I nod. `Something about it isn't adding up.' I fill him in on what we've found out so far `“ about Esmond, the family, the allegations, the money. Or lack of it.
`I thought he was sighted in London that night?'
`So did we. But when we spoke to the witness again she started to backtrack and now she can't be certain whether it was him after all.'
`I see. So all this time, you've been looking in entirely the wrong place.'
He says it neutrally enough but it still rubs me the wrong way. Not least because the Super said almost exactly the same thing not half an hour ago.
Gow is still considering. `It's definitely arson?'
`Still waiting for conclusive proof. But it's the working assumption.'
`And you're sure the family were all alive when the fire started?'
It might seem an odd question, but if I'm right, it's not the non sequitur it might appear.
`The mother and the older boy, definitely. The PM wasn't so conclusive on the younger child.'
Gow sits back in his chair. `I'd need to know a hell of a lot more about this man Esmond before I could be sure `“'
`But?'
`But the hypothesis I'd start with is Family Destroyer.'
Which is exactly what I was expecting him to say. It all adds up. It's been in my mind for days, but every time I ran up at it I couldn't get round the fact that Esmond was in London. The phone, the witness `“ the evidence seemed conclusive. Only now, we know better.
`He sounds `“ in theory `“ like a textbook candidate,' continues Gow. `Almost too perfect, in fact. Highly educated, successful, massively invested in how the world perceives him, suddenly facing bankruptcy or prosecution or some other cataclysmic loss of social or professional standing. Even the fact that he had just turned forty. You'd be surprised what an impact that can have. Especially for men whose self-esteem is predicated on status and success. They start asking themselves `“ is this really all I've achieved? Is this really all there is?'
Been there, done that, got the disenchantment.
`The actual act of familicide,' Gow continues, `is typically preceded by a noticeable change of behaviour in the preceding months: the man in question becomes impulsive, erratic, aggressive, sexually promiscuous, just like your man `“'
`Even though Esmond actually denied that allegation.'
`Precisely. Even though he denied it. From what you say, his whole world was about to fall in.'
`His world. Not his family's. Even if he wanted to end his own life he didn't have to take them with him.'
Gow shrugs. `Some of these men tell themselves that they're actually doing their family a favour `“ sparing them public shame or the loss of their comfortable lifestyle.'
`And the others?'
`There can be rather darker motives. Some appear to take the view that `њif I can't have them, no one will`ќ. That's why so many set light to the family home `“ it's as much a symbolic act of destruction as an actual one. A way of regaining command of a situation that's got completely beyond their control.'
`But how do they rationalize doing something like that?'
`They don't `“ not in the way you mean, anyway. Once they've decided on suicide the normal rules simply cease to apply. Even when it's a deep-seated taboo like killing their own children.'
`But Esmond didn't commit suicide. Not as far as we know.'
Gow raises an eyebrow. `Maybe you just haven't found the body yet.'
It's not impossible. There are woods round here where corpses can go unnoticed for months.
`But if he wanted to end it all,' I continue, `why go to such elaborate lengths to kill his family, and not take the same way out himself?'
Gow picks up his cup. `In fact, only about seventy per cent of Family Destroyers commit suicide themselves. Not a lot of people know that. Some try to, and either fail or lose their nerve at the last minute. Google Jean-Claude Romand `“ absolutely fascinating case `“ they're making it into a film `“'
`But if they don't die, what do they do?'
He stops and looks at me over his glasses. `They run away,' he says. `Usually. And if they're caught they claim diminished responsibility `“ some sort of psychotic break or sudden overwhelming moment of insanity.'
I don't need reminding that Esmond has already had one dissociative episode as a teenager. Was Somer right when she asked me if it could have happened again? When I tell Gow the story he nods. `I couldn't rule it out. Not without talking to him myself. Some sort of post-traumatic reaction might well have occurred. After the event, of course.'
`What about before `“ could he have had some sort of breakdown, a psychotic break like you just said?'
Gow makes a grim face. `To quote Jack Levin, one of the experts in this particular field, `њThese killings are executions. They are never spontaneous.`ќ' He finishes his coffee. `That's why I asked if the wife and children were definitely dead when the fire began. A Family Destroyer doesn't tend to take the risk of anyone surviving. Same applies to the fire. Some even barricade themselves in to make doubly sure there's no chance of firefighters getting to them in time. And there's usually huge quantities of accelerant. Classic overkill.'
And that rings true too: it's exactly what Paul Rigby is expecting to find.
Gow gets out his phone and scrolls through a few pages. `I'll send you a link. You probably remember the case, but it might be useful background.' He puts the phone down on the table. `Have you had the toxicology results?'
`The wife was on antidepressants and had been drinking. We have to hope she didn't know anything about it. She was also pregnant.'
Gow nods. `Another straw on the dromedary's back. Assuming Esmond knew, of course. And that showdown with Jordan about the harassment would have been the final trigger. After that, things would have moved very quickly.'
We sit in silence for a moment. The couple opposite have moved on. Their breath follows them down the street in a soft white cloud.
`The other thing to remember,' says Gow, pushing away his empty cup, `is that these killings are almost always meticulously planned, sometimes months in advance. Especially if the perpetrator is looking for a way out rather than a way to end it.' He starts to gather his things. `If I were you, I'd have a very close look at his financials `“ see if he's been moving money around. That'd be a big red flag: if he was planning a nice shiny new life, he may well have tried to salt some cash away before everything went tits up.' He glances at me. `That's a technical term, of course.'
`Baxter's been through them. Esmond took out two grand in cash a few weeks ago. But that wouldn't last long.'
Gow considers. `Long enough to regroup, organize a new identity? Don't ask me, I'm just a psychologist. You're the detective.'
TouchГ©.
`Is there anything else we should be looking for? Apart from him, of course?'
`There may have been a record of domestic abuse. Probably the sort you can't see, and his wife almost certainly never reported it. But she may have told someone she was close to. A friend, a sister?'
`Her parents haven't said anything. Her father clearly didn't have a lot of time for Esmond so I doubt he'd have held back if he suspected there'd been anything like that going on.'
`Ask the mother then. When the father isn't present.'
I should have thought of that myself. `I'll call Everett. She's doing the family liaison. Though to be honest, the Giffords don't seem to want us around very much.'
Gow gets to his feet. `I'll be on my mobile if you need me.'
When I get home I stick a frozen meal in the oven, switch on the laptop on the kitchen island and open up the link Gow gave me. It's an episode of Crimes That Shook Britain. I allow myself a smile: no surprises he's been boning up on shows like that. But he's right about the case: it's ten years ago but I do remember it. Christopher Foster, the millionaire who had a manor house in Shropshire, a garage full of fast cars, a suite of barns and stables, and a fine collection of shotguns. And that's what he used. First on his animals, then on his wife and daughter. There's chilling CCTV footage of him moving silently about his yard at three o'clock in the morning, killing the horses, carrying cans of petrol, starting up the horsebox so he can block the drive. A calm, determined figure, his face bleached white of all features by the poor quality of the film. A few minutes later the house and outbuildings are ablaze, and Foster is lying on his bed, still alive, waiting for the flames.