`I'm too scared.'
`Scared? Scared of what?'
`I went on Google,' she says, her voice breaking, `and there were all these websites saying that hallucinations can be a symptom of post-partum psychosis, and I was frightened they'd take Zachary away if they knew. That they'd think I might harm him and he wouldn't be safe with me, and you know that's not true, don't you, I would never harm my children `“'
She breaks down now, and Michael can hear Philip soothing her, telling her it's OK.
And then the sound of the football bouncing on the dry earth. Close. Closer still.
`Why's Mummy crying?' says Matty.
`She's just a bit upset,' says Philip. `Nothing to worry about, Matt.'
`Can we play Ronaldo and Messi again?'
`In a minute. I just need to talk to Mummy first. Why don't you go and get a juice from the fridge and bring one for Zachary too.'
Matty whines a bit at that, but Michael eventually hears his footsteps retreating towards the house.
`Sorry about that,' says Sam. `It all just got on top of me.'
`No need to apologize to me. Seriously. But I think you really do need to go back on the meds.'
`I did. I went to the doctor. I didn't tell her `“ you know `“ what had happened. Just said the pills weren't agreeing with me. She put me on something different.'
`And are they better?'
A pause. She must have nodded.
`And there hasn't been anything since `“ none of that weird stuff?'
Another pause.
`Well, that has to be a good sign, doesn't it `“ if it only happened when you weren't on the medication?'
`I suppose so.'
`But I really do think you should talk to your doctor about it `“ all of it. Just to be on the safe side. You don't need to worry. Nothing bad's going to happen.'
`Do you promise?' she whispers.
Michael's heard enough; he shifts a little in his chair, feigning waking. And when he opens his eyes he sees his brother holding his wife's hand.
`I promise,' Philip says.
At the John Rad, Alan Challow's assistant, Nina Mukerjee, is pulling on a clean set of scrubs. Ray Goodwin, the appointed pathologist, has just arrived to conduct the second autopsies and she's been asked to sit in and observe, in case something new comes up. No one's expecting anything `“ it's just standard procedure in case there's a trial. But right now, any sort of trial seems a very long way off and Nina's steeling herself for a gruesome afternoon that gets them precisely nowhere.
The door swings open. `Miss Mukerjee?'
He's younger than she expected `“ a lot younger. And definitely not the usual tweedy type. More rogue than brogues, by the look of him, with his hipster beard and earring. In fact, she's pretty sure she can see a tattoo.
`You ready?'
She nods.
`Then let's get this party started.'
By five, Baxter is rather pleased with himself. He's no accountant but he's done a few courses and he's got quite savvy with numbers, over the years. Enough to get by, anyway. If it's a really big one, like fraud or money laundering, then they call in the experts, but usually it's just about getting a clear picture of the cash. The haves, the have-nots, and the desperately wanna-haves. And with this bloke Esmond it only took him an afternoon to get a pretty good idea, even if `pretty' is hardly the word, in the circumstances. He picks up the phone and calls Fawley, and a couple of minutes later the DI pushes open the door and comes towards him. He looks frazzled, which seems to be par for the course these days. Baxter's heard the same rumours the rest of the station has, and even if he tends to be sceptical about office gossip it's hard not to see Fawley's frayed nerves as evidence that something's gone badly wrong on the home front.
Gis stands up from his desk and comes over to join them.
`OK,' says Fawley, `what have we got?'
Baxter gestures at his computer. `The last time Esmond's credit card was used is late afternoon on the 31st December. The Tesco in Summertown. No unusual transactions recently as far as I can see, though he was close to his credit limit, and only paying off the minimum most months.' He changes the page. `And this is Esmond's current account. As you can see, only a couple of hundred quid in it.' He scrolls down. `Nothing untoward in terms of incomings or outgoings until about two months ago, when there's a transfer in from the savings account of £2,000, which goes straight back out again three days later. In cash.'
`Who needs that sort of cash these days?' wonders Gislingham.
`And this,' says Baxter, switching to another page, `is the savings account. After that last withdrawal, all that's left in it is,' he leans forward to read, `three hundred and seventy-six pounds fifty-four pence. Eighteen months ago there was over fifteen thousand in there, but by last October it was all but gone, apart from that final two grand.'
`So what was he spending it on?' asks Fawley.
`I've looked at the individual transactions and most of it has been going on care home fees. That place in Wantage where his mother is? That's one of the most expensive ones round here.' Which is probably, thinks Baxter, why Everett hasn't bothered checking that one out. She still hasn't said anything to him about her dad but he's seen the brochures in her desk drawer and he knows the old man's been struggling.
Fawley, meanwhile, has been studying the numbers. `So if the cash ran out in October, how's he been paying the fees since?'
Fawley's sharp, no question. Even when he is distracted.
Baxter sits back and places his fingertips together. `Short answer? He hasn't. I spoke to the home's accountant and there's two months' bills outstanding. They asked Esmond to come in and see them in December and he said he was `њmaking arrangements`ќ but no actual dosh has yet been forthcoming.'
`I thought the family were supposed to be wealthy?' says Gislingham.
Baxter glances up at him. `You and me both. So I did a bit more digging. I couldn't get full financials on the family business because it was a private sale but judging by how little Esmond's father sold it for it must have been in big trouble. And he lived on the proceeds for the rest of his life `“ by the time he died the cash must have pretty much dried out.' He makes a face. `You know that saying `“ first generation makes it, second generation spends it and third generation blows it. Looks like Esmond's father blew it big time.'
`So why not sell the house?' says Gislingham. `I mean, I know it's the family silver and all that, but if his mum needed care `“'
`He can't.'
It's Quinn, at the door, still in his coat. He holds up a sheaf of papers.
`I found this at the house.'
He walks over and hands the papers to Fawley, who reads the top sheet slowly, then looks up at Quinn. `Good work,' he says. `Bloody good work.'
Last Will and Testament
This is the last will and testament of Horace Zachary Esmond, of Felix House, 23 Southey Road, Oxford.
1 I appoint as the Executors and Trustees of this my Will (`the Trustees') the partners in the firm of Rotherham Fleming Co of 67 Cornwallis Mews, Oxford.
2 In this Will, where the context admits:
i. Beneficiaries' shall mean my son Richard Zachary Esmond, his children, and their subsequent issue;
ii. `Property Beneficiary' shall mean my son Richard, and upon his death, his oldest surviving son (or if none, daughter), and so on for each succeeding generation;
iii. `Property' shall mean Felix House, 23 Southey Road, Oxford;
iv. `Residual Property' shall mean all of my property and assets, personal and commercial, with the exception of the Property.
3 The Trustees must hold the Property on trust for the Property Beneficiary for the term of his life, and allow him to occupy the Property rent-free so long as he (i) pays all outgoings on the Property; (ii) keeps the Property in good repair; and (iii) keeps the Property insured in the Trustees' name and to their satisfaction.