Deep Hurt - Eva Hudson Page 0,6
this case, I suppose the US government is pretty well represented already.”
“Air Force? What do you mean?”
Before Tyson could answer, the elevator doors opened to reveal a crush of bodies crammed inside. Ingrid and the detective stepped to one side as the occupants started to pile out. Two or three were on crutches, a couple more, hooked up to IV machines, clutched packs of cigarettes in their spare hands. A man in a wheelchair trundled out at speed, without looking where he was going. Ingrid wondered how they’d all managed to breathe in such a confined space.
“It’s a very busy hospital,” Tyson said by way of explanation.
Ingrid and Tyson eventually managed to make it into the elevator, followed by another twenty or so people. Most of them were carrying bags of apples and grapes and a variety of less healthy snacks, with magazines and newspapers tucked under their arms. All of them had weary expressions on their faces.
During the ascent, Tyson made banal small talk and Ingrid played along, just as keen to be discreet. But once the elevator stopped at the eleventh floor and Tyson pushed a path to the front, Ingrid following in his wake, the doors had barely closed before she repeated her earlier question. Her tone more urgent this time.
“Tell me exactly who is involved in this investigation.”
“I assumed you knew.”
Ingrid now suspected the details she’d been given earlier weren’t so much sketchy as deliberately vague. “Let’s assume I know nothing at all and start over, shall we?”
“The US Air Force have sent one of their Security Forces officers.” Tyson headed down the stark white, brightly-lit corridor and Ingrid followed. The further they walked from the elevator lobby, the more she could detect the familiar aroma of every hospital she’d ever visited. It was a mix of sterilizing alcohol, disinfectant and something non-specific—a smell Ingrid always associated with illness and disease.
“You’re telling me the man we’re looking for is a serving officer?” she asked as they pushed through a set of double doors.
“First Lieutenant Kyle Foster, stationed at RAF Freckenham in Suffolk.”
“And exactly what authority does this Security Forces officer have?”
“I’ll introduce you to the major shortly. He can tell you himself.”
“He’s already here?” Ingrid stopped walking, forcing Tyson to do the same. “You informed the Air Force before you contacted the embassy?”
Tyson looked at her indignantly, as if she were questioning his competence personally, rather than the protocol of the Metropolitan Police in general.
“We needed good quality photographs of Foster and his son. We had to contact the base first.”
“And you couldn’t inform the embassy at the same time?”
“You’ll have to bring up any complaints with DCI Radcliffe. He’s the senior investigating officer.” He started walking again.
“Wait a minute.” Ingrid wanted more information before she walked all over whatever relationship the military policeman had managed to establish with the investigating team. “How long has the ‘Major’ been here?”
Detective Sergeant Tyson slowly came to halt and turned to face her, an irritated expression on his face. “An hour or so, why?”
“You’ve given him all the facts of the case?”
“Only as far as we know them. We’re still waiting to speak to Mrs Foster to find out exactly what happened this morning.”
“You haven’t spoken to her yet?”
He took a step backwards and looked up at the ceiling, his irritation clearly mounting. “She’s been too distraught. Wanted to be at Molly’s side. In case she came round.”
“Her daughter’s still alive?”
Tyson narrowed his eyes. “You didn’t even know that?”
“I told you—the details I’ve been given are sketchy at best.”
“Molly’s sustained head injuries. She’s unconscious. Hooked up to so many machines you can barely see her for all the leads and wires.”
“Is she going to be all right?”
Tyson shrugged. “Doctors can’t tell us that. Not yet.”
“I’d like to speak to Mrs Foster. She’s an American citizen. She needs to know the embassy will help any way we can.”
“You’ll have to go to the back of the queue. DCI Radcliffe’s going to interview to her soon. With Major Gurley.”
“The MP?”
“I think he prefers to be called a Security Forces officer.”
Ingrid didn’t give a damn want he preferred. As far as she was concerned all armed services cops were cut from the same cloth. “I want to be part of that interview.”
Tyson shook his head. “Not my decision to make—you’ll have to speak to the DCI about it.” He continued down the corridor, marching toward another set of double doors.
As Ingrid hurried to catch up she wondered just how much access DCI