The Word Is Murder(29)

She picked up the plate of biscuits and offered me one. ‘No, thank you,’ I said, at the same time thinking how bizarre it was that she should manage to do something so homely, so banal, in the middle of such a conversation. But I guessed that was how she was. She had lived the last ten years in the shadow of what had happened in Deal until, for her, it had become the new normality. It was as if she had been locked up in a lunatic asylum for so long that she had forgotten she was actually mad.

‘I know this is painful for you, Mrs Godwin,’ Hawthorne said. ‘But when exactly did you and your husband split up?’

‘It’s not painful, Mr Hawthorne. It’s actually the opposite. I’m not sure I’ve felt anything since I answered the telephone that day. I think that’s what this sort of thing does to you. You go to work. Or you go to visit friends. Or maybe you’re having a lovely holiday and everything seems to be completely perfect and then something like this happens and a sort of disbelief kicks in. I never actually believed it. Even when I was at Timmy’s funeral, I kept on waiting for someone to tap me on the shoulder and tell me to wake up. You see, I had two gorgeous twins. The boys were just perfect in every way. I was happily married. Alan’s business was going well. We’d just bought this house … the year before. You never realise how fragile everything is until it breaks. And that day it was all smashed.

‘Alan and I blamed ourselves for not being there, for letting the boys go in the first place. He was on business in Manchester. I think I told you that. There had been a certain amount of strain between us. Any marriage is difficult, particularly when you’re bringing up twins, but our marriage was never the same after we lost Timmy and although we got counselling, although we did everything we could, we had to face up to the truth, which was that it wasn’t working any more. He moved out just a few months ago, as a matter of fact. I don’t think it’s fair to say we split up though. We just couldn’t bear to be together.’

‘Can you tell me where I can find him? It might be useful to have a word.’

She scribbled on a sheet of paper and handed it to Hawthorne. ‘This is his mobile number. You can call him if you want to. He’s living in a flat in Victoria until we sell here.’ She stopped. She might not have meant to give us this information. ‘Alan’s business hasn’t gone very well recently,’ she explained. ‘We can’t keep this house up so we’re putting it on the market. We only stayed here because of Jeremy. It’s his home. Because of his injuries, we thought it was better for him to be somewhere he knew.’

Hawthorne nodded. I always knew when he was about to go on the attack. It was as if someone had waved a knife in front of his face and I had seen it reflected, for an instant, in his eyes. ‘You say you haven’t seen Diana Cowper. Do you know if your husband approached her?’

‘He didn’t tell me that he had. I can’t imagine why he would.’

‘And you weren’t anywhere near her home on Monday of last week? The day she died?’

‘I’ve already told you. No.’

Hawthorne rocked his head briefly from side to side. ‘But you were in South Kensington.’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘You came out of South Kensington station at half past four in the afternoon.’

‘How do you know?’

‘I’ve been looking at the CCTV footage, Mrs Godwin. Are you going to deny it?’

‘Of course I’m not going to deny it. Are you telling me that’s where Diana Cowper lived?’ Hawthorne didn’t answer. ‘I had no idea. I thought she was still living in Kent. I went shopping on the King’s Road. The estate agent wants me to buy a few things for the house, to cheer it up. I went to some of the furniture shops.’

It didn’t sound very likely to me. The house was run-down and it was obvious that Judith Godwin had no money. It was the reason she was selling. Did she really think a few expensive items of furniture would make any difference?

‘Did your husband mention that he’d written to Mrs Cowper?’

‘He wrote to her? I don’t know anything about that. You’ll have to ask him.’

‘What about Jeremy?’ She stiffened when Hawthorne spoke his name, and he went on, quickly. ‘You said that he lives with you.’

‘Yes.’

‘Could he have approached her?’

She thought for a moment and I wondered if she was going to ask us to leave. But once again she was calm, matter-of-fact. ‘I’m sure you know that my son received severe injuries when he was eight years old, Mr Hawthorne. The lacerations occurred in the temporal and occipital lobes of the brain which control, respectively, memory, language and emotions and vision. He’s eighteen now, but he will never be able to have a normal life. He has a number of issues, which include short-term and working memory loss, aphasia and limited concentration. He requires and receives full-time care.’

She paused.

‘He does leave the house – but never on his own. Any suggestion that he might approach Mrs Cowper to speak to her or to do her harm is as ridiculous as it is offensive.’

‘Nonetheless,’ Hawthorne said, ‘just before she was murdered, Mrs Cowper sent a rather strange text message. If I understand her correctly, she claims to have seen your son.’