Кара Хантер - No Way Out

`Perhaps he thought escaping a real fire would be that easy too,' says Gislingham grimly.

`But it's still a huge leap,' says Everett. `And if we're going to build this whole case on the theory that a ten-year-old boy set that fire we're going to need a hell of a lot more than wild assumptions backed up by no evidence whatsoever.'

I get up and start walking again. Behind me, the silence extends. I need to think. We all do. Because even if that child had nothing to do with the fire, something was very wrong in that house. Something was very wrong indeed.

`OK,' I say eventually. `Get Challow to double-check the forensics. If Matty really did set that fire there should be some sort of evidence. A boy that age `“ he'll have got petrol all down himself.'

Like Jake used to do. Milkshake, juice, cola. You name it, he wore it.

There's the ping of a text on Gislingham's phone. He reads it then looks up to me, his face suddenly alert. `It's the Tech unit, boss. Esmond's phone just went back on.'

25 September 2017, 5.49 p.m.

101 days before the fire

23 Southey Road, Oxford

When Michael gets home his wife is in the kitchen making a spaghetti bolognese.

`You're early,' she says. `I wasn't expecting you for an hour at least.'

The nights are starting to draw in but it's still light enough for Matty to be in the garden. He's playing football with Harry. Michael watches them for a moment then turns to his wife. `How much time is he spending here?'

She glances up, a little confused. `Harry? He comes twice a week. Like we agreed.'

`No, I meant how much extra time is he spending here? I mean, he must have finished the garden hours ago.'

She flushes. `Well, he's been doing some of those other jobs you've been struggling to get round to. The tap upstairs, the DIY `“'

`I wasn't talking about the DIY.'

`And once or twice he's played football with Matty.'

There's a shout from the garden and the sound of Matty yelling, ` Goal! Goal! '

Michael leans back against the kitchen counter and folds his arms. `Sounds like it's been a lot more than `њonce or twice`ќ to me.'

She frowns. `I'm not with you.'

`When I dropped Matty off at school this morning his teacher came bowling up to me to say how pleased they are with him at the moment. How he's getting better marks and making new friends and getting invited to things after school.'

`That's good, isn't it?'

`Of course it is. It was just that she appeared to be putting this spectacular transformation down to all the activities I've been doing with him at home. The science experiments I've shown him and the magic tricks I've taught him and the educational games I've created for the two of us to play.'

Her flush has deepened. `Oh. I see.'

`So it was Harry? All that stuff was Harry?'

She nods. `He said he'd really like to do it and there didn't seem any harm in it `“ and of course Matty was over the moon.' She bites her lip. `I'm sorry, I should have said.'

`So the marvellous scale model of the solar system with a bag of apples, a melon and a ball of string was Harry? The one they replicated in class because it was so `њinventive and imaginative`ќ?'

She nods.

`And the trick with the candle making water boil inside a balloon, that was Harry too?'

She says nothing.

Michael takes a deep breath. ` I'm his father, not Harry.'

`I know, but you're so busy and you have so much on your plate and Harry genuinely seemed to enjoy doing it and like I said I couldn't see the harm.' It all comes out in a rush. And then she stops. `And in any case, you and Harry are so close. I assumed he'd told you. I thought it might even have been your idea.'

`What do you mean, `њwe're so close`ќ?'

She turns to the pan and adds salt to the sauce. `Well, you are, aren't you? I've seen you.'

`Seen me what?'

She's still staring at the pan. `You know, talking. Laughing.'

`Sam, you're not making any sense. He's the gardener , not my bloody BFF.'

She picks up a spoon. `But that's exactly what I mean. You don't really have any friends, do you? Not really. So I thought, you and he `“ that it might be like `“'

`Like what exactly?'

`That boy you knew. At school.'

His face has turned to stone. `Who told you about that?'

`Philip. When he was here. He said it was a shame you'd never had any close mates and I asked if it had always been like that and he said yes, apart from the friend you had at school. Look, I didn't mean `“'

`And what else did he say?' His voice is perilously low.

Her cheeks are burning now. `Nothing. That was it. He didn't even remember the boy's name.' She turns away, pretending to do something to the pasta. `And in any case,' she says, fake-casual, `what difference does it make?'

Her husband is silent so long that by the time she turns to face him Matty has already come bounding through into the kitchen yelling, ` I won! I won! '

`Is everything OK?' says Harry, in the doorway.

`Absolutely,' says Michael quietly, not looking at him. `Everything is fine.'

Gislingham picks up his phone and looks at me. `OK?'

`Just get on with it,' mutters Quinn.

We're all standing round Gislingham's desk; he's dialling Michael Esmond's mobile number.

`The Tech unit say it's still in London,' he says, covering the mouthpiece and glancing up at me. `Somewhere near Regent Street.'

`Oh, hello,' he says suddenly. We start looking at each other `“ after all this time, Esmond actually answered ?

`Is that Dr Esmond?' There's a pause then Gis frowns. `This is DS Chris Gislingham of Thames Valley Police. We're trying to track down Dr Esmond. That's right, he's the owner of this phone.' A pause, then, `Yes, it is the same man on the news.'

He picks up a pen and makes a few quick notes. `Do you have his number? Great, thanks. I'll be in touch.'

He puts the phone down and looks around. `You are never going to guess who that was.'

`Oh for fuck's sake,' begins Quinn, until he catches my eye and shuts up.

`His name is Andy Weltch,' says Gislingham. `Or rather PC Andy Weltch. He works the desk. At West End Central police station.'

25 September 2017, 8.48 p.m.

101 days before the fire

23 Southey Road, Oxford

`No, you can't stay up to watch the end.'

`But, Dad `“'

`Stop whining, Matty. We agreed you could see the first half, but now you have to go to bed. It's a school night. You know the rules.'

Michael Esmond is loading the dishwasher. His son is standing in the kitchen door. He's in his Arsenal pyjamas: the team are playing West Bromwich Albion tonight.

`But we're winning!'

Michael straightens up. `That's not the point, Matty. We had an agreement and now you're trying to change it. Life isn't like that. You can't have everything your own way all the time.'

`But yesterday you told Zachary he couldn't play in the sandpit and then you changed your mind.'

Michael takes a deep breath; kids always manage to checkmate you one way or another. `That was different.'

` How? How was it different?'

`Because I originally said no because I thought it was going to rain and then it didn't. So the circumstances changed.' He flushes a little; the real reason was because Zachary was screaming the place down, but he's not about to admit that to Matty. `And in any case, Zachary is too little to understand. Not like you.'

`That's what you always say,' wails Matty, his face red. `You always say that I have to be a big boy but he's too little and he gets away with everything. It's not fair, it's not fair !'