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10.15

Rob Chiltern@RockingRobin1975

#DaisyMason I hope the police have searched the bloody house – I smell a police fuck up. Wouldn’t be the first time

10.16

Lilian Chamberlain@LilianChamberlain

@RockingRobin1975 The parents don’t know where she is. No wonder they look traumatised. People react differently to stress . . .

10.16

Lilian Chamberlain@LilianChamberlain

@RockingRobin1975 . . . They’re not suspects. Just parents. My heart goes out to them #FindDaisy

10.17

Caroline Tollis@ForWhomtheTollis

Have the police thought to question the brother? #justsaying #DaisyMason

10.19

Garry G@SwordsandSandals

U know what I think? – father murdered her. Nailed on #DaisyMason

***

We’d asked the Masons to stay at Kidlington after the appeal. We gave them some guff about procedures and paperwork and parked them with Maureen Jones, who’s drawn the short straw as Family Liaison Officer, but the real reason was to avoid carting them in for questioning in full view of the world. And especially that nosy little sod with the overactive Facebook page.

I take Quinn with me and look in on the Super on the way, at his request. And even though I make a big show of being in a hurry, he asks if he can have a private word and tells me to shut the door, so I know what’s coming. But first, the bad news.

‘I’m not asking for a warrant for a forensic search of the Mason home. At least not yet. The CPS will want more than circumstantial evidence and unanswered questions before they go to a magistrate.’

‘Oh for God’s sake – ’

‘I know where you’re coming from, but this whole case is already turning into a media circus, and I am not about to fuel it with pictures of blokes in white suits carrying out teddy bears. As far as I’ve been informed, we don’t even know for certain where the Mason girl was last seen. It’s quite possible she was abducted walking home from school.’

‘But Sharon Mason said she always picked the children up by car. Which narrows the chances of someone else taking Daisy to somewhere south of sod all.’

‘Fair enough, but until you’ve established that for an absolute fact, I’m blocking a warrant application. Who knows – we may not even need one. Have you actually asked the parents for their permission?’

‘I just can’t see them agreeing. Sir. They won’t even let us have Family Liaison in the house, which in itself – ’

‘ – is not even remotely close to reasonable grounds for suspicion. Ask them – politely – if we can do a search. And then we’ll talk. Right?’

I sigh. ‘Right.’

I turn to go but he gestures to the chair then sits back and puts his fingertips together, composing his face into what HR no doubt call ‘Suitable Empathy’.

‘You sure you’re OK taking this one on, Adam? I mean, I know you’re more hands-on than most DIs, but it’s not going to be easy, especially after – ’

‘I’m fine, sir. Really.’

‘But losing your child like that. I mean, in those circumstances. Anyone would be affected. How could you not be.’

I open my mouth, then close it again. I find myself suddenly, deeply, violently angry. I look down at my hands and will myself not to say something I might regret. Like how bloody dare he sit there and casually prise open pain I’ve spent months appeasing. There are livid marks on my palms now where the nails have dug into the flesh. Deep red wheals. I can’t look at them without feeling sick.

When I look up I realize he’s still watching me. ‘And what about Alex?’ he says, still probing. ‘How is she bearing up?’

‘Fine. Alex is fine. Please, I just want to get on with the job.’

He frowns – a frown that comes with the caption ‘Appropriate Concern’. I’m starting to wonder if he’s been sent on some sort of training programme.

‘I know that,’ he says, ‘and no one is suggesting for a moment that your work has been anything other than first rate. But it is only – what – six months since it happened? That’s not long, not for something like that. And this is the first time you’ve had to deal with a child – ’

I get to my feet. ‘I appreciate the thought, sir, but it’s really not necessary. I’d much rather concentrate on finding Daisy Mason. Time is not on our side. You know the stats as well as I do, and it’s nearly thirty-six hours already.’

He hesitates, then nods. ‘Well, if you’re sure. But we may get some kickback in the press. They’re bound to dig it all up again. Are you prepared for that?’

I make a face which I hope comes over as ‘Complete Contempt’. ‘They’ll soon find something better to do. And in any case there’s nothing to find.’

‘No,’ he says quickly. ‘Of course not.’

—

Quinn shoots me a quizzical glance when I emerge.

‘Admin,’ I say, and he’s too smart to push it. I start off down the corridor. ‘Where are we with the school?’

‘Everett and Gislingham are there now. Thought Chris could use some female back-up on that one.’

‘Still nothing from the search teams?’

‘Nada. We’re widening the perimeter but with no intel about where to look it’s needle-in-a-haystack stuff.’

‘Intel’, by the way, is another word that really gets on my tits.

At the family room, I pause at the door.

‘Separately or together?’ says Quinn.

‘On their own. But I want to be in both.’

‘So him first, then?’

‘Right,’ I reply, ‘him first,’ as I knock on the door, which is opened by Maureen Jones, who steps back to let us pass.

I know the police are supposed to make more of an effort these days, but this is hardly my idea of a reassuring environment. It’s a step up from Interview Room One at St Aldate’s, I’ll admit that, but with the cheap furniture pushed back against the walls it looks depressingly like a doctor’s waiting room, which only reinforces the overwhelming sense that you only come here to get bad news. Barry Mason is sitting back on the settee, his eyes shut and his legs apart. He’s sweating. His skin looks oily, as if it’s covered with a fine layer of grease. But it’s chill today, for July. Sharon is on one of the hard-back chairs, her feet exactly together, her handbag on her lap. It’s one of those replica designer jobs. The brown ones with the cream pattern. The chair is so uncomfortable I’d expect her to be fidgeting, but she’s perfectly still. She doesn’t even look up when we come in. Leo does. And then after a moment he gets up from the floor where he’s been sitting playing with a train and backs slowly towards his mother, his eyes all the time on mine.

I clear my throat. ‘Mr Mason, Mrs Mason, thank you for waiting. I have some information I can now share with you. We wanted to be absolutely sure, before we said anything.’

I pause. A cruel, deliberate pause. I know what they must be thinking, but I need to see how they react.

Sharon brings her hand slowly to her face and Barry gasps, the tears already coursing down his face. ‘Not my little princess,’ he wails. ‘Not my Dais – ’

Leo grips his mother’s sleeve, his eyes wide with pure terror. ‘What are they talking about, Mum? Is it about Daisy?’

‘Not now, Leo,’ she says, not looking at him.

I can’t hold the pause any longer. Not with any decency. They’re expecting me to sit down, but I don’t.

‘What we have ascertained,’ I begin slowly, ‘is that Daisy was not at the party on Tuesday.’

Barry swallows. ‘What do you mean, she wasn’t there? I saw her – we all did – ’