‘He’s a good boy. He’d never go off anywhere without telling me, without giving me a call every day,’ Margaret Hobson sobbed, dabbing her tears with a crumpled tissue.
‘There’s nowhere you can think of that he might have gone if, say, he was feeling depressed and wanted to get away from things for a while? Police work can be very stressful at times,’ Jessica Babalola pressed gently. She was squatting down in front of Hobson’s mother, holding one of her hands in both her own as Danny Moss stood nearby, taking down the notes of the interview.
‘No, no. John—we call him John. I know his friends call him Jack but we always call him John, that’s his given name. Don’t we Charles?’ Margaret said to her husband, who sat beside her on the sofa, a comforting arm around her shoulders.
He nodded in
