Deep Hurt - Eva Hudson Page 0,81
current condition. “In your earlier statement you said that Kyle pushed you away so violently that you bruised yourself on an item of furniture.”
“Yes?”
“You didn’t mention it just now. When exactly in the sequence of events did this happen? And can you describe the furniture in question?”
“It was… I guess it was the bureau, the wooden bureau set against the wall.”
“Really?”
“I think so.”
“Only that seems a little high to cause a bruise on your thigh. How tall are you, Mrs Foster?”
“Five-six.”
“Exactly, far too high.”
Carrie Foster frowned at him. “Maybe it was something else. I wasn’t really paying attention to the furniture. Kyle was hurting Molly, it was all I could think about.”
“And you sustained this injury when?”
She thought for a moment. “When I tried to grab Molly from him.”
“So he what, let go of Molly with one hand to push you?”
“No, he didn’t stop shaking her. He kind of… he shoved me with his hip and thigh, sent me off balance and I crashed into something—I guess I don’t remember what that was.” She raised the bottle of water to her lips with a trembling hand and took a sip. “Is that it?”
“Just one final thing.” Radcliffe tilted his head sympathetically. “It has been brought to my attention that you are in possession of a prescription drug—an anti-depressant—that has been illegally obtained.”
“What?”
“A bottle of pills was discovered in your bathroom cabinet at home.”
“What the hell have you been doing in my house?”
“Strictly speaking, the house is the property of the RAF, leased to the US Air Force. Our American colleagues authorized the search.”
Carrie Foster lifted a hand to her mouth.
“Are the pills yours, Mrs Foster?”
“I… don’t know anything about any pills.”
Ingrid was surprised at her answer. She’d assumed Carrie Foster would say the pills were Kyle’s right off the bat.
“Do they belong to your husband?”
Slowly blinking away her tears, Carrie Foster wiped the back of her hand across her cheeks. “I guess they could be—I’ve never seen any pills.”
“The hell with this.” Gurley started towards the door. “I’m stopping it right now.”
“There’s no need,” Ingrid called to him. “It’s over.”
Gurley turned abruptly. “What did you think you were doing?” He pointed a finger into Ingrid’s face, his fingertip just a fraction of an inch from her left cheek. She reared backwards, almost losing her balance.
The PC stood up.
“Tell me to take it easy one more goddamn time and I swear…” Gurley yelled at the officer. “You told Radcliffe about the pills?” he said, lowering his hand. “You said they were for menstrual cramping. What’s all this anti-depressant crap?”
“Hey—I made a mistake. They were the same color as something I’ve taken before.”
“How’d you even know what they were?”
“I did a little research.”
“And when were you planning on sharing that information with me?”
“I guess it slipped my mind.”
“Un-fucking-believable.”
It was the first time she’d heard Gurley swear. “I’m sorry, OK?”
“You thought they belonged to him, didn’t you? But you didn’t want to believe he was taking anti-depressants. Didn’t fit in with this new theory of yours, huh?”
“Why do you refuse to even question Carrie’s innocence?”
Gurley glanced at the PC standing close by. “I’m not having this conversation with you now.”
“I just want the truth. Nothing more, nothing less. I thought that’s what you wanted too.”
“Don’t even try to suggest that I don’t. How dare you—” He was cut off by the door opening.
Ingrid turned to see Radcliffe standing in the doorway. “Well?” she said. “What are you going to do about her?”
“Give her a lift back to the hospital.”
“She contradicted her earlier statement.”
“Not significantly.”
“She was uncomfortable when you brought up the subject of the bruising. And how could she not know about the pills in her own bathroom cabinet?”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Don’t you have enough to arrest her? Insist she answers more questions. You didn’t even bring up the issue of the breakfast from McDonald’s.”
“The what?” Gurley said.
“Nothing—an unconfirmed witness statement. I didn’t bring it up because it wasn’t relevant,” Radcliffe snapped. “I’ve just put that woman through hell, and wasted my own time in the process. Are you satisfied now?” He stared at Ingrid accusingly.
“Not in the least,” she said, holding his gaze. “But I guess that’s my problem.” Dissatisfaction with Radcliffe’s interview technique wasn’t the issue. She was frustrated as hell nobody wanted to consider another explanation for Molly’s injuries.
Without saying another word, the chief inspector left the room. Gurley followed him out, with Ingrid just a couple of steps behind them.
“Tell me I’m not going to witness