‘Someone has killed four elderly and defenceless people in their own homes, Diana. Who d’you think that might be?’
‘No comment.’
‘Someone taking revenge perhaps?’
‘No comment.’
‘Jos?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. Why would he do that?’
‘Because they gave him away. To you.’
‘That boy wanted for nothing. And he doesn’t know anything about this, anyway.’
‘To silence the bridge team, perhaps?’ Dixon tried an understanding smile, now he’d got her talking again. ‘Were you being blackmailed?’
‘Certainly not.’
‘Only, the killings started after your son’s remains were found on the building site. A bit of a coincidence that, don’t you think?’
‘I have advised my client to answer no further questions in relation to this matter,’ said the solicitor, closing his notebook. ‘She has given a full and frank admission in relation to the death of her son and the abduction of Patrick Hudson. She has also provided her alibis for each of the murders, in writing.’ He took a firm grip of her wrist.
One more question. It was worth a try. ‘I’m assuming you know Jos, or Patrick I should say, was in a relationship with his sister, Freya?’
A sharp intake of breath, a firmer grip on the wrist.
Startled, she mumbled, ‘No . . . no comment.’
Chapter Thirty
It was either back past the video suite or out of the security door and into the rain. The crowd had dispersed, not that he minded the audience; it saved another briefing if everyone knew anyway.
Charlesworth was still there, though, waiting in the doorway to pounce.
‘You got all that from her sending her son to do the DNA test?’ he asked, springing out into the corridor in front of Dixon.
‘It makes perfect sense when you put the two cases together.’
‘I’ll let my oppo know. At least Devon and Cornwall will be able to put that one to bed,’ Charlesworth said, triumphantly. ‘Nice to know we sorted it out for them. When are you going to tell the Hudson family?’
‘When we’ve got the DNA results.’
‘The revelation puts them in the frame for the bridge team murders, so you’ll need to tread carefully.’
‘We will, Sir. We’ll need another sample from Jos to compare against the sample we have from Patrick, but Diana’s sample is already at the lab for comparison to the remains found on the waste ground. If it’s her child then we’re halfway there on that, at least.’
‘Rather you than me.’
‘Thank you, Sir.’
‘It’s a bit late, isn’t it, Sir?’ Louise was sitting in the passenger seat of Dixon’s Land Rover, looking at the time on her phone.
‘He’s going to be wondering where his mother is, or the woman he thinks is his mother anyway, so we need to break the news to him and get a DNA sample.’
‘I’ve got a kit.’
Lights were on inside Lynch Cottage; there were even lights outside on the grass, pointing up at the house, and more twinkly lights entwined in the creeper growing up the walls. It would have made a lovely photograph for estate agent’s particulars.
A figure was moving about inside, wearing a white T-shirt and shorts, a phone clamped to his ear. Ringing his mother, probably, her phone with High Tech by now.
‘I’m not sure which is worse,’ said Louise. ‘Telling someone a loved one is dead, or telling them they’ve slept with their sister.’
‘That’s a conversation for another day,’ replied Dixon. ‘I want no mention of the Hudson family until it’s confirmed. The last thing we want is him charging round there.’
It turned out the shorts were boxers, although that didn’t stop Jos answering the door. He looked slightly embarrassed when he saw Louise, taking a moment to recover his composure, but not before Dixon had used the uncertainty to invite himself in.
‘I’ll just go and put some trousers on.’
Jos returned a few moments later, clutching a piece of paper. ‘Maybe you can tell me what this is all about? I found it on the kitchen table.’
‘I can tell you exactly what that is, Sir,’ replied Dixon, without looking at the document. ‘It’s a search warrant that was executed at this property earlier today.’
‘A search warrant?’
Dixon was still standing in the hall, looking at himself in the huge mirrors, multiple versions of himself disappearing into the distance, wondering what a psychologist would make of it. It felt like a metaphor for something.
