‘Look, what’s this all about?’ demanded Jos. ‘And where the bloody hell is my mother?’
‘Is there somewhere we could sit down, perhaps?’ he asked.
‘In the kitchen.’
Mercifully Jos didn’t spot that they knew the way. He perched on a bar stool, his arms folded tightly across his chest.
‘Mrs Diana Hope-Bruce is currently in custody at the police centre at Express Park, Bridgwater.’ Dixon was choosing his words carefully, making sure he didn’t refer to Diana as ‘mother’; watching for Jos’s reaction would be even more important. ‘She has been arrested on suspicion of child abduction, and will remain in custody until such time as she is charged and brought before a court.’
‘Child abduction?’ Jos straightened. ‘What child?’
‘You.’
‘Me? That’s bollocks. What evidence have you got?’
‘She’s confessed.’
‘Confessed to abducting me?’ The blood drained from Jos’s face. ‘Abducting me from who?’
‘There’s no easy way of saying this, so I’ll just speak plainly,’ said Dixon. ‘Roughly around the time you were born in Musgrove Park Hospital, Diana gave birth to a boy in Torbay Hospital. That boy died and his remains were found buried on the area of waste ground behind your old house in Torquay. You remember she asked you to give a DNA sample for testing?’
‘There was no match though.’
‘There wouldn’t have been, to you, but there would have been to her, which is why she asked you to give the sample. When the boy died, she abducted you to take his place. It was an opportunistic thing, she didn’t plan it; the opportunity presented itself and she took it. The man you know as your father, Robert Hope-Bruce, was overseas at the time and none the wiser. He returned from Saudi Arabia and there you were.’
‘I can’t get my head round this.’ Jos had his hands pressed to the side of his skull, squeezing hard. ‘Abducting me from who?’
‘I’m afraid we can’t tell you that until it’s confirmed by DNA and we’ve spoken to them. In the meantime, is there someone we can call?’ asked Dixon. ‘Someone who could come and sit with you?’
‘No.’
‘I can arrange for a family liaison officer if that would help.’
‘No, thank you.’ The initial sadness was slowly being replaced by anger. ‘What did you find when you searched this place?’
‘We recovered some documents from the office.’
‘That explains the filing cabinets.’
‘And the framed photograph and handprint on the wall in Diana’s dressing room,’ replied Dixon. ‘Ideally, we’ll be asking you for a handprint for comparison purposes.’
‘It’s not my handprint, you mean? Not me in the photo?’
‘Possibly not. Diana didn’t confirm it one way or the other in interview.’
‘You’ll be wanting my DNA too, I suppose?’ asked Jos.
‘The sample you gave before was destroyed, at your request,’ replied Dixon.
‘You need to give me some time to process this.’
‘I should also tell you that Diana is a suspect in the murders of four members of a bridge team; they are, or were, the people from whom she took you. They’d been entrusted with your care, albeit temporarily, and she persuaded them to hand you over.’
‘Four murders? No way.’ Jos stood up sharply, sending the metal-framed bar stool clattering across the tiled floor. ‘Whatever you say, she brought me up and she’s still my mother as far as I’m concerned. Am I under arrest?’
‘No.’
‘Do I have to give a DNA sample or my handprint?’
‘No, you don’t. I’d need a warrant.’
‘In that case, I’m not doing anything to help you build a case against her. I don’t care what she’s done. And first thing in the morning I’ll be speaking to my solicitor. Until then, I’d like you to leave me alone, please.’
Chapter Thirty-One
‘You’ve done it again, haven’t you?’ Jane sighed. ‘How many times have I told you? I don’t care what time it is, just come to bed.’ She was standing on the rug in the living room, her hands on her hips, looking down at Dixon stretched out on the sofa. ‘I really don’t mind being woken up. I’d much rather that than you sleeping down here.’
He yawned. ‘I didn’t want to wake you.’
‘You always say that.’ She reminded him of a primary schoolteacher towering over a naughty child.
‘My leg’s gone numb.’
‘That’s probably because Monty’s been using it as a pillow.’ Another sigh, louder this time. ‘I’ll put the kettle on.’
‘What time is it?’ asked Dixon, rubbing his leg, Monty unceremoniously turfed on to the floor.
‘Quarter to seven.’
