mother,’ he turned from Dan to Gerry, ‘your ex-wife.’
Gerry’s expression darkened and he rose from the chair. ‘Why?’
‘We need to contact her.’
‘For what reason?’
Jane Osborne had not asked him to either admit or deny that this request had come at her instigation. On balance, however, Goodhew preferred discretion. ‘Your daughter’s return highlighted the fact that Mary Osborne’s details were no longer up to date. It’s merely routine.’
‘That’s bollocks. It’s Jane, isn’t it? She’s asked you to find her mother.’
So much for trying discretion.
Gerry Osborne’s face was tanned like a gardener’s, but, behind the deep brown, he visibly reddened. ‘Having that woman back in Cambridge is the last thing we need.’
‘Dad . . .’
‘No, Dan, your sister is deluding herself . . . and you.’ He glowered at Goodhew, his right hand making a fist as he spoke. He clenched it tightly, until it trembled, ‘You people . . .’ His words trailed away.
Dan stepped slightly closer. ‘We are still angry over the failure to secure a murder conviction against Greg Jackson.’ Dan sounded angry, too, but clearly kept his feelings on a tighter rein. ‘His release has been hard for all of us, especially Dad.’
‘Thank you, Dan, but I am here in the room and capable of speaking for myself.’ The older man’s eye colour was either an extremely dark shade of brown or his pupils were dilated to their maximum. ‘Detective Goodhew, I appreciate you coming in person, which either demonstrates the existence of some degree of respect or a cynical ploy by your senior officer. Either way I am not prepared to share information with you about
that
woman.’
‘Jane would like to contact her mother, to let her know that she is safe and well.’
‘She’s had years to do that. Why come back and then immediately screw it up by letting Mary back in?’
‘Surely that’s her choice to make?’
‘And mine to stop it from happening.’
After Gerry stopped speaking, Goodhew let the silence lengthen and become heavy. It was Dan who spoke again first. ‘She’s in France.’
‘Do you have an address?’
‘No, but we’ve had a couple of postcards, and they both have the same postmark. Would you like to see them?’
The same heavy silence returned as soon as he’d gone. It was less comfortable, and this time it was Goodhew who broke it. ‘Greg Jackson spoke to you recently?’
Gerry set his jaw and folded his arms across his chest. For a few seconds Goodhew thought he wasn’t going to get a response. Then Gerry dipped his head in the briefest of nods. ‘He came to see me, yes.’
‘What did he say?’
‘Why?’
‘I’m curious.’
‘Good, then stay curious. He came to tell me he’d never killed Becca.’ Gerry took a couple of steps back, with lips now tightly shut. For a while, his chest rose and fell with heavy breathing. ‘What a fool,’ he then continued. ‘Does he think I don’t know him? I was full of bile towards that man long, long before he murdered my daughter.’
Dan returned, postcards in hand. Gerry glared at him. ‘I really hoped you’d have the sense to come back in and say you’d lost them.’
Dan looked down at the cards, as he spoke. ‘Sorry, Dad, but she’s still my mum. I don’t want to get in touch with her, but I understand why Jane does.’
Gerry Osborne thrust his hand towards Goodhew, an abrupt and unexpected move. ‘I appreciate your time.’ His grip was hard.
‘Thank you for seeing me,’ Goodhew replied. Gerry then left without another word to either of them. The moment the door closed, Dan held out the two postcards. They were typical Brit-goes-to-Paris tourist fare: one an aerial view of the Arc de Triomphe, and the other a night shot of the Eiffel Towel emblazoned with firework-style writing that read
Bonjour de Paris.
Goodhew turned them over.
‘They’re both postmarked
Limoges
,’ Dan explained.
‘Yes, I see that. The dates are
Gerry’s expression darkened and he rose from the chair. ‘Why?’
‘We need to contact her.’
‘For what reason?’
Jane Osborne had not asked him to either admit or deny that this request had come at her instigation. On balance, however, Goodhew preferred discretion. ‘Your daughter’s return highlighted the fact that Mary Osborne’s details were no longer up to date. It’s merely routine.’
‘That’s bollocks. It’s Jane, isn’t it? She’s asked you to find her mother.’
So much for trying discretion.
Gerry Osborne’s face was tanned like a gardener’s, but, behind the deep brown, he visibly reddened. ‘Having that woman back in Cambridge is the last thing we need.’
‘Dad . . .’
‘No, Dan, your sister is deluding herself . . . and you.’ He glowered at Goodhew, his right hand making a fist as he spoke. He clenched it tightly, until it trembled, ‘You people . . .’ His words trailed away.
Dan stepped slightly closer. ‘We are still angry over the failure to secure a murder conviction against Greg Jackson.’ Dan sounded angry, too, but clearly kept his feelings on a tighter rein. ‘His release has been hard for all of us, especially Dad.’
‘Thank you, Dan, but I am here in the room and capable of speaking for myself.’ The older man’s eye colour was either an extremely dark shade of brown or his pupils were dilated to their maximum. ‘Detective Goodhew, I appreciate you coming in person, which either demonstrates the existence of some degree of respect or a cynical ploy by your senior officer. Either way I am not prepared to share information with you about
that
woman.’
‘Jane would like to contact her mother, to let her know that she is safe and well.’
‘She’s had years to do that. Why come back and then immediately screw it up by letting Mary back in?’
‘Surely that’s her choice to make?’
‘And mine to stop it from happening.’
After Gerry stopped speaking, Goodhew let the silence lengthen and become heavy. It was Dan who spoke again first. ‘She’s in France.’
‘Do you have an address?’
‘No, but we’ve had a couple of postcards, and they both have the same postmark. Would you like to see them?’
The same heavy silence returned as soon as he’d gone. It was less comfortable, and this time it was Goodhew who broke it. ‘Greg Jackson spoke to you recently?’
Gerry set his jaw and folded his arms across his chest. For a few seconds Goodhew thought he wasn’t going to get a response. Then Gerry dipped his head in the briefest of nods. ‘He came to see me, yes.’
‘What did he say?’
‘Why?’
‘I’m curious.’
‘Good, then stay curious. He came to tell me he’d never killed Becca.’ Gerry took a couple of steps back, with lips now tightly shut. For a while, his chest rose and fell with heavy breathing. ‘What a fool,’ he then continued. ‘Does he think I don’t know him? I was full of bile towards that man long, long before he murdered my daughter.’
Dan returned, postcards in hand. Gerry glared at him. ‘I really hoped you’d have the sense to come back in and say you’d lost them.’
Dan looked down at the cards, as he spoke. ‘Sorry, Dad, but she’s still my mum. I don’t want to get in touch with her, but I understand why Jane does.’
Gerry Osborne thrust his hand towards Goodhew, an abrupt and unexpected move. ‘I appreciate your time.’ His grip was hard.
‘Thank you for seeing me,’ Goodhew replied. Gerry then left without another word to either of them. The moment the door closed, Dan held out the two postcards. They were typical Brit-goes-to-Paris tourist fare: one an aerial view of the Arc de Triomphe, and the other a night shot of the Eiffel Towel emblazoned with firework-style writing that read
Bonjour de Paris.
Goodhew turned them over.
‘They’re both postmarked
Limoges
,’ Dan explained.
‘Yes, I see that. The dates are
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