er … does Chief Inspector Norbert still work here?’ She suddenly felt stupid. Perhaps Norbert
had been transferred or retired years ago.
The large sergeant looked solemn, like one about to break bad news. ‘I’m afraid Mr Norbert passed away some time ago. I’m
sorry.’ He lowered his eyes respectfully and observed a couple of seconds’ silence. ‘Can anyone else help you?’
Janet hadn’t known what to expect after all these years but somehow the news of Norbert’s death made her mind go blank. Perhaps
she should never have sent the letter.
‘Would you like to see someone from CID?’ the sergeant asked. He was a pleasant, fatherly man, eager to be helpful. Not the
sort of policeman Chris had described – but perhaps the next officer she encountered would be.
But she could prove Chris Hobson’s innocence. She had seen him on the television, older and haggard, with a hardness,a bitterness, that he hadn’t possessed when she had known him. Prison had changed him. And she felt uncomfortably responsible
for that.
‘Yes,’ she heard herself saying.
‘Can you give me some idea what it’s about?’ The sergeant looked at her expectantly.
The words came out quickly. ‘It’s about Chris Hobson … the Shipborne case … the vicar who was murdered in 1991. I wrote to
Mr Norbert about it.’
Sergeant Bob Naseby smiled and invited her to take a seat before picking up the phone on the desk.
Five minutes later a young black man emerged from a door to Janet’s right. He was slim, average height with delicate features
and intelligent eyes. He didn’t look like a policeman … or at least not like the type of policeman Janet was expecting. The
sergeant whispered something to him which Janet couldn’t quite hear, then the young man came towards her, smiling and holding
out his hand.
‘I’m Detective Inspector Peterson. I believe you want to speak to someone about the Shipborne case?’
‘Yes.’ Janet shook hands with the inspector, although her own hand was clammy and trembling with nerves. The inspector was
well spoken and seemed pleasant enough, but she reminded herself that it might all be part of a routine … nice cop, nasty
cop. Maybe she would meet up with the nasty one next.
But Inspector Peterson led her into one of the ground-floor interview rooms and ordered tea for them both. There was no sign
of the nasty cop as yet.
‘I presume it was you who wrote the letter we received … Mrs Powell, is it?’
She felt her heart racing in her chest. ‘Yes. Janet Powell.’
‘I was about to pay you a visit, Mrs Powell. Thank you for saving me the trouble.’
She glanced up and saw that he was looking at her intently. She suspected that nothing much would get past him.
‘What is it you want to tell me? I’ve looked up the Shipborne case and it really did seem to be cut and dried at the time.’
He inclined his head, waiting for a reaction.
Janet felt herself blushing. She looked down at her trembling hands and tried to think of the right words to say. Inspector
Peterson waited patiently.
‘Take your time,’ he said gently after a minute or so. Janet looked up at him again and he smiled encouragingly. ‘Why don’t
you start at the beginning? What was your connection with Chris Hobson?’
At least this gave her a starting point. She took a deep breath and began. ‘I met Chris a couple of months before the murder.
He did some work at my house … clearing out the gutters. I invited him in for a cup of tea. His colleague had gone off somewhere
– I can’t remember where exactly – and it seemed … well, I was making a cup of tea for myself so it seemed like a friendly
gesture, if you know what I mean.’
‘Yes. Go on.’
Her cheeks turned a bright shade of red. ‘Well, my husband was out. I’d never done anything like that before or since and
… it just happened.’
‘You, er … went to bed with him?’ Wesley tried hard to keep his voice
had been transferred or retired years ago.
The large sergeant looked solemn, like one about to break bad news. ‘I’m afraid Mr Norbert passed away some time ago. I’m
sorry.’ He lowered his eyes respectfully and observed a couple of seconds’ silence. ‘Can anyone else help you?’
Janet hadn’t known what to expect after all these years but somehow the news of Norbert’s death made her mind go blank. Perhaps
she should never have sent the letter.
‘Would you like to see someone from CID?’ the sergeant asked. He was a pleasant, fatherly man, eager to be helpful. Not the
sort of policeman Chris had described – but perhaps the next officer she encountered would be.
But she could prove Chris Hobson’s innocence. She had seen him on the television, older and haggard, with a hardness,a bitterness, that he hadn’t possessed when she had known him. Prison had changed him. And she felt uncomfortably responsible
for that.
‘Yes,’ she heard herself saying.
‘Can you give me some idea what it’s about?’ The sergeant looked at her expectantly.
The words came out quickly. ‘It’s about Chris Hobson … the Shipborne case … the vicar who was murdered in 1991. I wrote to
Mr Norbert about it.’
Sergeant Bob Naseby smiled and invited her to take a seat before picking up the phone on the desk.
Five minutes later a young black man emerged from a door to Janet’s right. He was slim, average height with delicate features
and intelligent eyes. He didn’t look like a policeman … or at least not like the type of policeman Janet was expecting. The
sergeant whispered something to him which Janet couldn’t quite hear, then the young man came towards her, smiling and holding
out his hand.
‘I’m Detective Inspector Peterson. I believe you want to speak to someone about the Shipborne case?’
‘Yes.’ Janet shook hands with the inspector, although her own hand was clammy and trembling with nerves. The inspector was
well spoken and seemed pleasant enough, but she reminded herself that it might all be part of a routine … nice cop, nasty
cop. Maybe she would meet up with the nasty one next.
But Inspector Peterson led her into one of the ground-floor interview rooms and ordered tea for them both. There was no sign
of the nasty cop as yet.
‘I presume it was you who wrote the letter we received … Mrs Powell, is it?’
She felt her heart racing in her chest. ‘Yes. Janet Powell.’
‘I was about to pay you a visit, Mrs Powell. Thank you for saving me the trouble.’
She glanced up and saw that he was looking at her intently. She suspected that nothing much would get past him.
‘What is it you want to tell me? I’ve looked up the Shipborne case and it really did seem to be cut and dried at the time.’
He inclined his head, waiting for a reaction.
Janet felt herself blushing. She looked down at her trembling hands and tried to think of the right words to say. Inspector
Peterson waited patiently.
‘Take your time,’ he said gently after a minute or so. Janet looked up at him again and he smiled encouragingly. ‘Why don’t
you start at the beginning? What was your connection with Chris Hobson?’
At least this gave her a starting point. She took a deep breath and began. ‘I met Chris a couple of months before the murder.
He did some work at my house … clearing out the gutters. I invited him in for a cup of tea. His colleague had gone off somewhere
– I can’t remember where exactly – and it seemed … well, I was making a cup of tea for myself so it seemed like a friendly
gesture, if you know what I mean.’
‘Yes. Go on.’
Her cheeks turned a bright shade of red. ‘Well, my husband was out. I’d never done anything like that before or since and
… it just happened.’
‘You, er … went to bed with him?’ Wesley tried hard to keep his voice
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