Кара Хантер - No Way Out

`Nothing the day of the fire?'

He shakes his head. `Nope.' He shifts to another printout. `Though there've been a few calls to that number from the Esmonds' landline as well. The last of those was before Christmas. None from the wife's mobile, though. For the record.'

`I assume you've tried calling it `“ this mystery number?'

`Afraid it just rings out.'

`Do we know where that mobile was when Esmond was calling it?'

`It was in London on one occasion, but the rest of the time always in Oxford. Mostly in and around the Botley Road area. But without a name it'll be like looking for a black cat in the dark.'

Always assuming, of course, the damn cat is there in the first place.

I must have sighed because Gis hurries on. `I've got the Tech unit monitoring Esmond's mobile in case he switches it back on again. But right now, wherever he is, he's not talking.'

I glance at him and then at my watch. In precisely twenty-five minutes Michael Esmond should be talking all right: he should be getting to his feet in front of a hall full of people.

`I know,' says Gis, reading my mind. `Asante rang half an hour ago but there's been no sign of Esmond yet. But that doesn't mean he's not coming. He may just be one of those blokes who does everything at the last minute.'

But I can see from his face that he doesn't really believe that. And, frankly, nor do I.

At Southey Road, it's got so dark the fire investigators have had to turn on the arc-lights. It started to snow about an hour ago and, despite the makeshift tarpaulin, huge white flakes are drifting in, catching golden in the lamp beams and dropping softly on to the heaps of blackened debris.

Paul Rigby is outside on the phone when he hears the shout behind him. He turns to see one of the investigators beckoning urgently.

`Have you found something?'

The man nods and Rigby starts towards him, clambering up the rubble, roof tiles and shards of glass slipping and breaking under his boots. Three of the team are staring down at something at their feet. Rigby's seen that look too many times before to mistake it. Under the twisted window frame and the metal pipes and the sheet of scorched plasterboard, there's something else.

A human hand.

This time when Gis comes to my door, I only need to take one look at him to know there's something.

`What is it `“ did Esmond turn up?'

He makes a face. `Nope. He was a no-show. Asante spoke to the organizers and they haven't heard a thing from him. No phone message, no email, nothing.'

I sigh heavily. And then realize that my overwhelming feeling right now is that I'm not surprised. At some level I must have been expecting this. Does that mean I suspect him? I didn't think I did `“ not consciously, anyway. But my gut instinct is clearly telling me otherwise.

Gis takes a step into the room. `Though even if we haven't found him, we may have found her . That's what I came to tell you. Rigby called. There's another body at the site. Just like we thought.'

`Female?'

He nods.

`And they're sure it's her?'

`As sure as they can be. She was wearing some sort of nightdress. Looks like she must have been in one of the other bedrooms on the top floor. I hope for her sake she just went to sleep and didn't know anything about it.'

Unlike her son, who woke in terror and found himself alone.

I glance up at Gislingham and I can see he's thinking the same. `No more news on Matty yet, boss,' he says. `But we can always hope, eh?'

9 April 2017, 2.13 p.m.

270 days before the fire

23 Southey Road, Oxford

`Oh bloody hell!'

Michael Esmond drops the spade and it hits the grass with a metallic clang. The shrub he's trying to shift has wrenched the handle clean off. He stands there, staring down at the unyielding stump, breathing heavily. He really does have better things to do than this.

`Everything OK?' It's Sam, joining him. She hands him a mug of tea. It has `Happy Birthday Daddy' on the side.

`Fine,' says Michael, a little tetchily: it was his wife's idea to replant this bloody border. `Broken the sodding spade, but otherwise absolutely hunky-dory.'

Samantha looks down the garden to where her sons are playing. Matty is trying to interest Zachary in a game of football but the toddler is just running about after the ball, screaming with delight.

`You're supposed to be the goalie,' Matty is saying wearily. ` I'm the striker.'

`Perhaps we should get someone in,' she ventures, `for the garden.'

He turns to her. `Gardeners round here cost a bloody fortune, you know that.'

`Not one of the firms,' she says quickly. `Perhaps ask around at the faculty? There must be students who'd like to earn a bit of extra beer money.'

He's still staring at the wrecked shovel. `It's all Dad's fault,' he says eventually. `Why did he have to plant stuff like this?'

`I think he wanted to keep the weeds down,' she says, willing herself not to look across at the other borders, already spiked with the first signs of nettles. She doesn't want her husband to think he's being criticized, but a garden this size needs someone on it at least twice a week.

Michael drains his mug and turns to his wife, looking at her properly for the first time. `How are you feeling?'

`OK,' she says at once.

`You do look a bit brighter. Better than yesterday, anyway.'

`I'm sorry, I was just so exhausted `“ I didn't mean to dump all that on you `“'

`It's fine,' he says. `That's what I'm here for. To look after you. You and the boys.'

She hesitates. `You don't think I could `“'

`No,' he says firmly. `That's not a good idea. We can't go through all that again. You can't `“ I can't.'

`But I hate the way I feel `“ it's like living in fog `“ please, Michael `“'

But whatever her husband was going to reply is drowned out by their youngest son, who suddenly careers into his father, waving the handle of the spade, shouting, `Daddy, Daddy, you broke the spade! You broke it, Daddy!'

`Ah, Fawley, there you are. Take a seat.'

I was at the coffee machine when Superintendent Harrison's PA tracked me down and suggested I `pop along' and give the superintendent an update. And like my inspector told me when I was just a DC, `it's only a suggestion but let's not forget who's making it'.

`I thought we ought to give this Esmond case the once-over before the weekend,' he says. He must have something planned he doesn't want disturbing. `And I've had a few calls `“ you know what I mean.'

Calls from the University is what he means. Probably not Annabel Jordan if I had to guess. More like one of the suits at Wellington Square, worried about their `public image'.

`So, where are we, Adam?'

It doesn't take long. How could it `“ we have precisely sod all.

Harrison considers. He's thinking about the suits again. `Anything on the car?'

`Nothing on traffic cams. Or ANPR.'

`Credit cards?'

`Still waiting on the bank. They're short-staffed because of the holidays.'

Just like we are.

He sits back in his chair and puts his fingertips together. `So what now?'

But I'm prepared for this. `There is one thing we could do, sir.'

Oxford Mail online

Friday 5 January 2018 Last updated at 18:11

BREAKING: Second fatality possible in Oxford fire; Police appeal for father to come forward

Residents of Southey Road earlier reported seeing an undertaker's van at the site of yesterday's fatal fire, in the wake of unconfirmed reports that the body of Mrs Samantha Esmond has been found at the house. Mrs Esmond, 33, has not been seen since before the fire broke out in the early hours of Thursday morning. Zachary Esmond, 3, died in the blaze, and his older brother, Matty, 10, remains in a critical condition in the John Radcliffe hospital. Both Mrs Esmond and her husband, Michael, 40, were initially thought to be missing, but it appears the police have called off their search for Mrs Esmond, adding weight to suspicions that the body is indeed hers.