Sweet Little Lies (Cat Kinsella #1)(90)

Parnell answers instantly on his crackly hands-free. ‘Calm down, kiddo, I’m about fifteen minutes away.’

‘Listen, Boss, I’m not sure Saskia has done a bunk. It looks like there’s been some sort of scuffle here. Nothing major, no blood that I can see, but a table’s been knocked into and there’s a mess on the floor, a broken vase. I’ve got a bad feeling about this.’

Nothing for a second except static and the sound of car horns. ‘All right, I’ll let Steele know and I’ll get the team down to start knocking on doors. See if anyone heard anything, saw anything.’

‘OK, I’m going to have a root around Saskia’s room.’

The crackling intensifies. ‘The previous warrant covered the whole flat,’ he shouts as best he can. ‘Forensics have already gone through Saskia’s room.’

‘Yeah, but they were looking for Maryanne’s bag and phone, things related to her. I’m looking for something that might tell us where Saskia is.’

A pause. ‘OK, fine, there might be something they wouldn’t have considered relevant the first time. I’ll get someone from Forensics over to have a butcher’s at this scuffle, OK.’

He hangs up without a goodbye. I open the door to Saskia’s room.

‘Any joy?’ I say, taken aback by the messy, windowless box. It looks like a modern art installation called ‘Pandemonium.’

‘I’m surprised she’d leave her room like this.’ Naomi’s sitting on the bed, a king-size divan with a brass metal headboard. Clothes, make-up and an arsenal of electrical beauty gadgets that I’d struggle to even identify are strewn across the wooden floor. I have to tiptoe across just to reach a clear patch. ‘Her passport’s still here,’ she says, pointing to a nightstand. ‘But it’s strange she didn’t take this.’ She leans towards the headboard and unscrews a brass knob from the railing, pulling out two bulging rolls of twenty-pound notes. There must be easily ￡2,000.

‘And she’s definitely not with a client.’ She slides open the fitted wardrobe and presents various swatches to me – red velvets, black silks, a sky-blue lace number similar to the bridesmaid dress I wore at Jacqui’s wedding – the memory slices through me. ‘Because she hasn’t taken any of her good stuff.’

Much as she’s being helpful, I want her out of here now so I can have a proper scout around.

‘Thanks, Naomi. Any danger of a cup of tea?’ I’m used to this being a reasonable request to make of anyone, Naomi Berry looks affronted. ‘Weak, no sugar,’ I add, smiling. ‘Not too much milk.’

She realises I’m being serious and walks out of the room, her posture straight out of finishing school. Spine straight, head high.

I take the wardrobe first, fishing among the clothes and shaking out every shoe, completely clueless as to what I’m looking for. There’s a few handbags flung at the back – designer labels, although I think they’re fake – each one containing nothing more than a few screwed-up receipts and half-used lipsticks. The shelves are full of cosy winter jumpers and throwaway vest tops, apart from the top shelf where a small suitcase sits with the baggage tag still on – London Heathrow to Prague. There’s nothing in the case. I turn my attention to the bed, checking under the mattress and then pulling out the drawers where a suite of sex toys rests on top of neatly folded towels and bed linen. I check the nightstands on both sides and discover nothing more revelatory than the fact Saskia French takes Microgynon for heavy periods and hydrocortisone cream for dry skin.

There’s little else to search as the bed swamps most of the room and I’m just about to start thumbing through a handful of paperbacks on a slightly wonky shelf when my phone rings. It takes me a minute to locate it and when I do, the caller’s voice is impatient and crabby.

‘Are you still there?’ It’s Steele.

‘I am. So you heard? About the parents? Well, the potential lack of parents …’

‘Zip it, Kinsella.’ The line’s echoey – speakerphone? ‘Listen, I’ve got Sonny Shah from SERIS with me. He’s been going over the videos from the search of Saskia’s flat before Christmas.’

SERIS. Specialist Evidence Recovery Imaging Services. Responsible for a smorgasboard of tasks including crime-scene video recording. Essential to all murder investigations as you just never know what innocuous item might become relevant further down the line.

‘Hey there.’ A meek, nervy voice. Brummie, I think.

‘Sonny, you explain,’ says Steele.

He clears his throat. ‘Um, well, as you know, we take panoramic recordings of every room and um, what with Christmas and that, there’s been a bit of a delay in getting through everything but I, um .?.?.’

Steele cuts in. ‘Basically, Sonny thinks he’s spotted something on the video and I need you to check.’ My heart quickens, she’d have left this to Parnell to sort if it wasn’t critical. ‘There’s a room at the bottom of the hall, across from the kitchen. There’s a single bed in it but it looks like more of a spare room, a dumping ground.’

I’m standing in the doorway before Steele’s finished the sentence.

Sonny Shah comes back on the line. ‘Um, there’s a photo on the wall. Er, well, it’s more of a collage really.’