by Eva Hudson
“And he returned less than twenty minutes later. A full seven minutes after you called for an ambulance.”
“I wasn’t exactly taking notice of the time.”
“No—of course not. Let me run through some of the events of that twenty-five minute period. According to your account, and what we’ve been able to piece together with the aid of CCTV footage…” Radcliffe turned to the lawyer. “Details are on the second page.” He straightened his spine and pulled back his shoulders, as if he were preparing himself for a long speech. “Shortly after Mr Foster allegedly shook your daughter and threw her onto the bed, he ran out of the hotel room—presumably in somewhat of an agitated state—and then down several flights of stairs, through the reception area and onto the street.”
“I guess.”
“It’s surprising none of the other guests at the hotel can remember witnessing this hurried departure. Not a single one of them.”
Carrie Foster shrugged. The tension in her shoulders increased as she leaned away from the table. She looked like a woman bracing herself for a blow.
“Anyway,” Radcliffe continued, “Mr Foster then proceeded to walk half a mile south along Southampton Row and arrived at a McDonald’s restaurant on High Holborn, where he ordered two breakfast wraps, pancakes and syrup, a raspberry and white chocolate muffin, two black coffees and three bottles of orange juice. He then returned to the hotel, a large McDonald’s paper bag under his arm, and made his way to your room.”
Mrs Foster dragged down her top lip with her bottom teeth.
“Seems a strange thing to do, really. Purchasing a family breakfast after his supposed violent outburst.”
“You’ve made a mistake.”
“CCTV footage from the restaurant in question confirms his movements. Fully time-stamped. No mistake, Mrs Foster.”
In the observation room, Gurley had started to shake his head. He let out a long sigh. “Sweet Jesus,” he whispered.
Carrie Foster’s lawyer closed the file in front of her. “I need to discuss this evidence privately with my client.” She glanced at Mrs Foster, who was staring, wide-eyed at the table. She had bitten her top lip so hard it had started to bleed.
Radcliffe started to get to his feet. “Certainly. I’ll get one of our constables to escort you to another room.”
Tyson leaned toward the digital recorder.
“No!” Foster said and raised a hand to her mouth.
“We really need to talk about this Carrie,” the lawyer insisted.
Carrie Foster shook her head. “I just want to get back to the hospital. Please. I need to see Molly.”
48
During the unscheduled break, Ingrid and Gurley had sat in the observation room in silence. At one point DS Tyson stuck his head around the door, a self-satisfied grin on his face. Ingrid wasn’t sure what he had to be so smug about—it wasn’t that long ago he and Radcliffe were certain of Kyle Foster’s guilt.
“Can I get you anything?” he asked.
“We’re fine, thanks,” Ingrid said, answering for them both, unsure if Gurley was capable of saying anything. His face had now lost all its color. He seemed really shaken.
“You’re sure?” Tyson frowned at Gurley. “The next session might take a while.”
“Really, we’re OK.” Ingrid just wanted Tyson to leave. His demeanor had started to piss her off.
After fifteen minutes speaking to her lawyer, an unsteady Carrie Foster was led back into the interview room by a female constable and helped onto a chair. She leaned back, tilted her head toward the ceiling and closed her eyes.
In the observation room Gurley murmured something so quietly Ingrid supposed she wasn’t meant to hear it. She didn’t bother asking him to repeat it.
Ingrid stared at the monitor that showed a close-up of Carrie Foster’s face. Her skin was slack. Her eyes seemed blank, her expression resigned somehow.
The two detectives returned to the room and Tyson restarted the digital recorder.
“Now you’ve had a chance to discuss the new evidence with your solicitor,” Radcliffe said, “perhaps you’d like to go over the events of Monday morning again? Tell us what really happened.”
The lawyer turned to her client, gently laying a hand on her arm. “You don’t have to do this.”
“I do. It’s been tearing me apart.” Carrie Foster blotted her eyes and nose with a Kleenex. “Could I get a glass of water?”
