There was a brass and crystal light fitting in the centre of the ceiling, too big and grand for such a small area. A tall mahogany chest of drawers was set back against one wall, with an oval mirror sitting on top. Karen walked towards the small desk and fragile-looking chair which sat under the large window.
The rain had let up a fraction. Though it was still coming down heavily, visibility was better now, and she got a glimpse of the lake. It was steel grey, a reflection of the sky. The view from Natasha’s room was impressive. On another occasion, Karen might have described it as beautiful, but today it looked ominous.
As Doyle prepared to leave them to their search, there was a noise outside that caught Karen’s attention. It sounded like whispering.
‘What is that?’ Karen said, walking towards the door.
‘Oh, it’s the pipes. Old houses like this one make funny noises sometimes.’
Karen frowned. It didn’t sound much like gurgling pipework to her. Was this the odd sound Alison King claimed to have heard?
Before Doyle left, he handed them the master set of keys. ‘This one,’ he said, pointing to the one labelled 10, ‘is Cressida’s room. When you’re done, I’ll be down in my office.’
They put on gloves, then searched Natasha’s room carefully. Karen went through the wardrobe first and found an empty wheeled suitcase at the bottom. She examined the clothes and found only staid, sensible outfits. The type of thing she’d expect a businesswoman in her thirties or forties to wear, not a seventeen-year-old student. Interesting, she thought, filing the knowledge away. The clothes Natasha had been wearing on Thursday night, according to Ethan’s description, hadn’t been like the rest of the items in her wardrobe.
Perhaps Natasha wasn’t as sensible as her mother believed. There was a collection of lipsticks on one corner of the chest of drawers, next to a large bottle of Ghost perfume and a big red makeup bag. Karen picked up the bag. There was foundation, concealer, a shimmer highlighter, two types of mascara, three eyeliners, bronzer, blusher and various brushes. All items that suggested Natasha took great care over her appearance. Quite a large collection of makeup to take to a study week.
Morgan searched the chest of drawers.
‘Anything?’ Karen asked.
‘Nothing unusual. Underwear, T-shirts and a few jumpers.’
As he moved to the nightstand, Karen walked over to the desk. It was scattered with study materials and textbooks. An A4 pad sat in the centre of the desk next to a battered copy of Anne of Green Gables. Karen smiled as she turned the book over in her hands. She’d read it many times herself over the years. She’d just set it down beside the maths textbook when a movement outside caught her eye.
‘It’s him again,’ she said.
‘Who?’ Morgan asked, moving to her side.
‘The groundsman, Mike Harrington.’
‘Well, he is the groundsman. He’s supposed to be tending the gardens.’
‘In this weather?’
‘We’ll have a word with him later. He might have seen something.’
There was something about Mike Harrington that didn’t seem quite right, but Karen wasn’t sure what it was. Was it simply that he was out in the rain? But then a groundsman would have to do his job in all weathers. He walked fast for a man with a limp, his stick stabbing into the ground with each step. A spaniel, bedraggled thanks to the rain, trotted beside him. Surely there would be something he could do inside during weather like this, especially if the grounds turned out to be a crime scene and he was trampling all over it.
He had a strong jawline. He rubbed a hand over his unshaven chin as the wind buffeted against him, opening his unzipped coat. Underneath he wore an olive-green polo shirt and brown cargo trousers. His hair looked black, but it was hard to tell if it would be lighter when dry.
‘So, what did you think of Chidlow?’ Morgan asked.
‘Bit of a snob, though that doesn’t mean he had anything to do with the girls disappearing.’
‘No,’ Morgan said. ‘I didn’t really warm to him either. What about the parents? Hiding anything?’
‘Too early to say.’ Karen flicked through a textbook hoping to find something helpful inside, but found nothing. ‘Uptight, but you’d expect that as their daughters are missing. Ryan Blake’s interesting.’
‘Interesting?’
‘Wouldn’t look me directly in the eye when I spoke to him.’
Morgan nodded as he pulled open another drawer. ‘I noticed that too. It concerns me we haven’t seen Mr Layton yet.’
‘Yes; do you think he really is performing surgery?’
‘Stupid to lie about it. We can easily check.’
Karen nodded. It wasn’t a pleasant prospect to consider the parents being behind their own child’s disappearance. But it was a necessity.
Everyone knew about the danger of abductions and the need to keep your children safe and close to home. But, for some, the danger lurked at home. They couldn’t discount any of the parents as suspects if something had happened to the students. Teenagers pushed boundaries. Mix that with a parent with a temper problem and the worst could happen.
‘Now we know why we’re taking this case at a hundred miles an hour,’ Morgan said dryly.
‘Yes, the chief constable’s son.’
‘What did you think of Ethan?’
‘He seemed a bit browbeaten to me. I’m sure he had some feelings for Natasha. You don’t describe someone like that and notice what they’re wearing in such great detail otherwise,’ Karen said.
‘I’ll try talking to him again when his father’s not there,’ Morgan said. ‘That might get him to open up.’
‘I’m not sure Grayson would like that. He shut down any talk of Ethan having a crush on Natasha.’
‘It’s only normal for him to be protective of his son.’
Karen nodded and opened a drawer, wondering how protective she’d have been of Tilly if her daughter had reached her teenage years. Josh would have found it hard when she developed an interest in boys. Karen liked to think she’d have been the one Tilly would have confided in. But she’d never know, thanks to Charlie Cook, and Freeman and his network of corrupt officers.
Karen slammed the drawer shut. ‘I’ve been wanting to talk to the chief constable for ages and suddenly he appears on one of my cases.’
‘You wanted to talk to him about Freeman?’ Morgan asked.
‘Yes, I want to know what the hold-up is. I want to know why everything is taking so long and nobody’s pushing for a resolution.’
‘Internal investigations do take a long time, Karen,’ Morgan said.
She knew Morgan was only being reasonable, but right now his reasonableness annoyed her. Besides, there was taking time and making progress and there was coming to a dead standstill, which is what had really happened.
‘Well, it doesn’t hurt to keep an eye on things and encourage the inquiry to focus on the facts,’ she said, flipping through another textbook.
‘No, of course not. I don’t mean . . .’ Morgan broke off.
He was kneeling next to the wastepaper bin, going through the contents.
‘What is it?’ Karen asked, crouching beside him.