Everett and Somer take a seat. Emily West seems a good deal less anxious than the head.
`You wanted to know about Matty?' she asks.
`I saw his doctor this morning,' says Somer. `She says you were concerned about him. Concerned enough for the school nurse to call her.'
Somer has deliberately left out the bit about the ghost. She's intrigued to see how `“ and if `“ they raise it.
West smiles. `I know you're probably assuming it was something to do with bullying,' she begins and Everett sees anxiety flicker across Stevens's face, though she says nothing. `But honestly, it was nothing like that. He was concerned about his mother. He said she wasn't very well. That it felt like someone had `њput her under a spell`ќ. But what was really worrying him was that she'd told him she thought there was a ghost in the house.'
`Did he say why she thought that?'
West nods. `Apparently she'd heard noises.'
`That was all?'
West shakes her head. `No. She'd seen it too.'
Everett sits forward. `Where, precisely?'
`Once in the garden, I think. And she thought she heard him indoors.'
Somer and Everett exchange a glance.
`So it was definitely a `њhe`ќ?'
West shakes her head again. `No, not necessarily. Apparently she didn't get a good look. I gathered it was more like catching a glimpse out of the corner of your eye.'
`Was she the only person who'd seen it?'
West pauses. `That's a good question. It's possible Matty had `“ or thought he had. It's hard to remember the exact words he used, but I got the sense he thought he'd seen something.'
But then again, thinks Somer, this is a boy described as `impressionable'. If his mother told him there was a ghost, it's quite possible his imagination did the rest.
`Did you speak to either of his parents about this?' asks Everett.
West nods. `I spoke to Dr Esmond one morning.' She glances at Stevens. `We wanted both Matty's parents to come in for a proper meeting but he said he was very busy and Samantha was unwell. He said she was on medication and sometimes it made her a bit spaced out, but it was all under control and there was nothing for us to worry about. But he did promise to talk to Matty. He was a bit short with me, to be honest, but he is a scientist after all. I suppose stories of ghosts and ghoulies are a bit beneath him.'
Not for an anthropologist, surely, thinks Somer. He would have understood what `stories' like that can signify.
`He hadn't seen anything odd himself?'
West is quick to reply. `No, absolutely not. The whole thing was clearly news to him. In fact, I think that was one reason he was annoyed `“ that we knew something about his family that he didn't.'
Everett takes out her notebook. `And when was this, that you spoke to him?'
`Last summer term, I think it was. Yes, definitely around then.'
`And how was Matty when he returned to school in the autumn?'
`Actually,' interrupts the head, `he seemed much happier. He'd struggled to make friends before but he seemed much more confident.'
`Was there any particular reason for that?' asks Somer, looking from one woman to the other.
`No,' says West. `But it can happen that way. Especially with boys. They can grow up in fits and starts.'
`Or not at all, if some of our colleagues are anything to go by,' mutters Everett, which elicits a wry smile from Stevens.
Somer takes a deep breath; in for a penny and all that. `And Matty got on OK with his father?' She keeps her voice light `“ she doesn't want to influence the answer.
West smiles. `Dr Esmond was obviously quite strict, but Matty clearly idolized him. He was always talking about him. How clever he was and what an important job he had. Last year he was the only child in the class with an academic for a father.'
`My dad's job's bigger than your dad's,' says Everett.
West grins. `Something like that. You know how competitive kids can be.'
Something isn't adding up here, thinks Somer. But I'm damned if I know what it is.
`So you weren't aware of anything that was troubling him at the end of Christmas term?' she continues calmly. `No problems at home?'
West looks blank. `No, nothing. He was just excited about the holidays. Like all the kids were. I'm sorry. I don't know what else I can say.'
Everett and Somer get to their feet. No one has touched the tea.
Rigby is waiting at the end of the drive at Southey Road when Gislingham draws up. He's wearing a black jumpsuit and a hard hat, and has a face mask slung round his neck.
`We didn't find it until an hour ago,' he says as they walk up towards the house, past the team of three on their hands and knees picking over the slag heap of rubble. `But to be honest, we had other priorities.'
They come to a halt in front of the garage. It's several yards from the house, so apart from the soot marks and the blistering to the paintwork it's almost untouched. There's a padlock hanging off the door handle, but as Gis sees at once, it's not been closed properly.
`And before you ask,' says Rigby as he pushes open the door, `it was already in that state when I got here. And I've been wearing gloves. If there are prints, they'll be intact.'
He reaches for the light switch inside and the neon strip stutters and plinks on. It may have been built as a garage but it's being used as a shed. Wheelie bins, a couple of ancient shovels, boxes of assorted household detritus, a wheelbarrow, bicycles, a garden table and chairs, and a parasol, furred with spiders' webs.
`Looks like it's true what they say,' says Gislingham, looking around, `junk really does expand to fill the available space.'
But even as he says it he knows that's not why they're here: pushed against one corner is a lawnmower. A motor mower.
`Judging by the stains on the floor,' says Rigby quietly, `I reckon there was a spare can of petrol for that mower in here. A spare can that definitely isn't here any more.'
Gislingham's face is grim. `But I bet I know where we're going to find it.'
Rigby nods. `And it's not just that. There's something else.' He starts to pick his way across the junk and gestures Gislingham to follow. There's a door in the back wall. A door that opens into a completely different kind of space. Pale walls studded with children's drawings, brightly coloured kelims on a tiled floor, and glass doors opening on to the garden.
`We didn't even realize it was here,' says Rigby. `They have roller shutters on those doors so as far as we could see it was just the back of the garage.' He looks round. `Pretty nice man-cave, eh?'
Gislingham is staring. At the desk, the filing cabinets, the shelves of textbooks.
It's not a man-cave. It's Michael Esmond's study.
When Gis calls me from Southey Road I can tell from the echo that he's indoors.
`We've found his desktop PC and the charger for a laptop, though I assume he has the machine with him. And there's a stack of paperwork. And I do mean a stack.'
I take a deep breath. `OK, bring the computer back here and we'll have a look at it. And I'm afraid we're going to have to go through all those bloody papers as well.'
`Right, boss. I'll get it organized.'
I wonder, in passing, who he'll dump with that one. If I were a betting man, my money'd be on Quinn.
`There was something else too, boss. We've finally picked up Jurjen Kuiper's car on the ANPR cameras that night. He was at the Littlemore exit of the ring road at 12.10 a.m. That must have been just after the fire started, so I really don't see how he could have done it. It'd take fifteen minutes from there to Southey Road, even at that time of night, and the car definitely wasn't speeding.'
I still find it hard to comprehend why Kuiper was out driving so late in such treacherous conditions, but that's looking like another story we'll never know the end of.