In the next room Ingrid sat up straighter in her chair. She hadn’t been expecting a change of heart from Carrie Foster. She craned her neck closer to the screen in front of Gurley. His face now wore a bewildered expression.
A few moments later, the female detective appeared with a plastic jug and four plastic beakers on a tray. She took her time pouring water into each beaker. Carrie Foster drank half a glass, waited for it to be refilled, then took a deep breath.
“It was an accident,” she said. The muscles in her face tightened.
Both detectives leaned back in their chairs, a subtle but unmistakable sign that they didn’t want to pressure Carrie Foster any further—they were happy to let her make her statement in her own good time.
“Molly just wouldn’t stop crying. She’s never slept well, ever since she was born. There was no escape from the noise in that tiny hotel room. On Monday morning Tommy was acting out too. I guess he was overexcited to be in a new place, looking forward to visiting the big toy store. He seemed to be making Molly worse. After a while she was pretty much screaming.” She closed her eyes. Squeezed them tight shut. “I sent Kyle out to get us some breakfast—asked him to take Tommy with him. But Tommy wasn’t dressed yet and Kyle said he’d be much faster if he went alone. We both hoped the promise of food might make Tommy quieten down a little. Tommy loves McDonald’s.” She drained her glass. Tyson refilled it for her. “Tommy started to bounce up and down on his bed. Higher and higher. I told him to stop, but he wouldn’t. I guess I must have had the hairbrush in my hand. I don’t really remember. I was just pointing it at him. Not in a threatening way, I swear.” She looked at one detective then the other. “You have to believe me, I love my kids.” She dabbed her eyes again and leaned towards Radcliffe. “When you have my statement, can I go back to the hospital? Molly really shouldn’t be left on her own. She’ll get upset.”
“Why don’t we see where we are when you’ve finished? Make a judgment then,” the DCI said, careful not to make promises he wouldn’t be able to keep. “What happened after that?”
“Then Tommy started shouting at me. Taunting me, I guess. Daring me to hit him, almost.” She took another drink of water.
Ingrid glanced at Gurley, still he hadn’t moved a muscle or said a word. She wanted to ask him what he made of Carrie Foster’s statement, but doubted she’d get any kind of sensible response. It was as if he’d gone into a trance, his gaze fixed on the screen, his hands gripping his knees.
Something about the way Carrie Foster spoke was troubling Ingrid. The woman seemed to make every sentence into a question, as if she were doubting herself with each word she uttered. Perhaps she’d hidden the truth for so long, when she actually revealed what really happened, the facts seemed alien to her.
“And then?” Radcliffe asked, when Mrs Foster had returned the beaker to the table.
“Then Molly screamed even louder. I yelled at Tommy to stop shouting. Stop jumping. He wouldn’t. Then the bed collapsed. I suppose I lashed out, you know? Forgetting the hairbrush was still in my hand. I caught him right across the face. A second later he was bleeding. Then he started to cry. Then Molly’s screaming got louder still. I picked her up from our bed and jiggled her in my arms, but it didn’t do any good. Then Tommy ran into the bathroom.” She paused, staring down at her hands.
“Did you go after him?”
“Not right away, I wanted to settle Molly first. I couldn’t think straight, she was making so much noise. I guess I must have started to shake her. I didn’t mean to. I was out of my mind.”
&n
bsp; The interview room fell silent. All Ingrid could hear was the faint hum of the loudspeakers and the sound of Gurley breathing beside her.
“I’d like to take a break now.” Carrie Foster looked at Radcliffe. “Can I take a break?”
“Has anything like this happened before?” Radcliffe asked quietly.
“It was an accident.”
“Have there been other accidents?”
Carrie Foster shook her head.
“For the recording, Mrs Foster, I need you to answer.”
“No. I get angry sometimes, I suppose. Lose my temper now and then. Mostly I just get a little down.”
“Depressed?”
“Doesn’t everyone?”
“Those pills in the bathroom cabinet. They’re yours?”
