`Is this your girlfriend?' Mrs Esmond asks, ignoring the hand and turning stiffly to her son.
`Bit of a looker, isn't she?'
`No, Mum,' he replies quickly, flushing and shooting Somer a glance. `This is a lady from the police.'
Mrs Esmond's mouth falls open and she appears about to say something but they're interrupted by the attendant, asking Somer if she'd like tea. `There should still be some in the pot.'
`OK, thank you. Why not.'
The attendant goes in search of extra crockery and Philip turns to face her. `What was it you wanted to talk to me about, DC Somer? Must have been something important.'
`We found a copy of your grandfather's will at the house.'
Philip's shoulders sag a little. `Oh, that.'
`You didn't tell us about it.' She keeps her tone light and her smile in place. `Was there any reason for that?'
He looks bewildered. `It didn't have any relevance. How could it?'
`Just so I'm clear, the terms of the will stipulate that the house has to pass to the eldest son. That means you, doesn't it? But you weren't living there.'
Philip sighs. `Well, like I said, I move around a lot. It would have been standing empty half the time. And Michael had more need of that place than I did. He's the one with the kids.'
He seems to realize suddenly what he's just said. `Jesus,' he says, dropping his head into his hands. `What a fucking nightmare. Sorry. I don't normally swear that much. I'm just struggling to process all this.'
`Don't mind me. I've heard a lot worse. I used to teach in a secondary school.'
He glances up with a sad, rueful smile. She hadn't realized before how blue his eyes are.
`So you agreed that your brother and his family could live in the house?'
`It wasn't official or anything. But yes. It made sense all round, what with him working in Oxford as well.'
`And the clause about the house being demolished?'
`I know it looks a bit odd, but that will was done in the sixties. Right around the time the government were planning the ring road. One of the routes they were considering would have gone straight through Southey Road `“ the house would have been compulsorily purchased. The lawyers told my grandfather he ought to have a provision for an eventuality like that `“ something outside anyone's control. Look, is that it, Constable, only I have a funeral to go to `“'
`Just one more question, sir. Presumably the fire means clause five does actually now apply. The house will have to be pulled down, won't it?'
`I suppose so. I really hadn't thought about it.'
But she's not letting up. `So that means it'll be sold. The land, I mean. That'll be worth a huge amount of money, in that part of Oxford `“ a building plot of that size.'
Philip shrugs. `Probably. But like I said, that's really not my top priority at the moment `“'
`You haven't spoken to your insurance company? It's going to be a huge claim. Surely they'll want to send an adjuster `“'
`Look, I just want to find my brother. Which, if you don't mind me saying, is what the police should be doing as well.'
`The police?' says Mrs Esmond suddenly. `Are you from the police?'
`I told you, Mum,' he says patiently.
`Is it Michael?'
Somer and Philip exchange a glance. `Yes, Mum,' he says quietly. `It's about Michael.'
`I thought your father had sorted it all out,' she says, gripping her son's arm.
`Sorry,' says Philip in an undertone. `This is what happens. She seems OK and then she starts getting the past confused with the present. Or she just starts getting confused, full stop.'
`He told me he'd spoken to the doctor,' Mrs Esmond continues, louder now. `That Mr Taverner. And then he spoke to the police and it was all sorted out.'
`Here you are then,' says the attendant cheerily, bending over to make space on the tray. `And I've brought some biscuits too. Only garibaldis but beggars can't be choosers, eh, Mrs E?'
`I told him, the doctor, Michael's never done anything like that before,' Mrs Esmond is saying. `He's always been such an honest little boy. Always owns up when he's been naughty. The very idea that he could do something like that and then just run away `“'
Somer frowns. This isn't confusion `“ this is something specific. She turns to Philip. `Do you know what she's referring to?'
`Seriously `“ I've no idea.'
`It could be important.'
The attendant looks at Philip and then at Somer. `Well, if it helps, I think I know what she means. Alice told me that story a while ago.' She straightens up. `It was when your brother was still at school, wasn't it?'
There's an awkward silence. Philip Esmond looks away.
The attendant glances at him and then at Somer. `Just shows you what going private can do,' she says heavily, before turning and moving briskly away.
Philip isn't meeting Somer's eye.
`Mr Esmond, are you still asking me to believe you don't know anything about this?'
He shakes his head, then takes a deep breath. `No. But we can't talk about it here. Not where Mum can hear.'
With Fawley, Everett and Somer all due at the funeral, Baxter is having an unusually quiet afternoon. He has a cup of tea (proper tea, brought up from the canteen), and a half-eaten snack bar. It's one of those protein things, and in his book that counts as health food not chocolate, which means it doesn't have to be confessed to his wife and written down in that bloody Weight Watchers log she's running for him. He's been doing the diet for two months now, and he can tell his wife is disappointed the pounds aren't rolling off. She asks him, some days, if he's sure he's remembered everything he ate at the office, and he always looks her straight in the eye. All those years questioning professional liars have finally come in useful.
He finishes the tea, and turns again to trying to crack the password on the PC they found in Michael Esmond's office.
`OK, so talk to me.'
Outside in the garden it's bright but cold. Here and there, smudges of snow linger in shaded corners of the borders. There are snowdrops and the succulent first tips of hyacinths.
Philip shoves his hands in his pockets. It's too cold to sit so they keep walking. Somer can see his mother staring at them from inside. It occurs to her that she probably still thinks she's her son's girlfriend.
`When I said I didn't know anything about it, I wasn't exactly lying.'
`Not exactly? What does that mean?'
`It means I was in Australia at the time. Having a gap year. Only it turned out to be just a `њyear`ќ, since I never ended up going to uni at all.'
`So what happened?'
`Mum and Dad were always really cagey about the whole thing, but Mike told me about it in the end. Not all at once `“ it came out in dribs and drabs.' He takes a deep breath. `Basically, my dad caught him with another boy.'
`Another boy?' Whatever she thought she was expecting, it wasn't this.
`They were in the summerhouse. The one at the bottom of the garden. I don't think it was actual `“ you know `“ sex. Look, he was seventeen, they were probably just experimenting. But Dad went off the deep end. Threw the other kid out, started shouting and bawling and telling Mike he didn't bring him up to be a pervert `“ that he was a disgrace to the family name `“ shit like that. I'm sure you can fill in the blanks.'
And she can. Just as she can imagine how close to home words like that would have gone.
`So what happened?'
`Mike ran back to the house, grabbed the car keys and left. Five minutes later he knocked a little girl off her bike on the Banbury Road.'
`Oh Lord.'
`I know. Poor bastard.'
`And was she all right? The little girl?'