Free Sight Unseen by Robert Goddard Page B

in her certainty that there were two men in the van.'
    'It's easy to be confused in such a situation. I'm sure Sally believed there were two men. Eyewitnesses often contradict each other. Isn't that so, Mr Sharp?'
    'It is, yes. But there's no contradiction here. There never were any eyewitnesses who swore there was only one man.'
    Jane Questred spread her hands on her lap. She had schooled herself to remain calm, Umber sensed, to become neither angry nor upset, to answer their questions coolly and rationally. 'Why should Radd confess to something he hadn't done?'
    'I mean to ask him that myself.'
    'You do?'
    'Is there some reason I shouldn't?'
    'No. It's just... I didn't realize you meant to take things that far.'
    'I should have made it my business to question Radd a long time ago.'
    'Do you really believe he did it, Mrs Questred?' Umber asked.
    'Yes.' Her certainty was implacable. 'I do.'
    'I've only seen a head-and-shoulders press photograph of Radd, of course, but he doesn't look much like the man I saw at Avebury.'
    'But you only had a fleeting glimpse.'
    'True. I couldn't swear it wasn't Radd. What surprises me is your confidence that it was.'
    'He confessed.'
    'Even so...'
    'Your daughter, Mrs Questred?' Sharp nodded towards the picture Umber had noticed earlier.
    'Yes.'
    'Nice-looking girl. Takes after you.'
    'Thank you.'
    'How old is she?'
    'Katy's fifteen.'
    'So, she must have been... a babe in arms... when Radd confessed.'
    'Yes. I suppose she was.'
    'You'd just made a... new start in life.'
    'What are you getting at, Mr Sharp?'
    'Just that... you might have been ready to... draw a line.'
    'Your colleagues were happy to assure me of Radd's guilt.'
    'They hadn't worked the case, Mrs Questred. I had.'
    'What did your husband think about Radd?' Umber asked. 'Ex-husband, I mean. Mr Hall.'
    'He believed Radd's confession. Everyone did. Everyone still does.'
    'Sally didn't believe it.'
    'I meant... everyone around me.'
    'Your son too?'
    'Yes.'
    'What does Jeremy do these days?' asked Sharp.
    'He runs a surfing and sailing school in Jersey. He's done very well. I'm proud of him.'
    'It must be nice for his father, having him on the island.'
    'Are you going to speak to them as well?'
    'Probably, yes.'
    'Jeremy didn't find it easy to cope with the loss of his sisters. How could he? His adolescence was... difficult. Oliver and I getting divorced didn't help. But Jeremy's put those troubles behind him now. I don't want him being forced to relive them all over again.'
    'We can't force anyone to do anything.'
    'You can rake up a lot of stuff he's better off forgetting. Speak to Oliver if you must. But, please, don't bother Jeremy.'
    Sharp seemed wrong-footed by the request. He had admitted to Umber that he should have done a better job of investigating the Avebury case. Perhaps the least he owed Jane Questred was to spare her son's feelings. 'I'll, er... see what I can do.'
    'Does that mean you'll leave Jeremy alone?'
    'It means... I will if I can.'
    'Do you see much of him, Mrs Questred?' Umber asked in an attempt to defuse the moment.
    'Not as much as I'd like. He's too busy to leave Jersey very often. And if I go to see him, well... there's his stepmother to consider. It's... not easy.'
    'I don't suppose it is.'
    'And people going over there to stir up the past to no purpose won't help one little bit.'
    'I wouldn't say to no purpose,' put in Sharp.
    'Wouldn't you? Then perhaps you'd like to tell me what you hope to achieve by going into all this again. I expected you to bring something to me, Mr Sharp -- some compelling reason for reopening old wounds that for some of us have never properly healed. But you've brought nothing. There's --' She broke off, aware that her self-control had faltered. 'Why are you doing this?'
    A better explanation than she had so far been given was clearly called for. Sharp cleared his throat and cast a darting glance at Umber -- a warning glance, it seemed.
    'I had an anonymous letter, Mrs Questred.