She blinked slowly at him. “Kyle got a hold of them for me when I refused to go see the doctor. I didn’t ask how got them. I didn’t want to know. But I haven’t started taking them. I was mad at him for even suggesting I should. I’m still breastfeeding Molly. I didn’t want to have anything in my system that might hurt her.”
But 60-proof vodka is just fine, Ingrid thought.
“You haven’t seen a doctor about your depression?”
“I thought it would pass, you know? Just as soon as Molly started sleeping through. But I’m still waiting for that to happen.” She shook her head. “You’ve got to believe me—I wouldn’t deliberately hurt Molly for the world. It was a terrible, terrible accident.” She buried her head in her hands and started to sob.
As Ingrid stared at her, the woman’s shoulders and upper body convulsing with with each sob, she still couldn’t shake the feeling there was something Carrie Foster wasn’t telling the police. What was she hiding?
Radcliffe gave a nod to Tyson, who stated for the record that the interview session was being terminated.
The two detectives got to their feet and left Mrs Foster and Ms Welland sitting silently at the table.
Ingrid slumped back in her chair, a sharp pain radiating across her shoulders where she’d been hunched over leaning forward on the edge of her seat for so long. She opened her mouth, about to make a comment about something in Carrie Foster’s statement that really didn’t add up, but took another look at Gurley’s bereft face and decided to keep it to herself.
The door to the observation room opened and Radcliffe marched in, an almost triumphant swing to his arms. “It seems your suspicions were not unfounded after all.”
“I guess I’m a little surprised she decided to confess. She could have chosen to tough it out.”
“Perhaps the stress of the situation was just too much for her in the end.” He glanced at the monitor. “Doesn’t she look like a woman unburdened?”
Ingrid stared at Carrie Foster’s face. She looked spent more than relieved. “Are you planning another interview today?”
“I think we’ll reconvene tomorrow in all likelihood.”
“There’s something I’d like you to pursue,” Ingrid said.
“Yes?”
“That whole deal with the hairbrush. If she lashed out at Tommy, in a fit of rage, then accidentally shook Molly, because she was so ‘out of her mind’, what compelled her to even think about washing the hairbrush? Trying to get rid of evidence? Doesn’t that make her actions seem more premeditated?”
Before Radcliffe had a chance to consider her question, Gurley jumped up from his chair. “For God’s sake, what’s the matter with you?” he said, spitting out the words. “You got your confession. What more do you want?” He took a stride towards Radcliffe. The DCI stood his ground.
“Actually there’s a lot more we need to speak to Mrs Foster about.”
“Such as?” Gurley was stooping, his face close to Radcliffe’s.
“The DNA analysis revealed something we’d very much like to discuss with her. Although given her confession, it’s probably less relevant than might previously have been the case.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” The color was creeping back into Gurley’s cheeks.
“It seems Kyle Foster is not Molly’s biological father.”
49
“Can I speak to her?” Ingrid asked. “In my capacity as a representative of the American embassy? Just to let her know we’re still here to support her.”
“Not possible,” Radcliffe said. And I’m surprised you’re even asking. You know better than that.”
Ingrid glanced at Gurley. He was staring into space, his face flushed red.
“You’re going to release her on bail.” Ingrid made it a statement rather than a question.
“In her state of mind? I think it might be better to keep her in custody for her own protection,” Radcliffe said.
“The embassy can give her all the protection she needs.”
“The solicitor will make her case to the magistrate.”
Ingrid felt the sudden need for air. She’d been cooped up in a stuffy room with Gurley for too long. “I’ll be outside. I need a few moments to take all this in,” she announced, and left the room.
Once outside she walked up and down between the parked vehicles, trying to get some blood pumping in her legs, and tried hard to work out why she wasn’t feeling in the least bit satisfied her hunch about Kyle Foster’s innocence had been proved right. Maybe there were just too many questions that remained unanswered, especially now, with Radcliffe’s latest revelation. As she walked it occurred to her they needed to contact Kyle Foster urgently. He was so pissed at them the last time he called, Ingrid was worried what he might do next. She found Yvonne Sherwood’s number in her cell and called her, but the call went straight to voicemail. She considered leaving a message to let Sherwood know about Carrie Foster’s confession, but somehow it didn’t seem right to tell Sherwood before Kyle Foster was informed. She needed to discuss what their next move should be with Gurley.
