Yes. It is possible.
When the phone rings Gislingham and Baxter are the only ones still left in the incident room, and Gis is on his feet with one arm in his coat.
`CID,' he says, wedging the receiver under his ear.
`Is DC Somer there?'
Gis knows the voice, but he can't immediately place it.
`It's Giles Saumarez. Hants Police.'
Gis makes a face at the phone. What's this tosser up to now? `Sorry, she's gone home already.' He hesitates, then thinks, bugger it. `I think she had a hot date. Friday night and all that.'
But even Gis has to concede that Saumarez doesn't miss a beat.
`No worries. Can you leave her a message? That tramp she had a close encounter with `“ Tristram? We got him dried out and charged him with the damage to the hut, but he's swearing black is white it wasn't him. Says it was already like that when he got there.' A pause. `Just thought you guys would want to know.'
`Great,' says Gislingham, `I'm sure `њus guys`ќ are very grateful.'
Even though Saumarez is still talking he cuts short the call and heads for the door. `Don't work too hard,' he calls over his shoulder.
`Yeah, right,' mutters Baxter as the door swings to behind him.
`I agree. It could well have happened that way.'
I'm in Gow's office. He's moving around, collecting papers, putting them into his laptop bag, pulling files off the shelf.
`Sorry about this,' he says distractedly. `I'm off to Cardiff in the morning for a conference. Another bloody Marriott hotel. It would only be natural for this young man `“ Harry, Harold or whatever his name is `“ to have a deep antipathy to the man who abandoned his mother. Whatever version of the past he's been told over the years, Michael Esmond isn't likely to have come off very well. And you know as well as I do that childhood resentments go very deep, regardless of whether they have a basis in objective fact.'
That one goes painfully close to home. But Gow's not to know. It's not the sort of thing I talk about.
Gow puts another file in his bag. `And when he grows up and comes over here to track his father down he finds him sitting on what appears to be a mountain of money, none of which is being shared with him.'
`And if his own upbringing had been less than affluent `“'
`Right. You can easily see him deciding that it was high time the truth came out. High time he got his fair share.'
`But even granting all of that, to go from there to burning down a house where two children were sleeping `“ two children he knew `“ who were his own half-brothers?'
Gow shrugs. `One of the great advantages of arson is that you don't have to look your victims in the face,' he says drily.
He takes one last look around his office. `I think that's it. Give me a call if you need anything else. And let me know when you do finally track down Signor Marrone. I'd rather like to observe.'
3 January 2018, 5.59 p.m.
Six hours before the fire
23 Southey Road, Oxford
`It's so boring. He's so boring. He spoils everything.'
Matty is sitting on the edge of his bed. Harry is next to him. Matty is close to tears.
Harry reaches out and puts a hand lightly on the boy's shoulder. `Hey, give him a chance,' he says softly. `I know he can be a bit irritating, but he doesn't mean it. He's only little. He doesn't realize.'
`Everyone always says that. It's boring.'
`I know. But it's true. That's how it is. For all big brothers.'
`I hate him. I wish he was dead and it would be like it was before. Mum loved me then.'
Harry moves a little closer. `She still does,' he says kindly. `She really does.'
`She never talks to me any more. Not like before.'
`She's a bit sad, that's all. But she's trying really hard to get better.'
Matty looks up at him, blinking away the tears. `I wish I had a big brother. One like you.'
Harry ruffles his hair. `I'd like that too. But families are funny things. You never know who you might find one day.'
`What do you mean? I don't understand.'
Harry shakes his head gently. `Nothing. Forget I said it.'
Downstairs in the hall, the grandfather clock begins to strike the hour.
`So where's this volcano thing then? The one your mum told me about? Only I saw something on the internet where they made lava out of baking soda and vinegar. It looked really cool.'
Matty is staring at his feet, kicking them against the base of the bed.
`Matt?'
`It's downstairs,' he says in a small voice, `on the dining table. If Zachary hasn't ruined it.'
Harry gets to his feet. `Shall we go down then? See if your mum has any baking soda?'
Matty shrugs. There are tears now, spilling over and sliding down his cheeks.
Harry bends quickly and gathers the boy in his arms, hugging him tightly. `It's OK,' he whispers into his hair. `I'm not going anywhere. It's going to be OK. You'll see.'
`Can I have a quick word, sir?'
`Of course, Adam. Take a seat.'
Harrison is looking unusually chipper. No doubt relieved to have got the University suits off his back.
`It's the Southey Road case, sir. There's been a new development.'
It doesn't take long, and when I've finished he's looking a good deal less perky.
`So you want to issue a statement saying we've concluded that it was a murder-suicide, even though we haven't concluded anything of the kind?'
`We're struggling to find him `“'
`This `“ what was it `“ Araldo?'
`Araldo Marrone. That's definitely his surname, and Araldo is the Italian version of Harold so that's a reasonable working assumption. The problem is that we think the family went back to Italy so he was in all likelihood born there and we're struggling to get any birth records out of the Italian authorities.'
Harrison glances at his watch. `Gone seven on a Friday night? I should say you were.'
`I don't want to run the risk of leaving it till Monday. And frankly, even if we do, Baxter isn't convinced the records we need will necessarily be computerized. Not from twenty years ago, anyway.'
`No,' says Harrison heavily, `I wouldn't put any money on that either.'
I remember a holiday in Italy when people pushed my credit card away like I was trying to con them. And that was the nineties, for God's sake. `No plastica' became the running joke of the week.
Harrison, meanwhile, has sat back in his chair. `So you think if we announce the case is closed this man Marrone will come forward?'
`If he did set that fire it was all about the money `“ about getting his share of the Esmond cash. He can only do that if he makes himself known. But he won't take that risk until he thinks the coast is clear `“ and that means convincing him we believe Michael Esmond was the culprit.'
`And if he didn't set the fire at all `“ if Michael Esmond really did do it? I assume you still think that's a possibility?'
`Yes, sir. Unless and until we can rule Marrone out. And we can't do that until we can question him.'
He picks up his pen and starts toying with it. `I'm not keen on lying to the taxpayer, Adam. Public trust in policing and all that.' He sighs. `But I suppose there are cases where the end justifies the means.'
`Yes, sir. I think most reasonable people would want us to do everything possible to establish the truth. Especially if that means catching a particularly brutal killer.'
I watch him thinking for a moment, then, `All right, Adam. Go ahead and issue a statement. Let's just hope it works.'