by Eva Hudson
“There seems to be a misunderstanding here. I’m sure a short phone call to the chief of the FBI program at the embassy can clear everything up for you. My orders come direct from the Pentagon,” Gurley said.
“I believe the misunderstanding is yours, Major.” Ingrid was doing her best to tamp down her rising anger. How dare he patronize her like this? Who the hell did he think he was? As she reached into her purse for her cell phone—she was more than willing to ‘clear things up’ at the embassy—a woman in a dark blue pant suit pushed through a set of swing doors into the corridor. She rushed over to the two detectives.
Ingrid edged a little closer to them.
“The ICU team have taken Molly down for another scan, sir,” the woman said. “Mrs Foster can give you twenty minutes.”
5
Ingrid hurried to the detectives, eager to make her case before Gurley did. “I’m sure you won’t have a problem if I sit in on the interview, chief inspector,” she said. “In a purely observational capacity, of course.”
Radcliffe looked at the MP who was standing with his feet wide apart, his long arms folded across his chest.
“Major Gurley and I have a few wrinkles to iron out in terms of exactly who has authority here, but I wouldn’t want you to delay your interview on our account,” Ingrid quickly said before Gurley had a chance to respond.
“Just as long as you do. I don’t really care which one of you represents the US government, but keep your personal quarrels out of my investigation.”
“Absolutely.” Ingrid nodded toward Gurley, who managed to dip his head in agreement.
“I don’t want a peep out of either of you, clear?”
“Crystal,” Gurley said.
Radcliffe led them down another corridor, stopping when he reached a uniformed officer standing beside a closed door with a notice above it that read, ‘ICU Room 4’.
“Everything all right, constable?” the DCI asked the squat man wearing a dark blue stab-proof vest over his uniform.
“Nothing to report, sir. The team got Molly out and away without incident. PC Lewis has accompanied her to the MRI room on the first floor.”
Ingrid noticed the officer had a night stick, pair of cuffs and Taser attached to his belt. “You’re guarding the little girl?” she asked Radcliffe. “You think Foster is likely to come back and try to attack her?”
“I’m not taking any chances.” He opened the door and let the female detective enter the room first.
Ingrid followed close behind them. The room was bright—sun streamed in from a large window to the right of the door. Opposite the door, next to a collection of monitors, was a vacant space where Molly’s bed must have stood just a few minutes earlier. Somehow the emptiness felt more distressing to Ingrid than the sight of a small child lying unconscious in a hospital bed. She looked away toward the window and focused on the woman standing to one side of it. She was wearing a light blue and yellow summer dress, a bright orange sweater wrapped across her shoulders. She gave the impression of someone who had dressed in a hurry, which was hardly surprising, Ingrid thought, given the circumstances. The woman turned slowly away from the window and seemed to recoil as she took in the scene at the door. Seeing a group of people standing there, including one in military uniform, must have been a little overwhelming for her.
The female detective, who Ingrid supposed was the Fosters’ family liaison officer, hurried to Mrs Foster’s side and held her arm as she led her to a large recliner armchair in the corner of the room. Ingrid saw Foster’s face for the first time and noticed her eyes were bloodshot, her cheeks blotchy. She couldn’t have been older than thirty-five. The woman slowly eased herself into the chair and continued to stare at the group standing awkwardly just inside the room.
“You’d better get on and ask your questions,” she said, her voice shaky. “As soon as they bring Molly back from her scan I want you all out of here.”
DS Tyson ducked out of the room. He returned moments later carrying a chair in each hand. He set them down opposite the armchair, as the family liaison officer introduced both detectives to Mrs Foster. She glanced toward the door, at Ingrid and Gurley, a deep frown etched into her forehead. DCI Radcliffe introduced Ingrid. Then Gurley.
“And Major Gurley you already know, I presume,” he said.
Carrie Foster nodded at them both but wouldn’t make eye contact. “Can we please get this over with?”
