"He was always different."

"Always?"

"Always. Ever since we were children. Dad used to say it was like we'd been given a faerie child."

"He never talks about his father."

"He died, when he was very young."

"Young enough to not remember him?"

"Young enough to not be able to forgive him for dying."

"Was it sudden?"

"Car accident. Ironic really, cars were what bound them together. David spent more time in that garage than he did in the house, the two of them together, conspiring to take over the world one engine block at a time."

"He still does that, hides under the car when he's trying to escape from the world. If it's really bad he starts on my car too unless I rescue it in time."

"He throws himself into things; it helps him avoid having to deal with people."

"That and the violin, if it's not one it's the other."

"He's let you see the music? You must be special."

"I hope so."

"You are. The music has always been much more difficult for him, contradictory. It came from Mom; everything we got from Mom was contradictory."

"He doesn't really talk about her either."

"Does he talk about me? About Tim?"

"No, not really."

"Always different. Never thought he fitted in, always a square peg in a round hole. We love him; you have to understand that, in our own way."

"I know."

"He's our brother, we have to love him. But he doesn't make it easy."

"I know that too."

"I'm sure you do. We knew you must have the patience of a saint from the first time he mentioned you."

"He told you about me?"

"He never told you? That's very David."

"I don't think he meant it badly."

"I'm sure he didn't. He just doesn't quite get how people work, never has done."

"Must have made for an interesting childhood."

"You can't imagine. He was forever upsetting somebody; his teachers, the other kids, anyone in the neighbourhood who came within ten feet when he was having a bad day. It's no wonder he retreated back to the cars and the science and the music, and it was a relief for us to be honest."

"A relief?"

"We were kids too. We didn't want to be the ones with the weird little brother. Then of course he hit adolescence and that whole other can of worms opened up."

"Being gay."

"Being gay. Although it took us a long time to figure it out. Took him a long time to figure it out I think. He got all the way to college before I think it even occurred to him."

"Is it a problem?"

"To us? Nah. Not to me and Tim anyway. Mom never really said anything about it, other than saying she was glad she wouldn't have to bail him out over any more hookers."

"Bail him out over hookers?"

"That is definitely his story to tell, not mine."

"I always thought you must have some kind of problem with it, what with him never mentioning you and all."

"We've had a lot of arguments over the years, me and David, but never about that."

"Sorry."

"It doesn't matter, natural for you to assume."

"He has a picture of you."

"Really?"

"Yeah, he keeps it in the living room. You and him and Tim, that was how I recognised you."

"I did wonder. A photo and the occasional email, that's not bad for David. Does he still have the piano?"

"Yeah, it owns our only truly flat wall."

"Does he play it?"

"Yes, when he thinks I'm out of the house."

"It was Mom's. She gave it to him when her arthritis got to bad to play. He was the only one of us who ever got on with it anyway."

"You all play?"

"We all learnt to play. Mom taught us when we were young. David was good enough to need a real tutor. Me and Tim just banged about really. I think it was the only thing they really understood about each other."

"Dave and your Mom?"

"Yeah. They used to play duets when he was younger, before Dad died. She used to accompany him when he played the violin, make him go to recitals and show off. He hated it."

"But he kept playing."

"He kept playing. For a while after Dad died I think it was just to spite her. He blamed Mom a lot more than we did, blamed her for not being Dad I think. They were always far too similar, fought like cat and dog until he left home."

"I signed him up to an amateur orchestra in Vegas. He used to play with one in L.A. I'm not sure if he's forgiven me yet."

"Did he go?"

"Yeah."

"Then he's forgiven you. That was the funny thing about the music. He played right up until college, took a double major in Biochemistry and Music even though he had to do an extra year to complete both. He was never good at decisions."

"Then he stopped?"

"Then he stopped. Took his masters in science and seemed to forget the music completely. At least we all thought he had, Mom was so mad."

"He did once tell me there was a fight about his master's programme."

"A fight! That's a little mild. There was almost a knock down drag out brawl when he came home to drop that bombshell."

"Why? If they got on so badly…"

"Didn't mean she didn't love him. I think she was afraid; the music was the only thing linking them in her eyes. They couldn't agree on which direction the sun rises and sets, but they could play together. She didn't want to lose him. Of course it had exactly the opposite effect, but then I don't think Mom understood people any better than David."

"Did they make it up?"

"Sort of. She gave him the piano, I think she knew he was still playing. But they never played together again, never talked about it either. They both just shut a door on it."

"It's sad."

"It's David. You must know him well enough to know that."

"I know. But it's still sad."

"Well he still has the music, he still has the cars, and he still has you by some miracle. How do you put up with him?"

"I love him."

"It's the only way."

"It feels odd to stand here talking about him."

"It feels odd to be here at all."

"If he was here he'd be yelling at us."

"Definitely. He's always done a good fit of indignant yelling."

"Andrew, they'll be ready to talk to you in a minute."

"What do I say?"

"Mostly you'll listen, they'll tell you how the investigation is going, everything they think you need to know as gently as possible. And they'll tell you they're going to get him back, even though they don't really know."

"Why aren't you doing this?"

"I already know the script. And legally, I'm not next of kin."

"So you can't be involved?"

"I can be involved in the investigation. And I will get him back."

"You said they'd tell me that too."

"Yeah, but I know I will. I don't have a choice."

"I believe you."

"Good. When he's home and safe we can start embarrassing him until he yells at us."

"I wouldn't miss it for the world."