Ingrid hurried back to the observation room to find Gurley slumped against the corridor wall outside, hands on knees.
“Pretty intense, huh?” she said.
He looked her hard in the eye but didn’t say a word. Ingrid suspected he was unable rather than unwilling to speak to her.
“I’m going back to the embassy,” she told him, suddenly feeling more sorry for the guy than he deserved. He looked so devastated by what he’d just heard. “I think you should come too. We need to work out exactly what we’re going to say to Kyle Foster the next time he calls.”
“If he calls.” Gurley’s throat sounded dry as he spoke. He looked up and down the corridor. “Let’s get out of here.”
They’d exited the police station and had been walking for at least ten minutes before Gurley spoke again. “I guess I owe you an apology. You were right to keep an open mind. I just can’t believe Carrie would hurt Molly like that.”
“You heard what Carrie said—it was an accident.”
“Her own mother?”
“You were prepared to believe her father could hurt her.”
Gurley stopped suddenly in the middle of the sidewalk and grabbed Ingrid’s arm. “You think Kyle Foster knew Molly wasn’t his?”
Ingrid considered the possibility for a moment and quickly rejected it. “I don’t think so—every time we’ve spoken to him he’s always referred to Molly as his daughter. He wants to protect her just as much as Tommy.”
“But maybe he had to say that. Otherwise we would have been even surer he had motive to hurt Molly.”
“You seemed pretty sure he wanted to hurt her anyway.”
“I’m not sure about anything anymore.” Gurley shrugged his massive shoulders and started walking again. As Ingrid hurried after him her cell vibrated in her pocket. She grabbed it and stared at the screen: it was a cell number she didn’t recognize. This time it was her turn to stop in her tracks, getting in the way of pedestrians hurrying along the sidewalk. She hit the answer option and waited.
“Agent Skyberg?”
Gurley mouthed “Who is it?” to her and she mouthed “Fost
er” back.
“Kyle?” she said.
“I told you no police—why did you go against my wishes? I thought I could trust you.”
“Kyle, is Tommy there with you? Is he OK?”
“Tommy’s just fine—why wouldn’t he be?”
“Absolutely no reason at all. Everything’s changed now, Kyle. Your wife has told the police exactly what happened. We know you didn’t hurt Molly. We know that for sure now. You don’t have to hide out anymore.”
“You’re lying. This is a trap to get me to give myself up.”
“Truly, please believe me—I’m not. Just take Tommy to the nearest hospital, wherever you are, get those injuries looked at again. We can arrange for you both to see Molly. Wouldn’t you like that?”
“You lied to me before. Why should I believe you now?”
“It’ll be on the news soon, you don’t have to take my word for it.” Ingrid had no idea when Radcliffe would be making a statement to the media. Maybe she could persuade him to do it sooner rather than later. “Is Yvonne there with you? Maybe I could speak to her.”
“She won’t be any more convinced by what you’re telling me than I am.” Foster was starting to sound a little crazy now. Why wouldn’t he just take her word for it? She supposed living on his wits, without much sleep or food for the last six days must have taken its toll.
“What can I say to convince you?”
“Nothing—I want to set up the exchange again. Though I swear, if you get the police involved again—”
“Please listen to me, Kyle. There’s no need for any of that. Tommy doesn’t need to go anywhere. He’s safe now. So is Molly. Carrie’s in custody. She can’t hurt either of them now.”
He hung up.
Gurley looked at her expectantly.
“He wants to set up another exchange.”
“What’s the matter with him?”
“He’s just not thinking straight. It’s OK—we do as he asks, then I can convince him face to face that he’s not in any trouble.”
“He abducted his son.”
“He was clearly only trying to protect Tommy—he just wanted to get the boy away from Carrie.”
