“I just got back from uni? There was some legal shit; I couldn’t do anything with the house until I turned twenty-one.” Oscar puts down the empty mug, untucks his feet, and places them very deliberately on the coffee table. His hands come to rest on his upper thighs. “Now I can sell it,” he says.

“Why did the builders start in the cellar? Why that specific wall?”

“Because I told them to. They pointed out that the wall had been . . . added.” He seems to be considering the ramifications of this for the first time. Or maybe it’s part of the act. “They told me it wasn’t supporting anything and asked if I wanted it opened up again. I figured the bigger the place, the better the price, right?”

It makes sense. But it could be designed to. The explanation certainly came very readily. Tyler levers himself up from the windowsill and returns to the kitchen, but Oscar follows him.

“Is this an official interrogation,” he asks, “or can anyone join in?” He perches one canary-colored buttock on the stool at the breakfast bar while Tyler wrings out a dishcloth and begins wiping down countertops he’s already cleaned this morning.

“What made you become a copper?”

“My father was a DCI. I guess I grew up with the police.” He turns, looks at Oscar directly. “Did you know who I was when we met?”

“I didn’t get much of a go, did I?” Oscar laughs. “Did I know you were a copper, you mean? Maybe? I’m not sure. Did you tell me when we met? I was pretty wasted that night, to be fair.”

“I didn’t tell you.”

Oscar leans forward on the breakfast bar, biceps flexing. “I guess I didn’t know, then. It wasn’t the thought of the uniform that did it, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I don’t wear a uniform.”

Oscar tuts. “Pity.”

Tyler leans across and disconnects the charger on his laptop. He gathers it up, shovels it into his briefcase, and turns to leave. “I have to get ready for work now.”

But Oscar catches his arm, his grip surprisingly strong. “When will you know?” he asks, and all at once the scared little boy is back. “When will you know if it’s him?”

Tyler looks down and very slowly, very deliberately, prizes his wrist free. “I can’t talk to you about this case,” he says.

When he gets out of the shower Oscar is gone.

—