer?’ asked Ella.

‘No. He never answers,’ the receptionist said. ‘Mr. Hargreaves is quite particular about his working methods.’

Ella considered that David Hargreaves – or their unsub – had an obsessive-compulsive nature about him. She’d profiled the offender as having some kind of personality disorder, so the pieces were a perfect fit. She kept herself calm, not wanting to get ahead of herself in case of eventual disappointment.

‘Can you direct us to his office, then?’ Ella asked.

The receptionist hesitated, clearly torn between following protocol and the pressing authority in front of her. After a moment, she nodded. ‘He's on the third floor, office three-hundred. But I should warn you, he really doesn't like being disturbed.’

‘We'll take our chances,’ Ripley said with a half-smile. They headed across the marble floor to the elevator, leaving the glitzy foyer behind. The elevator doors slid open, and Ella pushed the button for the third floor.

‘What’s our strategy?’ she asked.

‘Find out where he’s been the past three nights. Talk about the victims, watch his reactions. He won’t be able to hide his response to hearing their names.’

Ella took it on board as she envisioned her meeting with the man in office three-hundred. ‘Got it,’ she said. ‘The body says it all.’

‘You can’t hide rage. It’s the great equalizer. Our guy could be Gary Oldman – he’ll still give something away when he hears the names of his tormenters-turned-victims.’

When the elevator doors opened, Ella was greeted by a more subdued atmosphere compared to the bustling activity of the ground floor. The corridor was lined with doors bearing polished nameplates, rectangular windows offering views into empty offices. They went down the line until they found office three-hundred.

The blinds were shut.

Ella knocked on the door and said, ‘Mr. Hargreaves? We need to speak with you.’

No response. Ella knocked again, firmer this time.

‘David Hargreaves, this is the FBI. We need a moment of your time.’

A moment of silence ensued before Ella heard the faint shuffling of feet from inside. The door creaked open, and a pair of eyes appeared in the gap.

‘FBI?’ the man asked with a weary voice.

Ella stepped forward, one foot over the threshold. ‘Yes. Are you Mr. Hargreaves?’

‘Yes I am,’ the man said. ‘What’s this about?’

She saw a pair of glasses perched on the bridge of his nose.

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