Baxter sighs, thinking `“ not for the first time `“ that he's glad he doesn't have children, then makes a few notes to add to the case file. Then he opens up his email and sends a message to Fawley, listing the information they're going to need which he'll have to OK. Financials, for starters. Phone and email records, medical files, internet histories. He's just closing down the machine when Everett arrives in a gust of cold air. She's been out to Wantage to see Michael Esmond's mother.
`How was it?' he says, glancing up. But one look at her face says it all.
`Doesn't matter how often I go to them or how good the staff are, those places always give me the willies.' She sits down heavily and starts to unwind her scarf. `I mean, the manager couldn't have been nicer, and they obviously really care about the residents, but all those chairs pushed back against the wall, and the smell of piss, and the telly on sixteen hours a day. It's my idea of the second circle of hell.'
Though spending the last two weekends before Christmas trailing round every care home in a ten-mile radius probably didn't help. She'd been trying to find somewhere suitable for Dad `“ not that he knows that yet. Though it's been coming for a while. The forgetfulness, the sudden petulance, the defensiveness. And the loss of any sense of time. As soon as it gets light he's awake, and that means he has the TV on. He's been doing it the whole time he's been staying with her. Shuffling into the sitting room apparently unaware that she's still trying to sleep. Though she, at least, can keep hold of the volume control; his neighbours at home aren't so lucky. Two or three times a week they go round to complain, and with a four-month-old baby, Everett can't exactly blame them; they must be half hallucinating for lack of REM sleep. But her father refuses to answer the door when they ring, which means a thirty-mile round trip for Everett to sort it out. Something has to give. She's been telling herself for weeks that she'd have it out with him over Christmas, when they'd be alone and she'd have more time, but he's about to go home and she still hasn't done it. Like any good copper she can spot a coward when she sees one, and this time she doesn't need to look any further than her own mirror.
She looks up to see Baxter giving her a quizzical look. As well he might; she hasn't told anyone at work about all this. Though she'll probably need to say something soon. To Fawley, at least, if no one else.
`I did get to see Mrs Esmond,' she says, `and I told her about the fire, as tactfully as I could, but I don't think she really took any of it in. Just smiled at me and said, `њHow nice, dear`ќ.'
`So she's not likely to be much help tracking Esmond down then.'
Ev shakes her head. `I did tell her he was missing but she didn't seem very concerned. Just waved her hand about and said he'd `њhave gone off to that hut again`ќ.'
Baxter frowns. `Scout hut? Nissen hut?'
Ev sighs. `Could be bloody Pizza Hut for all I know. The staff were none the wiser. But they did warn me she probably wouldn't be much help.'
`Pity.'
Something about his tone makes her do a double-take. `What `“ did you find something?'
Baxter makes a face. `To be honest, it's more what I didn't find.'
Telephone interview with Philip Esmond, 4 January 2018, 5.46 p.m.
On the call, DC E. Somer
ES:DC Somer speaking. PE:Hello `“ can you hear me? I think there's a delay on the line. ES:I can hear you `“ is that Mr Esmond? PE:Philip Esmond, yes. I got a message from the coastguard that someone at Thames Valley wanted to speak to me. It was something about Mike? Sorry about the line `“ I'm calling from a satellite phone in the middle of the Bay of Biscay. ES:I'm really sorry to have to tell you like this, but there's been a fire at your brother's house. PE:A fire? What do you mean, a fire? ES:It broke out in the small hours of this morning. PE:Jesus `“ not the kids `“ ES:I'm so very sorry. Zachary, I'm afraid he didn't make it. PE:And Matty? ES:He's in intensive care. They're doing everything they possibly can `“ PE:Fucking hell. I'll need to get back `“
[pause]
Hang on a minute, why didn't Mike call? He's not dead too, is he? Jesus `“
ES:No, sir. At least, not as far as we know. PE:`As far as you know'? What the hell does that mean? ES:[pause]
I'm afraid both your brother and sister-in-law are missing.
PE:What do you mean `“ missing? ES:Your brother is supposed to be at a conference in London but we haven't been able to track him down and he's not answering his phone. We were hoping he'd been in contact with you. PE:Last time I spoke to him was Christmas Day. ES:How did he seem to you then? PE:Fine. A bit hassled, but that's nothing new. I think he just had a lot on his plate. ES:When did you last see him? PE:Last summer. I stayed a few days. Mike had started smoking again and he was drinking a bit more than usual, but nothing, you know, heavy. And the kids were `“
[pause]
He didn't, you know, suffer, did he? Zachary?
ES:We hope not. That's all I can really say. PE:[pause]
Shit.
ES:[muffled noises at the police end]
Actually, Mr Esmond, there was one other thing we wanted to ask you. When we spoke to your mother she mentioned something about a hut. It was when we said Michael was missing. She said she thought he would have `gone there again'. Does that mean anything to you?
PE:No. Sorry. ES:She couldn't have been referring to your house, by any chance? We couldn't find a current address for you. PE:I've been house-sitting for a mate the last six months. I move around a lot. ES:Could Mr or Mrs Esmond be there? PE:I don't see how `“ they don't have keys or anything. Like I said, it's not mine. ES:They don't have a second home, do they? Country cottage, something like that? PE:[laughs drily]
No, Constable, they don't. That house in Southey Road was more than enough, believe me.
Everett knows something is wrong the minute she opens the flat door. Something about that dry fizzing smell. She drops everything and races through to the kitchen. The gas is on full and the saucepan is empty. She snatches a tea towel and clatters the pan into the sink.
`Dad!' she calls, running cold water as the pan hisses in an angry spurt of steam. `Dad!'
There's no answer, and for a moment anger gives way to anxiety `“ she can't hear the TV `“ has he gone off wandering? Even though she told him to stay indoors? But then there's the sound of the toilet flushing and he comes bustling into the kitchen, still adjusting his trousers. There's a small wet stain near his fly that she wills herself not to notice.