This is Doggett’s theory, and the more Tyler goes over it, the more it makes sense. Was the uncovering of Gerald’s corpse an accident? Or did Oscar, desperate for cash, arrange it? He digs up his father’s body but is unaware of the effect it would have on him. Grief-stricken, racked with guilt, half mad, he begins setting light to things. In a few hours they’ll arrest him, if they haven’t done so already. The psychologists will do their bit, and they’ll argue about what it is that drove him to do it. He once mentioned his father’s cigar smoking; perhaps the link is as simple as that.

Tyler’s mobile rings. He checks the caller ID. Sally-Ann. He lets the phone ring off and a few seconds later his voicemail calls back with her message.

“Adam? Oh God, I’m so, so, so, so sorry. I really thought I was helping. I heard what happened to you, everyone’s talking about it. I mean, not everyone’s talking about it but . . . oh, you know what I mean. Look, I’m sorry, okay? Literally, like, really sorry. If I’d known what he . . .” She trails off for a few moments, then, “Anyway, I just wanted to update you about the blog. So . . . it’s taking longer than I thought to . . . oh . . . I probably shouldn’t even be telling you this, what with you being suspended and everything . . . I should probably ring DI Doggett, right? Look, just ring me. Will you? Please? Plea—?” The message cuts off.

He knows he’s being a bit unfair. She couldn’t have known Oscar’s true motivations when they met. But she did watch the man spike his drink and did precious little about it. He should ring her anyway, have it out with her. But he doesn’t.

Why can’t he bring himself to subscribe to Doggett’s theory?

Surely not just because that would mean admitting that he, Tyler, was wrong? Is he too proud to admit he’s made mistakes? No, it isn’t that. He knows he’s made mistakes. Big ones. Mistakes he’s unlikely to get away with this time. But it isn’t that.

He won’t believe it because he can’t believe it. Oscar is spoiled, changeable, overly confident in his ability to charm. He’s grief-stricken, certainly. At least, he seems it at times; the rest of the time he’s too busy channeling the confident charmer. Could that be it? Schizophrenia or something? Perhaps there are other Oscars he has yet to see. A crazy Oscar, racked with guilt. A serial arsonist with daddy issues. But he just doesn’t buy it.

Daddy issues.

The mobile is still in his hand. He finds the number he needs still saved on his phone, and Sophie Denham answers in two rings.

“Hello?” She speaks hesitantly, obviously not recognizing his number.