Deep Hurt - Eva Hudson Page 0,46

something I want to take a look at.”

Back at RAF Freckenham, Gurley parked up behind his quarters. The jeep was already waiting to convey them to the family quarters on the far eastern side of the compound.

“I had my team search the house yesterday, as soon as I was told what Foster had done. They didn’t find anything.” Gurley said as they stepped inside the Fosters’ dinky little two-story house. “What are you looking for?”

“Not a man in a closet.”

Ingrid headed for the living room first. A worn couch and armchair took up most of the space, both were angled towards a forty-eight-inch flat screen TV. Framed pictures of the two children adorned the walls. A large plastic crate stuffed with kids toys was shoved in a corner. Beyond the living area was the kitchen. It was big enough to incorporate a small dining table and four chairs. A refrigerator stood in one corner, so tall it almost reached the ceiling. Ingrid pulled open the door. It was pretty much full of groceries. Strange that the Fosters had such a well-stocked fridge when they were planning to go away for a few days. Ingrid wondered if the trip was a last minute decision. Something else they should ask Carrie Foster.

Ingrid opened up the ice box. Apart from the usual cartons of ice cream and frozen vegetables, containers of what she supposed was frozen breast milk were stacked inside.

“How old is Molly?” she asked Gurley.

“Fourteen months,” he said quickly.

“Isn’t that a little old for breast feeding?”

“Hey—don’t ask me. I’ve managed to avoid that kind of knowledge my whole life.” He pulled out one of the containers and held it up to the light as if it might yield some clue. “It looks almost green. Maybe it’s really old.”

Ingrid checked another container for a date. Stuck on the bottom was a little strip of tape with the digits 07-24 written in thick black Sharpie. “Last month. I guess it keeps frozen as long as any other kind of milk.” She screwed up her face. She felt sorry for Carrie Foster having to express the stuff, then label up the container and carefully place it in the ice box with the frozen dessert. Ingrid’s mom had given her formula just as soon as she could. She grabbed the pot from Gurley’s hand and shoved both containers back in the ice box. Then she turned around and headed toward the front door. She paused at the foot of the stairs leading up to the second floor. “Are you OK?”

Gurley nodded back at her unconvincingly.

“Your face looks a little pale. Was it handling the breast milk?”

“Not at all. Just remembered the sight of little Molly lying in that hospital bed.”

“We should check to see how she’s doing—it’s possible Radcliffe wouldn’t bother to keep us informed.” Ingrid pulled out her cell. She needed to call Radcliffe anyway to give him an update on the local situation. Better that he heard it from her rather than the Suffolk cops. Just as she opened her contacts list the phone vibrated in her hand. An out of area number. She looked at Gurley.

“Hey—you go right ahead. It’s not as if we have a man to hunt down here.”

Ingrid hesitated for a beat. Screw Gurley. She answered the call. Thankfully her gamble paid off: it wasn’t Svetlana. “Hey, Mike. I’m in the middle of something right now, can I call you back?”

“It won’t take a minute, I was just checking you got the mp3 files I sent you.”

“You did?”

“Yep—audio interviews of the two women. I finally got a hold of them. Thought you’d want them right away.”

“Thanks Mike. I’ll check my email account later. I really appreciate your help.”

“Hey—glad to be of service.”

She said goodbye and hung up.

“You all done?”

“It’s another case I’m working on—I can’t just drop everything else.”

“You should feel free to go right back to it. I have everything under control here.”

Ingrid decided not to remind him about the fruitless search of the Hare and Hounds. She wasn’t sure he had anything under control at all. She bounded up the stairs. At the top, straight ahead of her, was the open door leading into the bathroom. The room was small by US standards, but big compared to the tiny shower rooms she’d seen in people’s apartments in London. There was a bathtub and a separate shower cubicle, and a sink beside the toilet. Above the sink was a mirrored cabinet. Ingrid opened the door. Inside were the