the detectives, eager to make her case before Gurley did. “I’m sure you won’t have a problem if I sit in on the interview, chief inspector,” she said. “In a purely observational capacity, of course.”
Radcliffe looked at the MP who was standing with his feet wide apart, his long arms folded across his chest.
“Major Gurley and I have a few wrinkles to iron out in terms of exactly who has authority here, but I wouldn’t want you to delay your interview on our account,” Ingrid quickly said before Gurley had a chance to respond.
“Just as long as you do. I don’t really care which one of you represents the US government, but keep your personal quarrels out of my investigation.”
“Absolutely.” Ingrid nodded toward Gurley, who managed to dip his head in agreement.
“I don’t want a peep out of either of you, clear?”
“Crystal,” Gurley said.
Radcliffe led them down another corridor, stopping when he reached a uniformed officer standing beside a closed door with a notice above it that read, ‘ICU Room 4’.
“Everything all right, constable?” the DCI asked the squat man wearing a dark blue stab-proof vest over his uniform.
“Nothing to report, sir. The team got Molly out and away without incident. PC Lewis has accompanied her to the MRI room on the first floor.”
Ingrid noticed the officer had a night stick, pair of cuffs and Taser attached to his belt. “You’re guarding the little girl?” she asked Radcliffe. “You think Foster is likely to come back and try to attack her?”
“I’m not taking any chances.” He opened the door and let the female detective enter the room first.
Ingrid followed close behind them. The room was bright—sun streamed in from a large window to the right of the door. Opposite the door, next to a collection of monitors, was a vacant space where Molly’s bed must have stood just a few minutes earlier. Somehow the emptiness felt more distressing to Ingrid than the sight of a small child lying unconscious in a hospital bed. She looked away toward the window and focused on the woman standing to one side of it. She was wearing a light blue and yellow summer dress, a bright orange sweater wrapped across her shoulders. She gave the impression of someone who had dressed in a hurry, which was hardly surprising, Ingrid thought, given the circumstances. The woman turned slowly away from the window and seemed to recoil as she took in the scene at the door. Seeing a group of people standing there, including one in military uniform, must have been a little overwhelming for her.
The female detective, who Ingrid supposed was the Fosters’ family liaison officer, hurried to Mrs Foster’s side and held her arm as she led her to a large recliner armchair in the corner of the room. Ingrid saw Foster’s face for the first time and noticed her eyes were bloodshot, her cheeks blotchy. She couldn’t have been older than thirty-five. The woman slowly eased herself into the chair and continued to stare at the group standing awkwardly just inside the room.
“You’d better get on and ask your questions,” she said, her voice shaky. “As soon as they bring Molly back from her scan I want you all out of here.”
DS Tyson ducked out of the room. He returned moments later carrying a chair in each hand. He set them down opposite the armchair, as the family liaison officer introduced both detectives to Mrs Foster. She glanced toward the door, at Ingrid and Gurley, a deep frown etched into her forehead. DCI Radcliffe introduced Ingrid. Then Gurley.
“And Major Gurley you already know, I presume,” he said.
Carrie Foster nodded at them both but wouldn’t make eye contact. “Can we please get this over with?”
Radcliffe and Tyson sat down, leaving the FLO to crouch beside Mrs Foster’s chair. Gurley leaned against the wall next to the window, Ingrid stood behind the two detectives.
“We’ll be as swift as we can,” Radcliffe told Mrs Foster. “Our main priority is getting Tommy back. We need to locate your husband as soon as possible. But we really need to know exactly what happened this morning, to get some idea what we’re dealing with.”
Carrie Foster opened her eyes wide, her gaze fixed on the ragged Kleenex she was holding.
“First off, do you mind telling me why you’re here in London?” Radcliffe asked.
The woman looked up at him, a puzzled expression on her face. “It was a mini-vacation. Sightseeing, you know? Apart from our trips home, it was the first