Deep Hurt - Eva Hudson Page 0,30
the empty dining room. He pulled out a couple of chairs and waited for Ingrid to take a seat.
“I thought you interviewed the guests yesterday,” Ingrid said and pointed toward the lounge.
“This is the mop-up operation. Mainly the people who weren’t around during the first round.” He looked at her expectantly.
“The forensics?” Ingrid reminded him.
“You know about the blood in the bathroom?”
Ingrid sat up straighter. “What?”
“Across the tiles above the sink. It was only a trace—someone had obviously tried to clean up. But they didn’t manage to get it all.”
“Has anyone questioned Carrie Foster about it?”
“Last time I heard, she’d been sedated.”
“Sedated?”
“She got wind of the impostor—whoever he was—getting into her daughter’s hospital room. She became hysterical, apparently. Can’t blame her. What if it was her old man come to finish poor little Molly off? Makes my skin crawl.”
“How is Molly?”
“She still hasn’t regained consciousness. But the doctors are hopeful.”
Ingrid didn’t know what a prolonged period of unconsciousness meant in terms of the child’s recovery. She decided not to dwell on the subject. “Did the CSEs find anything else?”
“Nope. It’s possible the trace of blood belonged to a previous guest—it all depends how well the staff clean the rooms, I suppose.”
Ingrid looked through the doorway into the lounge area. Most of the guests had completed their interviews and were starting to leave. Except for one. A purple haired senior was leaning forward in her chair. She’d grabbed the detective’s arm sitting opposite her and was squeezing it hard.
“She seems to have something to say for herself.”
Tyson followed her gaze. “We haven’t gleaned much so far from the other guests. No one seems to have spoken to the Fosters. I think people prefer to keep themselves to themselves in such an intimate sized establishment.”
Ingrid rose from her seat. “Let me know if this latest round of questioning uncovers any interesting information.” She pulled a business card from her purse and handed it to him.
“Sure, why not? It’s not as if I’m busy.”
“I really would appreciate it.”
He gave her a begrudging smile.
As Ingrid walked toward the dining room exit, the purple haired woman looked up at her. “Good afternoon, ma’am,” Ingrid said when she drew level.
“You’re American.”
“Yes, ma’am. From the US embassy.” She extended her hand. “Agent Skyberg.”
“Agent? That sounds official. Maybe you want to hear about what I saw yesterday. I’m not sure this young man is taking me at all seriously. It’s my age, I expect.” From the definite twang in the woman’s accent, Ingrid supposed she came from one of the Carolinas.
The woman struggled to her feet, grabbed Ingrid’s arm and led her away to another table. She sat down and encouraged Ingrid to do the same. “My name’s Merle Simmons.”
Tyson walked past their table and pulled a face at Ingrid behind the old woman’s back. She ignored him.
“I saw him, you know!” The woman’s voice came out in an excited whisper. “He was as close to me as you are now.”
“Do you mean Mr Foster?”
“Of course I do!”
“When was this?”
“Yesterday morning. I was on my way down to the dining room. It was clear he’d been too mean to pay the extra supplement.”
“I’m sorry?”
“For breakfast. He was carrying a large McDonald’s bag. Bringing back food for his whole family, I suppose.”
“What time was this?”
“Eight forty-five.”
“You’re sure?”
“Jim, my husband, and I go down to breakfast the same time every morning.”
“I mean you’re sure about the McDonald’s bag?”
“Why wouldn’t I be? Quite unapologetic about it too. He smiled right at me.”
“Perhaps I could speak to your husband, confirm the details with him?”
“You don’t need to do that, I’m quite in control of my faculties. Besides, Jim’s having his nap.”
“You didn’t see Mrs Foster or the children?”
“Not until we all watched the ambulance people take that poor little baby away.” She looked down at Ingrid’s hands. “Shouldn’t you be making notes? The policeman had a notebook, but once I’d told him what I’d seen, he didn’t seem to want to write anything down.”
“I have perfect recall.” Ingrid smiled and started to get up.
“Is that it?”
“Did you see anything else of the family yesterday morning?”
“Only what I’ve told you already.”
“Then I think we’re done—thank you so much for your time.”
“What’s happening with the little boy? Have you found him yet?”
“Not yet, ma’am, but I’m sure we will real soon.” Ingrid wished she could believe that herself.
She left the woman sitting in the lounge and went looking for Tyson. Why would a man who fled his hotel room in a panic, after shaking