Close to Home (DI Adam Fawley #1)(31)

‘Not sure exactly, only a few weeks ago? But that would make it about the same time they were doing those stories.’

‘So you think we should check the CCTV to see if Barry’s been in that classroom in the last week or so?’

She nods. ‘I asked the head and as far as she’s aware Barry hasn’t been in any of the school buildings for months. There was a parents’ evening last week, but Sharon went on her own. I’m going to drop by the house on my way home and ask if they know where the story is. It might answer the other big question too.’

I frown. ‘Which is?’

‘Whether Daisy’s school bag is in the house.’

I stare at her. How the fuck did I miss that? Call myself a sodding detective.

‘She had it when she left the school – we saw that on the CCTV,’ continues Everett, apparently oblivious to my sudden attack of self-doubt. ‘So if it’s in the house, that would mean she must have made it home after all, like the parents said. But if it’s not there – ’

‘ – it’s much more likely she went missing somewhere between the school and the estate. Which could put the Masons out of the running.’

‘You saw the room that night, didn’t you, boss? Do you remember seeing the bag? It was one of those Disney Princess things. Pink.’

I think back. I wouldn’t say I had a photographic memory, but I don’t miss much. And surely the bag would have leapt at me – the only thing in all that glut of floral tat that didn’t have a daisy stuck to it somewhere.

‘No,’ I say at last. ‘I don’t think it was there. But it doesn’t necessarily prove anything. She could have put it away in a cupboard or something. Or Sharon could. The whole place was like a bloody show home.’

‘Well, there’s nothing to stop me asking.’

She’s about to go, when I call her back. ‘Barry Mason may give you a hard time – I doubt we’re their favourite people right now.’

‘I know. But I think it’s worth a try. I’ll back off if it gets rough.’

And it may not be a bad idea for the media mob to see a police officer at the door, either.

I take a deep breath. ‘OK, go ahead. Wear your uniform, will you, so the hacks know who you are?’

She makes a face, but she knows what I’m getting at.

‘And have a discreet chat with that neighbour first – ’

She frowns. ‘Fiona Webster?’

‘That’s the one. She strikes me as pretty sharp. You never know what might come out if you ask a few leading questions. And talk to the family doctor as well – see if they had any suspicions of abuse.’

‘He’s on holiday, I checked. But I’ll email him.’

‘Did the teacher say how Daisy had been lately?’

‘Quieter than normal, but she was at pains to stress it was a very minor change. That it might mean nothing. To be honest, they were more concerned about Leo.’

‘They’re the only ones who were, then.’

‘I know. Poor little sod.’

Everett takes another look at the photo on her phone. ‘Even without the yellow hair, one thing I do know is that the prince in this picture is most definitely not Leo Mason. Can’t see him saying boo to a goose, never mind fighting a monster.’

‘You and me both. But if it’s not Leo, then who the bloody hell is it?’

*

22 June 2016, 3.29 p.m.

27 days before the disappearance

5 Barge Close, upstairs bedroom

‘You’re not supposed to be in here.’

It’s Leo, standing at the entrance to his parents’ bedroom. Both the wardrobe doors are open, and Daisy is sitting at her mother’s dressing table, putting mascara on her lashes. She’s surprisingly adept at it. She smiles into the mirror. There’s bright pink lipstick on her mouth and blue shadow on her eyelids.

‘You’re not supposed to be in here,’ Leo repeats, frowning. ‘She’s downstairs. She’ll know.’

‘No she won’t,’ says Daisy carelessly, not looking at him. ‘She never does.’

She slithers off the stool and goes over to the long cheval mirror. She’s wearing a blue bikini and a pair of little glittery mini-me shoes with high heels. She takes up position, then walks towards the mirror, stops, drops her hip and strikes a catwalk pose. Then she turns away and looks back, blowing a kiss at her own reflection.

Leo wanders across to one of the wardrobes and sits down, pulling things out randomly and looking at them without any real interest. A pair of trainers, a musty towel, a hoodie. There’s something solid and rectangular in the sweat pocket which thuds out on to the carpet. Daisy glances over. ‘You’re not supposed to know about that.’

Leo picks it up and stares at it. ‘Whose phone is this?’

‘I told you. It’s a secret.’

*

The phone operators get the call at 5.30. It’s then checked, rechecked and further details taken, before it eventually gets through to me at around 6.15. I’m in my office at St Aldate’s, and Quinn is telling me we can’t find any trace of Barry Mason on Tuesday afternoon or even confirm what time he got back to Canal Manor.

‘Trouble is, he often came back during the day,’ says Quinn. ‘Dropping in between site visits presumably. So people would have got used to seeing his pick-up at odd times. It wouldn’t have stood out. And in any case, most of the time it was Sharon’s car on the drive, not his.’