Free Backlash by Lynda La Plante Page A

agreeing to see me.’
    ‘Please come in. Stephen will be right down, he’s working upstairs.’
    Anna was led through the narrow hallway into a long, eye-catching and modern galley-style kitchen with a black-and-white tiled floor and black granite worktops. The Aga, along with all the wooden cabinets and cupboards, was white with every large kitchen appliance integrated into the design. A sizeable T-shaped dining and relaxation area had clearly been added as an extension to the original kitchen. It had a glass-domed roof which filled the room with natural light and French doors that opened out onto a small but well-maintained garden. There was a white two-seater sofa and small television in one corner and the walls were adorned with large blow-up photographs of two handsome blond boys and many of Rebekka, one of which had a string of paper daisies threaded around the frame.
    Emily had coffee brewing and Anna accepted a cup of lovely fresh Brazilian. As Emily offered her a plate of home-baked biscuits, her hand shook. Stephen Jordan then walked in and directly introduced himself. He was a very handsome man, wearing a pale blue cashmere jumper and old brown cord trousers, with dark blue suede loafers and no socks. Stephen had dark hair with flecks of grey at the sides and soft brown expressive eyes. In contrast his wife had pale blue eyes with silky thick blonde hair down to her shoulders. She was wearing jeans and a chequered shirt, and was taller than Anna, at least five feet eight or nine, and very slender. They made a very elegant couple and she saw him catch his wife’s hand gently as he sat on the arm of the sofa. Emily remained standing.
    ‘I want to be totally open with you both and explain why I am here,’ Anna began. ‘I wish I had more information for you, as what I do have isn’t much to give you any comfort and for that I am deeply sorry.’
    They looked at each other, and their pain, the pain that Langton had described, was plainly still extremely raw. She could feel it.
    Anna knew that she had to be careful not to mention the name of Henry Oates or his legal team could dismiss any identification the Jordans might make. So she explained to them that they might have seen in the papers or on TV that police had arrested and charged a man with the abduction and murder of Justine Marks, and that during interview this man had said that he had killed two other women: a girl he referred to as Julia and their daughter Rebekka. Anna told them that she was taking the admissions very seriously and would be making a full and thorough investigation. Neither of the Jordans spoke, but Stephen’s hand gripped his wife’s more tightly.
    ‘However, he now claims that both admissions were a lie and the only reason he made them was for a laugh as he had read all the media coverage about Rebekka at the time she went missing.’
    Still they remained silent.
    ‘He has been re-interviewed but given us no further details and now still denies any involvement in your daughter’s disappearance. I have a photograph that I would like you to look at to see if you recognize him or can give his face a name.’
    Anna opened her briefcase as Stephen stood up, releasing his wife’s hand. He delved into his pocket and took out a pair of glasses as Anna handed him the photograph of Henry Oates. They stood very close together, both looking at the picture, and then Stephen turned to Anna.
    ‘No, I don’t recall ever seeing anyone like this.’
    He passed the photograph back to Anna.
    ‘I’m afraid I don’t either. It’s the sort of face I think one would remember,’ Emily said.
    As she replaced the photograph into her file Anna asked them if the name Henry Oates was familiar to them but they both said no. She sipped her coffee and looked over to the extension. ‘How long ago was your extension built?’
    Stephen hesitated, and it was Emily who said that it was six years ago and completed just before Rebekka went missing.
    ‘I