‘Interview over.’ The police officer pressed a button on the tape machine.
Ian Dixon was easily located by the police. As his employer, Adrian was able to give plenty of information regarding bank account details, national insurance number and previous address, even his car registration number.
The hardest job for them would be speaking to Tom Boyd’s widow. With a heavy heart the officer in charge cancelled his next morning’s commitments. He wanted the full morning free to visit Jasmine Boyd in Samphire Bay.
Chapter 19
Jasmine woke early in the morning. Truth be told, she hadn’t slept well at all. The nightmare of Tom’s accident dominated her mind. Horrific images of him being ploughed into, his lifeless body cruelly abandoned in the road, tormented her over and over. She had wondered in the very beginning, when it had all happened, how she’d feel if she ever learned who her husband’s killer was. Now it looked like she was about to find out.
In a way, she was dreading the police visit, the long-awaited knock on the door, but Jasmine was also experiencing a release, a kind of liberation. If the police had the driver who had ended Tom’s life, then it would bring her some small measure of closure to the whole horrendous business. Yet, Jasmine knew she would never seek true closure on the loss of her husband. She would eternally miss him; every birthday, Christmas, anniversary, plus all the other milestones they’d been robbed of. At times, she’d taken to picturing what their children would have looked like. Would they have had his auburn hair, his boyish freckles? Would they have inherited his practical skills, his hands-on approach, his steady direction?
Jasmine smiled to herself at how impetuous she’d been when buyingMoonshine. In typical fashion she was all in, guns blazing, whereas Tom had counselled patience initially, before being persuaded by her. They’d been opposites in many ways, but that had made them a good team.
Jasmine wiped her eyes and went downstairs to put the kettle on. Tea, that’s what people did, wasn’t it, in times of crisis, drink tea? She remembered her mum doing just that, pouring countless cups of tea in the aftermath of the tragedy. At the time it infuriated her, now she was doing the same.
On entering the kitchen, she was surprised to see Robin already there. He’d clearly had similar thoughts and was stood with his back to her, waiting for the kettle to boil. She noticed he had put two cups out and was touched by his thoughtfulness. Jasmine stopped momentarily. He was gazing out of the window, watching how the morning was lighting up into life. His dark curls were ruffled from the night’s sleep and he yawned. Then he turned and saw her at the doorway.
‘Hey you,’ he smiled. ‘Fancy a cuppa?’
‘I was just about to make one.’ She walked over to join him by the window.
They stared, side by side, at the glorious view before them. The sun was up, wide awake and shining brightly on a gentle, blue sea. All was calm. Except it wasn’t. Robin braced himself, then spoke.
‘Jasmine, I’ve been thinking.’
She looked up at him. ‘So have I,’ she said in a deflated tone.
‘Of course you have,’ Robin said compassionately, then continued. ‘Jasmine, if the police make an arrest, the press will soon get wind of it.’
‘I know,’ she dully agreed, well aware of how they had operated in the past. The nightmare was about to continue.
‘Do you think it would be a good idea to get away from here for a few days? Until the news settles down?’
Jasmine considered the question, knowing full well how she and her family had previously been hounded relentlessly.
‘Where? Not to my parents’, they’d soon find me there,’ said Jasmine.
‘Yes, they would. I was—’ He stopped. There was a hard knock on the front door. Robin looked at the clock. It was just eight a.m. It could only be the police so early. His heart thumped; they must have made an arrest. Jasmine stared at him, wide-eyed in horror. This was it. ‘I’ll get it,’ said Robin.
Sure enough, two police officers stood solemnly on the doorstep.
‘Morning, sir. I’m Chief Inspector George Bond and this is Sergeant Lucy Burrows.’ They each showed their ID badges. ‘May we speak to Jasmine Boyd?’
‘Yes, of course,’ Robin said. ‘This way.’ He showed them into the kitchen. ‘My name is Robin Spencer, I’m renovating the cottage next door.’ he explained.
‘Ah yes, the man who reported Adrian Hall,’ said the Chief Inspector. ‘You did a good job there, son.’ This cemented Robin’s suspicions. They must have detained him.
Once the officers had introduced themselves to Jasmine and they had all taken a seat round the kitchen table, the Chief Inspector told them the dreaded news. They had arrested two men in connection to the killing of Jasmine’s late husband. The two men arrested were named as Adrian Hall and Ian Dixon. Both men had admitted to being in the vehicle at the time of the collision, but each were denying driving the van.
‘Does it matter who was behind the wheel?’ rasped Jasmine, shock steadily being replaced by anger now. ‘They are both to blame! Neither of them bloody stopped, they just drove off and left him!’ Tears collected on her lower lids.
‘Both men have been detained,’ Sergeant Burrows said in a calming tone.
‘Absolutely, Adrian Hall and Ian Dixon are each culpable,’ stated the Chief Inspector.
Robin coughed before speaking.
‘How long will it be before this all gets out? Becomes public knowledge?’ he asked anxiously, looking from one officer to the other.