Radcliffe and Tyson sat down, leaving the FLO to crouch beside Mrs Foster’s chair. Gurley leaned against the wall next to the window, Ingrid stood behind the two detectives.
“We’ll be as swift as we can,” Radcliffe told Mrs Foster. “Our main priority is getting Tommy back. We need to locate your husband as soon as possible. But we really need to know exactly what happened this morning, to get some idea what we’re dealing with.”
Carrie Foster opened her eyes wide, her gaze fixed on the ragged Kleenex she was holding.
“First off, do you mind telling me why you’re here in London?” Radcliffe asked.
The woman looked up at him, a puzzled expression on her face. “It was a mini-vacation. Sightseeing, you know? Apart from our trips home, it was the first time we’d left the base.” She shook her head. “I should never have agreed to it. It was way too stressful to take on something like that.”
“For you?”
“No! For Kyle. All of us crammed into that small hotel room.” She wiped her nose with the disintegrating Kleenex. “The kids were overexcited. Really noisy, you know?”
“And that was a problem?”
“Noise is one of the triggers for Kyle.”
“Triggers?”
“You know he’s being treated for PTSD?”
Ingrid sensed Radcliffe stiffen slightly. He threw a glance toward Gurley, who remained expressionless.
“Let’s assume we know nothing at all. We’d much rather hear the facts from you,” Radcliffe said.
Carrie Foster continued. “Kyle was diagnosed around eighteen months ago. But he’s not been right for a lot longer than that.”
“He’s still been on active duty during that time?”
“He’s been going to counseling sessions at the base. His doctor says it’s under control.”
Ingrid made a mental note to speak to the Air Force doctor about Kyle Foster’s condition.
“OK. Let’s go back to the events of this morning. I realize how difficult it is for you to go over things again. But I really need you to tell us everything you remember.”
Carrie Foster sniffed. “It’s all right—I understand.” She snatched a breath.
“Can we start right at the beginning?” Radcliffe said. “Who woke up first?”
“Kyle showered and dressed before the kids woke up. He seemed fine. A little tired maybe—he didn’t sleep that well. You see, he has these nightmares. Has done ever since he came back from Afghanistan. Once a bad dream wakes him, he finds it really hard to get back to sleep.”
“So everything was all right before your children woke up?”
“Yes. Peaceful. Happy, even. Kyle was singing in the shower.”
“What happened after that?”
“Molly woke up. It was time for a feed. She started to cry just as soon as her eyes were open. Her crying woke Tommy. Right away he sprang out of bed—a little A-frame bed the hotel had fixed up alongside ours. Then he started to jump up and down on it. Like I say, he was excited. Kyle told him to stop, but he just bounced even harder. Jumping higher and higher. Until the bed collapsed underneath him.”
“Was he hurt?”
“No—Tommy thought the whole thing was hilarious. Then he climbed on our bed and bounced on that instead. Kyle shouted at me to do something. He swore at me. But Tommy doesn’t listen to a thing I tell him. I was holding Molly by then, trying to pacify her. Trying to stop her crying.” She blinked slowly. “That’s when it happened.” A sob escaped from her mouth.
“Take your time, Mrs Foster.”
&nb
sp; The FLO took her hand and squeezed it tight.
“Kyle started yelling at Molly to shut up. When she didn’t he snatched her from my arms and started shaking her. So hard. I tried to grab her back. But he shoved me away and I hit something. I have a big bruise halfway up my thigh.” She rubbed her leg with a fist, staring blankly into space. She was clearly back in that hotel room. Reliving the events of the morning.
“Can you tell us what happened next?” Radcliffe said gently.
“Kyle carried on shaking her. Until the crying stopped.” She swallowed. “Then he threw her on the bed. I mean threw her.” Her eyes were moist.
The FLO grabbed a pack of Kleenex from a pocket and handed it to Mrs Foster.
“Thank you.” Carrie Foster pulled out a tissue and dabbed her eyes. “Then Kyle ran out. Said he couldn’t breathe and needed to get air. As soon as I could, I locked the door behind him, and I called for the ambulance.”
