Page 98 of The Family Remains

‘No. No I don’t.’

‘So nobody else in the house was capable of planting or growing these things?’

He lets one beat of silence pass before he replies. ‘Not that I was aware of. But who knows? If they were planning a suicide pact then maybe one of them worked out how to grow it? I left a book behind, in my room. A book of spells and potions. I left my cabinet behind, which was full of seeds. I don’t even know what half of them were. Might have been someAtropa belladonnain there, I suppose.’

In his reply to this question, he shows me three separate signs that he is lying, but what I am not sure about is if he is lying to protect himself, or to protect somebody else.

‘So, it could have been anyone in the house?’

‘Well, yes. Apart from the children, of course.’

‘Ah yes. The children. And what is your theory about the children? They all disappeared. From what you knew of them, why might they have fled, where might they have gone?’

‘As far away from that house as they could possibly get, I hope. If they had any sense.’

‘But they were quite young, some of them. Who might have helped them?’

‘I really don’t know. Maybe Phin and Clemency’s mother, Sally? I don’t know what happened in that house after I left; I don’t know who came or who went. I wish I did. But I really don’t know.’

My phone buzzes at that moment from inside my trouser pocket. I excuse myself to Justin and I look at it. It’s a message from Donal. Interpol have now supplied images of the people who entered the United States under the names of Phineas Thomson and Marie Caron. I open up the picture of Marie and I turn it to Justin. ‘Do you recognise this woman?’

He peers very closely and opens up the image with his fingertips.

‘God. Is that—? Yes, that is. It’s Lucy Lamb. Henry and Martina’s daughter. She looks exactly the same as she did when she was a child.’

My phone buzzes again and I take it back. There is another file attached. This one is CCTV footage of the man leaving the airport. I play it to Justin. He watches it three times.

‘This man’s passport says that his name is Phineas Thomson.’

‘That’s not Phin,’ Justin says. His whole demeanour has changed at the sight of Henry Lamb. I see him straighten and become animated. ‘No. Definitely, not. That’s Henry. I’d recognise the way he walks anywhere.’

‘The way he walks?’

‘Yes.’ He points at the screen. ‘His feet sort ofslapthe floor. See. That’s Henry. Except when I knew him, he had brown hair, not blond. So his hair is dyed. And, you know it’s almost …’ He peers closer again. ‘It’s almost as if he’s tried to make himself look like Phin. Because when he was young, he had the most almighty crush on Phin, you know? He was infatuated with him. And now it looks as if he’s almost turned himself into him.’

I feel a shiver pass through me at this idea. But I don’t yet know what it means.

I need to get back to the station to join Donal interviewing Libby and Miller and so I make movements towards leaving. My pencil goes into my pocket with my notebook. Our conversation appears to be over, but then Justin asks another question.

‘You know, I don’t really understand. Are you looking for the person who killed Birdie?’

‘Yes, we are.’

‘But surely it’s obvious who killed her?’

‘It is?’

‘Yes. It must have been David Thomsen. He was a violent and twisted man. He had the motive – a tangled love life, between his wife, Martina and Birdie. He must have killed her, and then killed himself. Surely?’

I nod as I get to my feet. ‘Well, yes. That would of course bethe obvious conclusion to have come to, were it not for the fact that Birdie’s remains were removed from the property at Cheyne Walk only a year ago by someone who knew where the body was, and knew that if it wasn’t removed the new owners would find it there and old secrets would be uncovered. By someone, we must conclude, who was worried that they might get caught.’

Justin takes a moment to absorb this. His face tells me nothing during the silence. He nods. He inhales and exhales. ‘Yeah. I see. Yeah.’

Then he rouses himself and brings down his hands firmly against his thighs. ‘Well, if there’s nothing else?’

‘No, there is nothing else. You’ve been very helpful. I have so many new leads.’

‘Is Henry one of them?’

‘Yes. Henry is one of them.’

‘Poor Henry,’ he says.

‘Was he a poor Henry?’ I reply.

‘Yes,’ says Justin with feeling. ‘They all were. They were all victims. Whatever happened inside that house, none of them deserves to be punished for it. None of them.’