7 January 2018, 1.16 p.m.
In attendance, DC V. Everett
VE:Thank you for making time to see me, Mr Young. RY:I was going to call you first thing tomorrow anyway. We saw the card you put through the door as soon as we got back. I had no idea there'd been a fire. We're bloody lucky it didn't spread this far. VE:You were away for Christmas? RY:With our daughter, yes. In Barcelona. We left on the 22nd. VE:Did you see the Esmonds before you left? MY:I did. I popped over, just to say we'd be away and would they keep an eye on the house. VE:Did you see both Mr and Mrs Esmond, Mrs Young? MY:Just Samantha. VE:How did she seem? MY:A bit distracted. The little boy was crying, I remember that. She looked tired. But so do most new mums. VE:Zachary was three, wasn't he? She was hardly a new mum. MY:Well, it doesn't get any easier. Not when they're that age. Our Rachel `“ RY:The constable doesn't want to know about all that, Marion. VE:Were you aware if the Esmonds had anyone staying with them over the holidays? Any friends? Relatives? MY:I wasn't aware of anyone. I'm here most of the time so I'd probably have noticed if someone had arrived before we left. VE:No one unusual hanging around in the last few weeks? RY:What do you mean `unusual'? VE:Someone you didn't recognize. MY:No, no one I can think of. VE:Did you get on with the Esmonds `“ as neighbours? RY:She was all right. Bit anaemic. But he's a nasty piece of work. VE:Really? What makes you say that? MY:He was always very pleasant to me `“ RY:[to his wife] Pleasant? He killed our bloody dog! MY:You don't know that. Not for certain. RY:[to Everett] Back in September we agreed to let them look after the dog while we were away. It was just for one night. The lad `“ Matty `“ he was always wanting to come round and play with her `“ take her for walks `“ MY:Mollie was a lovely dog. RY:We usually put her in kennels, but we thought, it was just the one night, what can possibly happen? And then when we got back the poor bloody dog was dead. MY:She was fourteen, Ron. RY:But she wasn't ill, was she? Hadn't been to the vet in years. Then all of a sudden she dies on the one night the Esmonds are looking after her? I'm sorry `“ I don't believe in coincidences. VE:Neither does my DI. RY:There you are, Marion, the constable agrees with me. VE:I didn't mean by that `“ MY:We couldn't prove anything, Ron. You know we couldn't. VE:What did Mr Esmond say had happened? RY:He didn't. MY:Ron `“ RY:Not really. He said the dog must have had a heart attack or something. He said he'd gone down to feed her in the morning and she was just lying there, dead. Load of bloody rubbish. VE:You didn't have a post-mortem done? RY:Do you know how much that would've cost? MY:I thought it was best to assume it was an accident. Having poor Mollie cut up wasn't going to bring her back, and I didn't want to make things difficult with the Esmonds. They're our neighbours, after all. We still had to live next door to them. VE:I completely understand that, Mrs Young. MY:And Michael did give us some money. He said he was very sorry and gave us £100. RY:[contemptuous] A hundred measly quid. MY:The saddest thing about it is that we hardly ever saw Matty after that. He was distraught about Mollie. Poor little boy, I can't get it out of my mind, him dying in such a horrible way. I remember the day they moved in like it was yesterday `“ he was so excited about the garden. I don't think they'd ever had one before. VE:Have you lived here long, Mrs Young? RY:Ten years now. No, twelve. VE:So you knew Mr Esmond's parents? RY:I never got on with Richard but Alice Esmond was a very nice woman. MY:She was completely under his thumb, Ron, and you know it. What do they call it these days? Controlling `“ that's it. He was very controlling. VE:So he could have been like that as a father too? When the boys were growing up? MY:It wouldn't surprise me. Michael was very quiet, certainly. But from what I've seen of him, Philip is quite the opposite. Very lively. Outgoing. I remember seeing him in the garden with Matty last summer. They had the paddling pool out and Philip was trying to teach him to body surf or whatever it's called. There was water everywhere. Even Samantha was laughing. That's how I want to remember them. Laughing in the sunshine. Just a normal happy family.***
It was supposed to be Quinn looking for Kuiper on the CCTV, but it's no surprise to find it's Baxter doing the heavy lifting. There are several cameras on the Banbury Road and outside some of the shops on the Summertown parade, but nothing on the side streets, and if Kuiper had any sense he'd have gone that way. Their only chance is the route he must have taken to get there from where he lives in Littlemore. Whether he went round the ring road or through the centre of town, they should still be able to pick him up. Always assuming, of course, that he used his own car.
Baxter loads up the first set of footage and glances across at Quinn, who's fiddling about with his mobile.
`Can you do me a favour and check the taxi firms? Kuiper might have got a minicab.'
Quinn makes a face. `Really? So he gets in the back seat saying `њDon't mind the petrol can, mate, I'll pay extra if I soil the seats`ќ?'
Baxter's turn to make a face. `OK, OK, but you know what I mean.' He turns back to his screen. `And it'll give you something useful to do,' he mutters.
Lauren Kaminsky has a room in one of Wolfson's modern blocks overlooking the Cherwell and the Rainbow Bridge. That's modern as in 1970s; in this town a college founded in 1379 is still called `New'. There's frost clinging to the trees and two swans are gliding silently with the current. A whirl of seagulls circle above the water, screeching like witches. The room itself is small but comfortable. No clutter, very little sign of personal preferences. A kitchenette, a tiny bathroom glimpsed through a half-open door. As for Lauren, she's as self-contained as her surroundings. Petite, with short brown hair in a pixie cut. She catches Somer glancing around and smiles, a little wearily.
`I'm not here much. My boyfriend is a don at Magdalen. I spend most of my time there. I mean, this place is fine and all that, but it's hardly `њOxford`ќ, is it?'
She gestures them to take a seat. The sofa is only just big enough for two and Somer is uncomfortably aware that she is thigh to thigh with Gislingham.
`I'm guessing you want to talk to me about Michael Esmond? It's truly terrible, what happened.'
Everyone has said that. Sometimes in exactly the same words.
`It was your boyfriend who reported the sexual harassment, I believe?' says Gislingham.
She nods. `I wasn't going to make a big thing of it, but Ned was furious. He wanted me to go to the police, file an official complaint `“ the whole nine yards.'
`I gather Dr Esmond denies anything happened.'
She takes a seat, but sits on the edge, as if poised for escape. `Well, he would, wouldn't he?'
`You haven't spoken to him about it yourself?' asks Somer.
She shakes her head. `No, not since that night. It was way too embarrassing. I decided it was better to let the department handle it. That's what they're paid for.'
`And how had he been with you before that?' asks Gislingham. `Did he ever `“'
She smiles at his discomfiture. `Come on to me? No. He was always really `“ what is it you Brits say? `“ stand-offish. Buttoned-up. Until that night. I think it must have been the drink talking.'
`That's no excuse,' says Somer, frowning.
`No, of course not. He behaved like a sexist shit. But, hey, I liked the guy. The whole thing was totally out of character. Like I said, I'd have left it at that but Ned wasn't having any of it.'
`So there was absolutely no flirtation before that `“ nothing to suggest he was interested in you in that way?'
`Uh-uh,' she says, stifling a yawn. `Sorry, jet lag kicking in.'