Jack Gurley shifted his position, straightening his back then crossing one ankle over the other before leaning back against the wall.
“He came back just before the EMTs arrived.”
“How long before, would you say?”
She shrugged. “Seconds maybe. I don’t know. Not long.”
“He managed to get back into the room, even though you’d locked the door.”
“I opened it when the manager came. The other guests had complained to him about the noise. Kyle had been shouting. I might have been screaming. I don’t remember. I guess they were worried what was going on.”
Radcliffe leaned closer to Mrs Foster. He lowered his voice. “Where was Molly when the ambulance crew arrived?”
“In my arms. She wasn’t moving. Or making a sound. I thought she was… I mean I thought…” She sobbed again. “One of the EMTs asked me what happened. I hesitated. I didn’t want to believe what Kyle had done. I just looked at him.”
“What did you tell the paramedic?”
“I said Kyle had shaken Molly and she’d gone quiet. The other EMT started to move toward Kyle, his hands up, telling him to take it easy. I guess Kyle panicked.” Her eyes widened even more as she stared at the floor. “He had the EMT moving closer on one side and the hotel manager stepping into the room from the hallway.” Another sob escaped her throat. “That’s when he grabbed Tommy. Picked him up and ran right out the door. Barging into the manager as he went.” She shook her head. Then looked up at Radcliffe, staring into his face. “Why didn’t anyone try to stop him?”
Radcliffe gave her a half-shrug. “No one really knows how they’re going to react in a situation like that,” he said soothingly. “It all happened so fast, they probably didn’t even work out what was going on until it was too late.”
“Someone should have stopped him.” She turned her stare toward the window and Major Gurley. “You’ve got to find them. I want my little boy back.”
Gurley tensed but said nothing. Mrs Foster turned back to the DCI.
“Is there anywhere your husband might have taken Tommy?” Radcliffe asked her.
She shook her head numbly. “He doesn’t know London. Where would he go? Do you think he’s hurt Tommy? Why did he take him? If he wanted to run away, why take my boy with him?”
6
The door into Molly Foster’s hospital room opened and her mother jumped to her feet. She ran to Molly’s bed as it was wheeled back in. Molly looked smaller than Ingrid had expected. She seemed tiny lying in the adult-sized bed. Her short curly hair spread across the pillow each side of her pale face. Her lips were almost colorless.
“Is she OK? What did the scan show?” Carrie Foster asked the ICU nurse dressed in a crisp white short-sleeved tunic and dark pants.
The nurse gave her a warm smile and laid a reassuring hand on her arm. “The swelling in her skull hasn’t got any worse. We’ll know more when the radiologist has studied the scans. He’ll speak to the consultant and then the consultant will come and explain everything to you.”
“How long before that happens?”
“Hopefully before the end of the day.”
“What? That’s hours away.”
The nurse helped the porters position the bed into place and reattached the monitors. She switched the tube feeding oxygen into the little girl’s nostrils from a portable cylinder tucked beneath the bed to a supply coming out of the wall above it. Ingrid was relieved to discover the child was breathing without the aid of a respirator.
“I’m sorry, Carrie,” the nurse said when she’d finished her tasks. “We have one radiologist covering for two of his colleagues at the moment. It won’t affect Molly’s care in any way. You don’t need to worry about that.”
Carrie Foster stroked her daughter’s forehead. She seemed to have forgotten the detectives were even in the room. Major Gurley stood in silence at the foot of the bed with Radcliffe. After a moment DS Tyson cleared his throat.
“We’ll leave it for now, Mrs Foster,” Radcliffe said. “But we will need to speak to you again later.”
The female FLO ushered them all towards the door and closed it behind them.
Once outside, Ingrid took DCI Radcliffe to one side asked him for an update on what was being done to locate First Lieutenant Foster and his son.
“I’ve already updated Major Gurley.” He glanced back towards the room. Gurley was peering through the round window set into the upper third of the hospital room door. “Perhaps you could liaise with him?” He turned to walk away. Ingrid scooted in front of him.
