The Word Is Murder(31)

‘That’s completely impossible. He never goes anywhere on his own.’

Hawthorne wasn’t even slightly fazed. ‘That may be the case. But you might as well know that, just before she was murdered, Mrs Cowper sent a rather strange text message which suggested she had seen him.’ He rounded on the nanny. ‘Were the two of you here on Monday the ninth?’

Mary didn’t hesitate. ‘Yes.’

‘You didn’t accompany Mrs Godwin on her shopping trip to South Kensington?’

‘Jeremy hates shops. It’s a nightmare buying him clothes.’

‘Why don’t you talk to him?’ Judith suggested. Mary looked surprised. ‘It’s the easiest way to show them.’ Judith turned back to Hawthorne. ‘You can ask him some questions if you want to, although I would ask you to be a little more sensitive. He gets upset very easily.’

I was as surprised as the nanny but I suppose it was the easiest way to get rid of us. Hawthorne nodded and Judith took us up. The stairs creaked underneath our feet. The further up we went, the older and dowdier the house seemed to be. We reached the first floor and crossed a landing into what might once have been the master bedroom, with views out onto Roxborough Avenue. It had been given over to Jeremy, who had his bed-sitting room here. Judith knocked on the door and took us in without waiting for an answer.

‘Jeremy?’ she said. ‘There are two people who want to see you.’

‘Who are they?’ The boy had his back to us.

‘They’re just friends of mine. They want to talk to you.’

Jeremy Godwin had been sitting in front of a computer when we came in. He was playing a game – Mortal Kombat, I think. Hearing him speak, it was immediately obvious that something was wrong. His words were half formed, coming as if from the other side of a wall. He was overweight, with long black hair that he hadn’t brushed, and wore baggy jeans and a thick, shapeless sweater. The bedroom was decorated with Everton football posters and an Everton quilt on the bed, which was a double. Everything was well looked after but still seemed shabby, as if it had somehow been left behind. Jeremy came to the end of a level in his game and hit the Pause button. As he turned to face us, I saw a round face, thick lips, a wispy beard around his cheeks. The brain damage was painfully evident in brown eyes which showed no curiosity and simply didn’t connect with us. I knew he was eighteen but he looked older.

‘Who are you?’ he asked.

‘I’m Hawthorne. I’m a friend of your mum’s.’

‘My mum doesn’t have many friends.’

‘I’m sure that’s not true.’ Hawthorne looked around him. ‘You’ve got a nice room, Jeremy.’

‘It’s not my room any more. We’re selling it.’

‘We’ll find somewhere just as nice for you,’ Mary said. She had brushed past us and sat down on the bed.

‘I wish we didn’t have to go.’

‘Do you want to ask him anything?’ Judith was standing by the door, anxious for us to be on our way.

‘Do you go out a lot, Jeremy?’ Hawthorne asked.

I couldn’t see any point in the question. This young man would never be able to take himself off into the centre of London. Nor did he seem to have a shred of aggression about him. The accident had taken that from him, along with the rest of his life.

‘I go out sometimes,’ Jeremy replied.

‘But not on your own,’ Mary added.

‘Sometimes,’ he contradicted her. ‘I went to see my dad.’

‘We put you in a taxi and he met you at the other end.’

‘Have you ever been to South Kensington?’ Hawthorne asked.

‘I’ve been there lots of times.’

‘He doesn’t know where it is,’ his mother said, quietly.

I couldn’t stay here any more and quietly backed away, for once taking the initiative. Hawthorne followed me out. Judith Godwin took the two of us downstairs.

‘It’s a credit to the nanny that she stayed with you,’ Hawthorne said. He sounded impressed but I knew he was digging for more information.

‘Mary was devoted to the boys and after the accident she refused to leave. I’ve been glad to have her here. It’s very important for Jeremy to have continuity.’ There was a coldness in her voice and I was aware of something being unsaid.

‘Will she stay with you when you move?’

‘We haven’t discussed it.’

We reached the front door. She opened it. ‘I’d prefer it if you didn’t come back,’ she said. ‘Jeremy hates disruption and he finds strangers very difficult. I wanted you to see him so you’d understand how he is. But we have nothing to do with what happened to Diana Cowper. The police clearly don’t believe we’re involved. We really have nothing more to say.’

‘Thank you,’ Hawthorne said. ‘You’ve been very helpful.’

We left. The door closed behind us.

The moment we were outside, Hawthorne took out a packet of cigarettes and lit one. I knew how he felt. I was glad to be out in the open air.

‘Why didn’t you show her the letter?’ I asked.

‘What?’ He shook the match, extinguishing it.

‘I was surprised that you didn’t show her the letter that Diana Cowper received. The one you got from Andrea Kluvánek. Maybe Judith wrote it. Or her husband. She might have recognised the writing.’