Deep Hurt - Eva Hudson Page 0,36

‘agent’, and I’m not sure what you’ve just done to my colleague is entirely legal. Is he under arrest?” She noticed the officer had three stripes on his epaulet. A couple of ranks below Radcliffe.

“Why create all that paperwork for ourselves?” he said, an inappropriate smirk on his face. “We’re just letting your friend cool off a wee bit. When this situation is resolved and we no longer consider him a threat to its successful conclusion, he’ll be free to go.”

“You do know he’s a Major in the military police? He’s a cop, just like you. Can’t you show the guy a little more respect?”

“If he’d shown us the same courtesy, you and I wouldn’t even be having this conversation.” He held her gaze for a long moment, making sure he’d made his point clear, then turned away to speak to a nearby constable.

Ingrid had been dismissed. As she was considering her next move, a loud bang echoed from across the street. She looked toward the source of the noise: a sash window had been flung open in the house under surveillance. A dirty nylon curtain fluttered through the gap. Ingrid stared at it for a while, expecting more activity. None came. Presumably the police negotiator had made contact with Foster and that had sparked a reaction. Everyone in the street was craning their necks up toward the window, all holding their breath, waiting for the next move.

For a full five minutes Ingrid continued to watch nothing happen at the open window. She imagined how frustrated Jack Gurley had to be feeling, handcuffed in the patrol car, watching police officers run up and down the street, and not knowing why. He was so close to apprehending his fugitive and yet not allowed anywhere near the action.

The frustration was getting to Ingrid too. She felt useless. Tommy was less than two hundred yards from her and she couldn’t help save him. She hoped he was all right and that Foster wouldn’t decide to make some final stand and take his boy down with him if he thought all was lost.

Did the Met negotiator really know what she was doing? Was Kyle Foster even making demands? Maybe they should get Carrie Foster to speak to him. Hearing a familiar voice might make all the difference. Ingrid released the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Kyle Foster talking to his wife could also make matters a whole lot worse. Besides, Ingrid wasn’t even sure whether or not Carrie Foster was still under sedation.

She tried calling Radcliffe and wasn’t surprised when his cell went straight to voicemail. As approaching the surveillance van to try to speak to him wasn’t an option, she walked over to one of the uniformed officers. The man was wearing a Kevlar vest and had an earpiece in his left ear. She showed him her badge. “Any chance you know what’s going on in there?”

He shook his head and said, “I’m just waiting for orders.” Then he walked away.

Ingrid looked toward the crowd standing at the nearest cordon. Previously silenced by the recent activity at the house, they had started murmuring quietly amongst themselves again.

Except for one woman.

One woman standing close to the barrier had just shouted something at the cop manning the line. Ingrid jogged down to the cordon to see what the woman’s problem was.

“I’m seventy-eight years old!” she hollered. “My husband fought for this country. You have no right keeping me from my home.”

The cordon cop leaned close to the woman and said something very quietly in her ear.

“What would I do on the hard floor in the leisure center? With my hips? What is the matter with you, suggesting such a thing?”

Ingrid detected the merest hint of a Polish accent, almost eroded away after many years living in London. “Hello, ma’am. Has the officer explained what’s going on to you?”

“He says I can’t go back to my own house. I’ve been sitting in the hospital all night at my husband’s bedside, on the most uncomfortable chair ever made, and now this policeman wants me to stand in the street for God knows how long.”

“It’s not safe for you to return right now.” Ingrid pointed to the open window. “You see that curtain blowing there? Inside that house is a man the police need to speak to. He has a little boy with him. He’s holding the boy hostage.” As Ingrid made the statement she realized it wasn’t strictly accurate. As far as she knew, Foster