`So what is it that I've got wrong, exactly?'
Harry's elbows buckle and he rolls over on to his back, his chest heaving hard. There's blood in his hair, down his face, in his mouth.
`I'm `“ not `“ your son `“ whatever you think `“ it wasn't you I came for `“ it was Philip `“'
But if he thought that would make this all go away he couldn't be more wrong.
Michael stares down at him, and the fear he's lived with for all these weeks darkens quickly into something far, far worse. This man hasn't just broken into his family, stolen their love, taken his place, he's going to take his home `“ ruin his life `“ destroy everything he's worked so hard to get.
And suddenly there's something about the heft of the bottle in his hand that makes him feel, for one appalling moment, that he is free. Free from himself, free from that man everyone has always expected him to be and no matter what he does it's never been enough. Free to be angry and vindictive and out-of-control and who-gives-a-shit just like `“
Something in his face must have changed because Harry tries again to get up but his body fails him and the words he needs to say spew in a bubble of blood. And then there's a foot against his neck and he's being forced back down, and the weight is pushing, pushing, pushing until his face hits the floor and there's bile in his mouth and no air in his lungs and darkness in his eyes.
`Inspector!' calls the marina manager as he comes within earshot, breathing heavily with the exertion. `One of the other owners has just reported their inflatable stolen `“ I thought you ought to know.'
`When was this?'
`Can't have been more than an hour. Perhaps less.'
Philip Esmond has gone white.
`Does your brother know how to use one of those things?'
He shakes his head. `I doubt it. He never comes sailing `“ he hates the water.'
I turn back to the manager. `If he's heading out to sea, what's the best way to stop him?'
His eyes widen. `Shit, I don't give an amateur much chance out there in a bloody dinghy `“'
`I said, how do we stop him?'
`To get out to sea from here he'd need to go through the Little Channel `“ that's right by the lifeboat station. If he's still this side of the bridge those guys can probably intercept him `“ but if he's past that already, it'll be a lot harder.'
`How far is it?'
`Ten minutes by road `“ less.'
Gis and Quinn are already running back to the car.
`I'll come with you,' says Esmond.
`Call them,' I shout to the manager, starting back towards the quay. `Tell them we'll meet them there and to be on the lookout for that dinghy.'
`Hang on,' he calls. `What does this bloke look like?'
`Him,' I say, pointing at Esmond. `He looks like him.'
4 January 2018, 12.22 a.m.
23 Southey Road, Oxford
Zachary sits up. He can hear voices downstairs. He slips off the bed and creeps to the door. He can definitely hear the voices now. It's Harry. And Daddy! Mummy said Daddy wasn't coming back yet but Zachary's sure he can hear him. Perhaps it's a surprise. Perhaps he isn't supposed to know. Zachary likes surprises. He likes presents and surprises and pirates and chocolate.
He pushes the door open and tiptoes over to the banisters in the dark. There aren't any voices now. He slides down on to the floor and looks over. And there he is. Daddy. Wearing his coat. But he looks funny. Just standing there. Sort of angry and sort of sad. Zachary is about to call out but Daddy suddenly turns and goes to the kitchen. Zachary hears the back door open and a few minutes later Daddy's back. He's carrying something. He goes back into the sitting room and Zachary can hear the sound of water sloshing about. Like when they played in the paddling pool when Uncle Philip was here. Perhaps that's what the surprise is. He edges closer and peers through the banisters. Then there's a funny `pop' sound and suddenly there's a pretty yellow light in the sitting room. Like the bonfire they had with Harry when he did all those tricks. Zachary liked that. It was fun.
Daddy comes out again. He doesn't look so sad now. He looks like he did when the dentist told him he had to have his tooth out and then he didn't have to after all. Zachary watches his father take a long look around the hall, then let himself out. The front door closes and there's the sound of footsteps on the gravel.
Zachary stands up and starts slowly down the stairs, one step at a time, one hand clutching the banisters, his pale blue security blanket trailing behind him.
We pull up outside the lifeboat station in a screech of brakes. The boat is already in the water. One of the crew comes towards me at a run. The wind is getting up now. It may be a dead calm in this channel but it'll be choppy out on the open sea.
`DI Fawley? Hugh Ransome. We think your man must have gone through already. One of the lads thought he saw a dinghy like that a quarter of an hour ago.'
He looks across at the four of us. `We only have room for two.'
`I'll come,' I say quickly. `With Mr Esmond. My officers will check in with Dorset police. Make sure they know what's going on.'
Ransome nods and turns towards the boat. `There are helmets and life jackets on board,' he calls over his shoulder. `They're non-negotiable.'
As we clatter down the gangway a small crowd is already gathering. There are two people in the boat already `“ a man and a woman in the same white hats and high-vis jackets. The engine is running and we move off in a surge as soon as we have our gear on. Safe to say Philip Esmond is quicker at it than I am.
`Will your man know what to do if he gets in trouble?' shouts the team leader over the spray and the boom of the engine.
Esmond shakes his head. `Even if there are flares on board I doubt he'd know what they were.'
`He can swim?'
Esmond nods. `But not well.'
It's a narrow channel and ferries and motor cruisers are pulling past us in both directions, sending huge bow waves in their wake that smack hard against the boat, but we're a lot more stable than a small dinghy would be. I can see from Philip's face that he's thinking the same thing.
And then we're heading into wider water, the dry docks and industrial units thinning out on the near bank and low woods on the far shore. The water glistens in the winter sun, and here and there a sailing boat is pulling against the wind, but that's all I can see. Ransome has binoculars, scanning the bay.
`Anything?' I ask.
He lowers the glasses and points. `Over there.'
4 January 2018, 12.43 a.m.
23 Southey Road, Oxford
When Matty opens his eyes he knows at once something is wrong. He can smell burning. He sits up. And now he hears it again `“ the terrifying sound that broke into his dream.
Zachary.
Matty leaps out of bed and on to the landing. From the top of the stairs he can see Zachary below him in the hall. He's staggering, screaming `“ screaming in a horrific animal howl Matty has never heard before.
His pyjamas are on fire. His skin is on fire `“
`I'm coming `“ I'm coming!' Matty yells, racing down the stairs, his legs giving way under him, nearly falling. Zachary lurches towards him, still screaming, but Matty can hear words now `“ Daddy, Daddy `“
He seizes the blue blanket lying on the bottom step and rolls his brother up in it, like he's seen them do on TV. Tighter, tighter, until all the flames are out. The smoke is thicker now. The rug in the sitting room is on fire and it's spreading through the floorboards, running like little rivers of flame, like the lava they saw on the volcano film at school. He can't get to the front door `“ he can't get to the kitchen `“ the fire is everywhere and he doesn't have any shoes. And he has Zachary to think of. He looks around. It's as if they're on an island in a sea of flames. They can't stay here `“