“The next session might take a while.”
“Really, we’re OK.” Ingrid just wanted Tyson to leave. His demeanor had started to piss her off.
After fifteen minutes speaking to her lawyer, an unsteady Carrie Foster was led back into the interview room by a female constable and helped onto a chair. She leaned back, tilted her head toward the ceiling and closed her eyes.
In the observation room Gurley murmured something so quietly Ingrid supposed she wasn’t meant to hear it. She didn’t bother asking him to repeat it.
Ingrid stared at the monitor that showed a close-up of Carrie Foster’s face. Her skin was slack. Her eyes seemed blank, her expression resigned somehow.
The two detectives returned to the room and Tyson restarted the digital recorder.
“Now you’ve had a chance to discuss the new evidence with your solicitor,” Radcliffe said, “perhaps you’d like to go over the events of Monday morning again? Tell us what really happened.”
The lawyer turned to her client, gently laying a hand on her arm. “You don’t have to do this.”
“I do. It’s been tearing me apart.” Carrie Foster blotted her eyes and nose with a Kleenex. “Could I get a glass of water?”
In the next room Ingrid sat up straighter in her chair. She hadn’t been expecting a change of heart from Carrie Foster. She craned her neck closer to the screen in front of Gurley. His face now wore a bewildered expression.
A few moments later, the female detective appeared with a plastic jug and four plastic beakers on a tray. She took her time pouring water into each beaker. Carrie Foster drank half a glass, waited for it to be refilled, then took a deep breath.
“It was an accident,” she said. The muscles in her face tightened.
Both detectives leaned back in their chairs, a subtle but unmistakable sign that they didn’t want to pressure Carrie Foster any further—they were happy to let her make her statement in her own good time.
“Molly just wouldn’t stop crying. She’s never slept well, ever since she was born. There was no escape from the noise in that tiny hotel room. On Monday morning Tommy was acting out too. I guess he was overexcited to be in a new place, looking forward to visiting the big toy store. He seemed to be making Molly worse. After a while she was pretty much screaming.” She closed her eyes. Squeezed them tight shut. “I sent Kyle out to get us some breakfast—asked him to take Tommy with him. But Tommy wasn’t dressed yet and Kyle said he’d be much faster if he went alone. We both hoped the promise of food might make Tommy quieten down a little. Tommy loves McDonald’s.” She drained her glass. Tyson refilled it for her. “Tommy started to bounce up and down on his bed. Higher and higher. I told him to stop, but he wouldn’t. I guess I must have had the hairbrush in my hand. I don’t really remember. I was just pointing it at him. Not in a threatening way, I swear.” She looked at one detective then the other. “You have to believe me, I love my kids.” She dabbed her eyes again and leaned towards Radcliffe. “When you have my statement, can I go back to the hospital? Molly really shouldn’t be left on her own. She’ll get upset.”
“Why don’t we see where we are when you’ve finished? Make a judgment then,” the DCI said, careful not to make promises he wouldn’t be able to keep. “What happened after that?”
“Then Tommy started shouting at me. Taunting me, I guess. Daring me to hit him, almost.” She took another drink of water.
Ingrid glanced at Gurley, still he hadn’t moved a muscle or said a word. She wanted to ask him what he made of Carrie Foster’s statement, but doubted she’d get any kind of sensible response. It was as if he’d gone into a trance, his gaze fixed on the screen, his hands gripping his knees.
Something about the way Carrie Foster spoke was troubling Ingrid. The woman seemed to make every sentence into a question, as if she were doubting herself with each word she uttered. Perhaps she’d hidden the truth for so long, when she actually revealed what really happened, the facts seemed alien to her.
“And then?” Radcliffe asked, when Mrs Foster had returned the beaker to the table.
“Then Molly screamed even louder. I yelled at Tommy to stop shouting. Stop jumping. He wouldn’t. Then the bed collapsed. I suppose I lashed out, you know?