Deep Hurt - Eva Hudson Page 0,23
must have sounded to the distraught mother sitting in front of her.
Tears were falling down Foster’s face. “What happened? Kyle used to be so kind. I just can’t believe what he did to Molly. He was a good man, you know? No one can change that much, can they?”
Ingrid felt Gurley tense slightly as he sat next to her.
“Thank you for your time, Mrs Foster.” Radcliffe stood up. “It’s been a great help.” He waited for Ingrid and Gurley to get to their feet.
Ingrid hadn’t had a chance to ask Carrie Foster about the bruise on her leg, but it didn’t seem appropriate to bring it up now. She led the way into the corridor, relieved to get out of the airless room.
“After what he did, how can she even think he was a good man?” Gurley said when he’d closed the door behind them.
“It’s complicated for her,” Ingrid said. “She still remembers the man he was. Before the PTSD. I guess she doesn’t want to admit she’s married to some kind of monster.” She started to head back down the corridor toward the elevators.
“You can find your own way out,” Radcliffe said once they’d reached the set of doors leading into the ICU. He disappeared through the doors without waiting for a reply.
“We need to map out Kyle Foster’s movements from the time he left the hotel, to see if we can predict where he’ll head next.” Gurley said.
“I’m sure the police are doing exactly that.”
“You heard Radcliffe just now—he pretty much dismissed us. We’re meant to be providing our expertise. He doesn’t seem that interested in what we might have to offer.”
“You’re right.” Ingrid found herself reluctantly agreeing with Gurley. “We should get back to the embassy and try to convince Sol it’s better for us to break free of the Met’s investigation. We can be more effective working our own line of inquiry.”
“Agreed. Right now I feel like the cops are tolerating us at best.”
Welcome to my world.
As they approached the elevator, the doors opened and two uniformed policeman ran out. Ingrid and Gurley looked at one another for a moment, then hurried after the two men. They hung a left, toward the ICU.
The door leading into Molly Foster’s room was wide open. There was no sign of the cop who should have been on duty outside.
The two cops ran into the room, with Ingrid and Gurley right behind them. A third cop was inside, anxiously watching the nurse Ingrid had seen the day before check the various machines Molly was hooked up to.
“Is she OK?” the cop asked.
“She’s fine. Absolutely fine.” The nurse had a worried look on her face.
“I thought he was a doctor. He was dressed in scrubs. He had a stethoscope around his neck.”
“What happened?” Ingrid said.
All three cops now turned toward Ingrid and Gurley. “Who the hell are you?” one of them demanded.
Ingrid quickly retrieved her badge. “FBI, American embassy. We’ve just been interviewing Mrs Foster.” She strode toward the bed. “What happened?” she asked the cop again, this time more firmly. She glanced quickly back at the door, wondering where the hell Radcliffe was.
“A man walked right up to the door. He had a hospital ID badge clipped to his pocket. I suppose I should have checked it more closely. I came into the room with him—it’s protocol when the nurse isn’t around. I was standing next to him the whole time.” He lifted a hand to his face. He was trembling. “Have the exits been secured?” he asked the other cops.
One of them nodded. “We’ve got people at the front and rear. He won’t get out of here.”
Ingrid stared into the nervous cop’s face. “What made you think he wasn’t a doctor?”
“There was something about him. Most of the consultants I’ve seen in here are… you know, cocky. He seemed more unsure of himself. He grabbed the charts attached to the end of the bed, but it didn’t look like he was actually reading them. He was too busy looking up at Molly, then at me.”
“Who do you think he was?”
“I can’t say. For a second I thought it might be her dad. But he didn’t look like the photographs I’ve seen of him.”
“Wait a minute,” Gurley said. “Are you saying Kyle Foster was right here, in Molly’s room?”
“I couldn’t say. The man was dressed as a doctor.”
“How long ago?”
“Five minutes.”
“What did he do?”
“Nothing—he couldn’t, could he? Not with me standing right next to him. Like I say, he just