“I’d rather hear it from you.”
“Look, I told you before, whatever’s going on with the embassy and the US Air Force is no concern of mine. You get things sorted out between yourselves.”
“I’m about to call my boss to resolve the situation. I’d like to be able to give him a progress report at the same time.”
Radcliffe puffed out an impatient sigh. “I’ve posted officers at the major train terminals and Victoria Coach Station. We’re going through CCTV footage from the streets surrounding the hotel. We’ve questioned all the guests present at the hotel when the initial response officers arrived. And we have statements from the hotel manager and receptionist.”
“Do their accounts match up with what Carrie Foster just told us?”
“Of course. Why wouldn’t they?”
“Just being thorough.” Ingrid looked back towards Gurley. He was speaking with DS Tyson. Tyson was nodding gravely. She wanted to know what they were talking about. “And what about the EMTs… the ahh… paramedics? You’ve spoken to them?”
“They were just finishing their shift when they picked Molly up. We’ve managed to interview one of them, and before you ask, yes, his account matches Mrs Foster’s.”
“Do you have CCTV footage from inside the hotel?”
“It’s a small, family-run establishment. Three star. They don’t have cameras recording their guests’ every move.” He beckoned to his detective sergeant and tapped a finger against his wristwatch. “I suggest you resolve your issues sooner rather than later with Major Gurley. I see no point in you replicating each other’s duties.”
Ingrid watched as Tyson shook Gurley’s hand, then hurried toward his senior officer. Gurley disappeared into the mens’ restroom.
Radcliffe handed her a scrap of paper. “The hotel is only about five minutes away on foot,” he told her. “Ask for Brian, he’s the Crime Scene Manager. He’ll walk you through events, as we understand them, in situ. Help you to picture what happened.” He glanced down at the note. “Pass that on to Gurley if he’s got the gig, would you? I don’t want to be endlessly repeating myself.” He gave what seemed to Ingrid a reluctant smile and briskly walked away.
Ingrid seized her moment. She snatched her cell phone from her purse and called her immediate boss at the embassy, Assistant Deputy Chief Sol Franklin.
“Hey, Sol. Do you have a couple minutes?” she asked as soon as he picked up.
“For you…?”
“What do you know about thi
s case in Bloomsbury?”
“The Air Force guy who ran amok?”
“I feel like I’ve walked into it completely blind. The intel I got from the Met was severely lacking, to say the least. I get the feeling they were surprised I even showed up.”
“Have you met Major Gurley yet?”
“You know about him?”
There was an extended pause. “I didn’t know in time to warn you, if that’s what you mean. I only just got off the phone from the Legal Attaché himself.”
“You did?” Sol hardly ever spoke to the head of the FBI program at the embassy. He normally received his instructions from his next in command, Deputy Chief Louden.
What the hell was going on?
“You’re telling me the Legat is involved with this investigation personally?”
“He just got off the phone from the Pentagon. I gather there was a rather fraught—my word, not the Legat’s—discussion with the Chief of Staff of the Air Force.”
The Legal Attaché and the Chief of Staff? With such big hitters taking a personal interest in the case, Ingrid was surprised Sol hadn’t taken it on himself. “Listen, I realize you can’t give me all the details of your conversation, so I’m not even going to ask, but can you at least tell me who should be liaising with the cops here?”
Another pause.
“Sol—just spit it out. If I’m off the case, I’m off the case. I can live with that.”
“That would be far too straighforward.”
“I don’t understand.” Ingrid kept her eyes peeled on the door to the men’s restroom. She wanted to get this resolved before Gurley reappeared.
“A US pilot on the run in a host nation doesn’t look that good… politically.”
“Politically? Maybe I would give a crap if a fourteen-month-old girl wasn’t in a coma and an eight-year-old boy hadn’t been abducted.” She turned around and started walking, concerned if she stayed still a moment longer she might feel the need to punch somebody.
“You don’t need to get involved with all the political BS,” Sol said. “That’s my job.”
