Кара Хантер: In the Dark

LF: Yes, that’s right. I wasn’t here then myself but I do know Dr Harper was part of the Social Sciences faculty. His specialist subject was game theory. Apparently he wrote quite a famous article on role-playing games. I believe it was quite ahead of its time.

CG: So apart from what he’d do on Mastermind , what else can you tell me?

LF: He retired in 1998. That’s a long time ago, Constable.

CG: I know, but it’s not prehistoric either, is it? I mean, you had computers back then. You must have some sort of records.

LF: Of course, but there’s a limit to what I can tell you. I have to comply with our internal policy on data protection. You of all people would surely understand that. Do you have Dr Harper’s consent to release his personal information?

CG: No, but as I’m sure you know, I don’t actually need his consent if the information requested is pursuant to the apprehension or prosecution of an offender. Data Protection Act, section 29(3). If you want to look it up.

LF: What’s he done? I mean, he must have done something. You wouldn’t be taking all this trouble for a parking ticket, now would you –

[ pause ]

Wait a minute – it’s not that case on the news is it – that girl in the cellar? That bloke must be about the same age –

CG: I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to discuss that, Miss Foley. Perhaps you could just email over the relevant files – that would save everyone a lot of time.

LF: I would need permission from the university’s HR Director to do that. But if you have specific questions now I can try to answer them.

CG: [ pause ]

OK. Perhaps you can start by telling me why he left when he did.

LF: I’m sorry?

CG: Well, if my O level maths serves me right, he’d have been fifty-seven in 1998. What’s the usual retirement age for academics – sixty-five, seventy?

LF: [ pause ]

Looking at the file, it appears it was agreed by all parties that Dr Harper would take early retirement.

CG: Right. So what was the real reason?

LF: I don’t know what you mean –

CG: Come on, Miss Foley, you know as well as I do that that’s HR bullshit speak for ‘we had to get rid of him’.

LF: [ pause ]

I’m afraid that’s all I’m prepared to say. I will speak to the director and get his permission to send you the file. But you should be aware that he’s in China at the moment. It may take some time to reach him.

CG: Best I let you get on with it then.

***

BBC Midlands Today

Monday 1 May 2017 | Last updated at 14:52

Girl and child in Oxford basement: Police issue statement

Thames Valley Police have issued a brief statement about the girl and small boy found in a cellar in Frampton Road, Oxford, earlier this morning. They have confirmed that a young woman has been taken to the John Radcliffe Hospital, and that she and a child are being assessed by medical staff and Social Services. The identity of the young woman has not been released, and although it is reported that the child is her son, this has not yet been confirmed. Those who witnessed events at the house say she appeared to be conscious when paramedics placed her in the ambulance.

Neighbours have told the BBC that the house in question is owned by a Mr William Harper, who has lived in the area for at least twenty years. Mr Harper was seen leaving the house this morning in the company of police officers, in a state of some distress.

***

In the upper storeys of 33 Frampton Road, all the curtains are drawn. Dust hangs in the air and cobwebs blur the corners. Something’s been chewing the stair carpet and Nina Mukerjee, the forensics officer, steps carefully round a scatter of beady droppings, then stops in the doorway of the master bedroom. There’s no linen on the bed, just a bare mattress with a large musty stain in the centre. On the wall on the right there’s an ornate glass display cabinet with nothing in it, and the dressing table is cluttered with lipstick, perfume, a pot of face cream left open and dried to cement, and a scatter of tissues still marked with a faded red mouth.

A second officer joins the woman at the door. ‘Blimey,’ he says. ‘It’s like the Mary Celeste .’

‘Or Miss Havisham. That film always gives me the creeps.’

‘When did the second wife die again?’

‘2010. Car crash.’

The man looks around, then walks over to the bedside table and runs a gloved finger across a surface thick with dust. ‘I’m prepared to bet he’s not been in here since.’

‘Grief takes some people that way. They can’t bring themselves to throw anything out. My gran was like that. Took years to persuade her to get rid of my grandad’s stuff. Even all that time later she said it still felt like sacrilege.’

The man gestures towards a photo frame lying face down on the bedside table. He picks the picture up and looks at it, then turns it towards his colleague. ‘There’s one like this downstairs. Attractive. Not my type, personally. But attractive.’

Priscilla Harper is looking straight into the camera, one hand on her hip, one eyebrow arched. She looks confident, self-possessed. And very high maintenance.

Nina walks over and opens the wardrobe, pulling out items at random. A low-cut scarlet evening gown, a cashmere coat with a fur collar, a pale green blouse with a ruffled neck.

‘This is real silk. She had expensive taste.’

The man comes over and takes a look. ‘Pity about the moths. Otherwise you could have flogged the lot on eBay.’

Nina makes a face at him – ‘Thanks for that, Clive’ – then pushes the clothes back into place. ‘Do CID really want us to bag up all this stuff? We’ll be here all week.’

‘I think it was porn Fawley was interested in. So for now, I think we can make do with checking there isn’t a case full of bondage gear under the bed and leave it at that. I’ll check round upstairs. But by the looks of it the top floor’s pretty much empty. Just a metal bedstead in one room and a stack of old copies of the Daily Telegraph. ’

Nina goes over to the bedside table and pulls open the drawer to a rattle of white plastic bottles.

‘Blimey, that’s quite a stash,’ says Clive as she opens an evidence bag and starts to take them out. The labels are all in the name of Priscilla Harper; most of them are sleeping pills.

‘Did you find any papers downstairs?’ she asks.

‘Apart from the porn, you mean? There’s a desk full of letters and old bills though I doubt any of it will be much use. But we’re boxing it all up just in case. The cellar’s pretty much clear now.’

Nina shudders. ‘I can’t get it out of my head. Those scratch marks in the plaster. The state of mind she must have been in to do that. It doesn’t bear thinking about.’

‘I think she could hear them.’

She turns to him. ‘What do you mean?’

His face is grim. ‘Think about it. That house next door had been lived in by the same old biddy since the eighties. But suddenly, a few weeks ago, the workmen move in. There were people in there for the first time in years. That’s what she was doing. She could hear them.’

***

3.15 p.m. Given the issues we’re facing in questioning Harper, I’ve decided not to interview him again until we’ve talked to the girl. And she’s still sedated. No one’s expecting to get anything out of the boy, and forensics will need a few hours yet to come up with preliminary findings. All of which means that, right now, I have the Super on my back, a press office in crisis and a full team of people with a lot of nervous energy and nothing to do with it. Gislingham is trying to track down anyone who worked with Harper in the 1990s, someone else is on to the supermarket to see if we can speak to the delivery people and Baxter is checking Missing Persons for anyone who looks remotely like the girl. It’s a job with his name on – he doesn’t need to dig that deep to find his inner geek – but when I look in on him an hour later there’s a weary frown line across his brow.