‘How old is he?’ Jane knew the answer to that one, but was making polite conversation; something in common, and all that.
‘Eighteen months.’
‘And you called him Patrick.’ Jane was leaning over the high chair now, brushing the baby’s hair back off his face. ‘I thought that was nice.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Named him after me.’ Jos’s voice was loaded with venom.
‘It’s nobody’s fault, Jos,’ said Freya.
‘Yes, it bloody well is. My mother’s, or the woman I thought was my mother.’ He stood up, walked over to the mantelpiece, picking up a framed photograph. ‘That’s my real mother.’ He handed the picture to Jane. ‘And that’s me she’s holding in her arms. Me and Freya were in a relationship for six months, and I’ve only just found out; all along, I was shagging my sister, for fuck’s sake.’
It was an unfortunate turn of phrase, albeit accurate. ‘You couldn’t have known,’ said Dixon.
‘There was a connection. We felt it when we first met at college – I did anyway – and the spark was still there when we bumped into each other again at Zinc. Remember?’ Freya was smiling at Jos; a sadness to it, though. ‘I was footloose and fancy free then, so I made the first move; grabbed your hand and pulled you on to the dance floor.’
‘I was too shy, apparently,’ mumbled Jos. ‘What I actually thought was that you were still with someone.’ He gestured to the boy in the high chair, now being fed by Jane, a dollop of something indescribable dripping off the spoon. ‘His father.’
‘Sorry,’ Jane said. ‘I’m just getting a bit of practice in.’
‘Be my guest,’ replied Freya.
Dixon knew what she was really up to; they’d been on the same training course. It was called empathy – putting the interviewee at their ease. ‘Was it serious, your relationship?’ he asked.
‘I thought so,’ replied Freya.
Jos took a deep breath, reached into his jacket pocket. ‘I’d bought a ring,’ he said, a little black velvet box sitting in the palm of his hand. ‘I was going to ask her to marry me, but my mother went nuts when she found out. I know why now. You might as well have it, to remember me by.’
‘You’re not going anywhere, Jos. You’re still my brother.’
‘I wanted to be your husband.’
Not quite the same, thought Dixon. And somebody was going somewhere; he just didn’t know who yet.
‘Look, I’m going to go,’ said Jos. He stopped in front of Dixon. ‘I suppose I ought to ask how my mother is, but right at this moment, I don’t give a shit.’
‘She’ll be appearing before the magistrates at Taunton on Monday morning at ten.’
‘I might turn up. If I can be bothered.’
‘And she remains a suspect in the murders of the bridge team.’
‘So do I, I suppose?’
Dixon stood in the French windows, overlooking the Ferrari in the drive below. There was a loud growl when Jos started the engine, very different to the rumble of a Land Rover.
‘What did your father think of Jos when he met him?’
‘He liked him,’ replied Freya. ‘He had the usual reservations, I suppose. I’d had my fingers burned once – badly – and then this flash lad in a Ferrari is on the scene, but Dad liked him. Gave him a lecture about driving carefully.’ Another sad smile. ‘You can imagine it, can’t you?’
‘I can,’ said Jane. ‘Although mine rolled up in an old Land Rover, with his dog on the passenger seat.’
‘Did your father give any indication that he knew who Jos was?’ asked Dixon.
‘He’d have said something if he did.’ Freya frowned. ‘He’s hardly going to let me get involved with my brother if he knew, is he? Jos’s mother went nuts, but Dad was fine about it.’
‘What about when you were growing up?’ Jos had left the ring box on the mantelpiece; replaced the picture of his mother too, slightly out of line, so Dixon reached up and nudged it into its original position. ‘Do you remember much about the hunt for your brother? Your father never gave up, did he?’
‘Not to begin with,’ replied Freya. ‘But it gradually faded into the background when he met Sally and got married again. He still had that private detective on the case, but that stopped when Olivia came along. She wasn’t well and he became totally focused on getting her through that. She’s fine now, though, so all’s well that ends well.’
‘Did you ever ask him about the search?’
‘I didn’t have to. He never talked about anything else in the early days. He never hid anything from me. My brother was gone and I had to get used to it. My mother was gone too, and the worst part is I don’t really remember her at all. That was harder than losing my brother.’ She grimaced. ‘That sounds a horrible thing to say, doesn’t it?’
‘Understandable, for a girl of that age.’
‘Definitely,’ said Jane.
‘You lost your mother?’ asked Freya.
‘It’s complicated.’
‘A text from Mark,’ said Dixon, handing his phone to Jane as he was driving.
‘“You really need to see this, Sir”,’ she said, reading aloud. ‘Bang goes an evening in the pub.’
