`A loan? Who the hell for? Surely your parents `“'
`Not my parents. Harry. I lent the money to Harry.'
`Harry?'
`His mother's been ill and he's been sending her money.'
`Did you have to give him quite that much?'
`I'm so sorry, Michael `“ I didn't realize it was going to be a problem `“ I mean, you never said `“ I never see the statements `“'
`That's because I don't want you worrying.'
Her heart turns over. He's under so much pressure. Not just his mother but his job and the book she knows must be at least six months behind schedule.
She folds her arms about him, feeling the tension in his shoulders, the pulse in his neck. `Please don't worry. He said he'd definitely pay it back by the end of the month. We'll have it in time for Christmas. He promised.'
`Boss? There's something you should see.'
It's Baxter. I didn't even realize he was still here. I was about to leave myself but he clearly has something. Though it's giving him no pleasure to tell me so.
`What is it?'
`It's Esmond's PC.'
The incident room is deserted, and I avoid making any reference to the bag of crisps and Mars bar on Baxter's desk.
He sits down in front of the machine. It's not very new and has seen a good deal of use, if the scratches on the screen are anything to go by. There's a faded blue sticker saying `The Best Dad in the World', and another with the name of a PC-servicing company: `Honest practical help for all your IT problems'.
Baxter opens a YouTube page.
`It was buried in his browsing history,' he says quietly. `Press Play.'
The soundtrack is a heavy disco beat and the film isn't much more than a home video with primitive Comic Sans captions and jerky transitions from one frame to the next. But it gets its message over all the same.
5 Truly Awesome Tricks 2 Start A Fire!
Fire-starters made of matchbooks, time-delay devices using firework fuses, balloons filled with petrol strung up over candles. A pair of close-up hands like some sort of perverse Blue Peter show while a chirpy American voiceover proffers handy tips (`Careful, guys `“ too much fuel in the balloon and you can actually put the candle out!') then three smiley emoticons go up in flames and we're on to the next Truly Awesome Trick.
It's only then I realize that the pounding music is `Burn Baby Burn'.
`Jesus Christ.'
Baxter makes a face. `I know.'
`And Esmond definitely looked at this?'
Baxter nods. `Back in November. The 4th, to be precise.'
I push the keyboard away. The sticker is still there.
`The Best Dad in the World.'
`Took a while to clean it up, but it's not in bad nick, all things considered.'
Alan Challow hands me the plastic evidence bag and a magnifying glass. `Take a look.'
The ring is silver, or perhaps white gold, with a smooth dark-blue centre. It's dented and scratched, but the inscription on the enamel is clear: two initials, ornately engraved and overlaid on top of one another. An M and an E.
`I think that's pretty conclusive, don't you?'
I look up at him. `I'll show it to the brother. If this is Esmond's he must have seen it before.'
Challow nods. `Good idea. In fact, you can do that right now. He's outside, waiting to have a swab taken.'
After the best part of three days, Quinn is on the point of giving up on the whole Brighton angle. PC Kumar's been struggling to find the time to review the CCTV footage and Quinn's not about to volunteer. But when he gets back from lunch there's a Post-it stuck on his computer screen. Kumar's called: there's an email in his inbox. Quinn sits down and opens up his screen. The CCTV clip is only thirty-five seconds long and it's not exactly definitive. The quality is pretty poor and the man's face is partly concealed by an umbrella, but the laptop bag looks like the one Esmond was carrying when he left Brighton station. Quinn picks up the phone.
`Kumar? It's Quinn. You think that's our guy?'
`The timing is right. He'd have got about that far if he'd been walking at normal pace.'
`So where was he `“ where was he going `“ any ideas?'
He can hear Kumar exhale. `That's a bit trickier. This camera is on a corner shop in a residential neighbourhood north-west of town. As to where he was going, it could have been anywhere, to be honest. I've checked and there are no more cameras on that stretch of road for another couple of miles, and there's nothing on any of those.'
Quinn sighs. Loudly.
`Look, I'll do a bit of digging,' says Kumar. `But I think my luck may have run out.'
Not just yours, thinks Quinn.
`Where did you find that?'
Philip Esmond is looking at the signet ring lying in my palm. He's gone very pale.
`It was on that body, wasn't it? The one they were talking about on the news.'
`I'm afraid so.'
He swallows. `So he's dead then. My brother is dead.'
`Do you want a glass of water? This must be quite a shock.'
He shakes his head; there are tears in his eyes. `I mean, I was expecting it `“ especially after the news, but `“' His voice breaks and he looks away.
And I know what he means. Suspecting is one thing, knowing is another. You cling on to the faintest, most fragile hope, because hope is all you have.
`So he killed them. He really did kill them. And then he killed himself.'
I feel my own heart clutch at his pain. `I'm so very sorry. But yes, it's looking very much like that's what happened.'
And as the PM results have just confirmed, he was still alive when the fire started. But I'm not about to tell his brother that. He's got it tough enough.
`I'm sorry to bring this up now but we do still need you to give us a DNA sample. Just to be sure. Are you OK to do that now? It's only a mouth swab.'
He blinks the tears away. `Sure. No problem.'
He gets up from the chair. `I suppose I can at least give him a decent funeral now.'
`I'm sure the coroner will do everything she can to speed up the inquest. Though `“' I stop, not quite sure how to broach it. `You might want to think about where `“ for the funeral, I mean. I'm not sure how the Giffords would feel if `“'
``“ if I put Mike right next to the daughter and grandsons he killed? Don't worry, I'm not about to make things ten times worse.'
He reaches out a hand, half awkwardly. `Thank you. For everything you've done.'
`It's my job. And we'll make sure the ring is returned to you as soon as possible.'
He smiles wanly. `Thanks. I'd appreciate that.'
Ten minutes later I stand and watch him as he walks across the car park. He stops at the car and fumbles in his pocket for the keys. It's a rental, I'm guessing, because it takes him too long to find the one he needs and get the door open. Then he stands there, one hand leaning on the roof, his shoulders sunk. I just hope he has the sense to opt for a private funeral a long way away. Social media is tearing his brother apart.
4 November 2017, 7.14 p.m.
61 days before the fire
23 Southey Road, Oxford
Michael Esmond is late getting back, so he's not surprised to find the house in darkness: Sam said she was going to take the boys to see the new Lego movie. He stands in the hall a moment, dumping his keys. He can still smell the faint chemical odour of the new floor varnish. Varnish, and now, something else.
Burning.
From upstairs.
He's up the stairs without even thinking `“ running solely on reflex. It's coming from Matty's room. Jesus, he thinks `“ what the hell is he doing `“ we've told him a hundred times about playing with flames. And when he rounds the corner into the room, his son is sitting there, cross-legged on the floor.