Кара Хантер: Close to Home

You get all sorts of emotions when a kid goes missing. Anger, panic, denial, guilt. I’ve seen them all, alone and in combination. But there’s a look on Barry Mason’s face I’ve not seen before. A look I can’t define. As for Sharon, her fists are clenched so rigid her knuckles are white.

I sit down. Gislingham doesn’t. I think he’s worried the furniture might not take his weight. He eases his shirt collar away from his neck, hoping no one notices.

‘Mrs Mason, Mr Mason,’ I begin. ‘I understand this must be a difficult time, but it’s vital we gather as much information as we can. I’m sure you know this already, but the first few hours really are crucial – the more we know, the more likely it’ll be that we find Daisy safe and well.’

Sharon Mason pulls at a loose thread on her cardigan. ‘I’m not sure what else we can tell you – we already spoke to that other officer – ’

‘I know, but perhaps you can just talk me through it again. You said Daisy was at school today as usual and after that she was here in the house until the party started – she didn’t go out to play?’

‘No. She was in her bedroom upstairs.’

‘And the party – can you tell me who came?’

Sharon glances at her husband, then at me. ‘People from the close. The children’s classmates. Their parents.’

Her kids’ friends then. Not hers. Or theirs.

‘So, what – forty people? Would that be fair?’

She frowns. ‘Not so many. I have a list.’

‘That would be very helpful – if you could give it to DC Gislingham.’

Gislingham looks up briefly from his notebook.

‘And you last saw Daisy when exactly?’

Barry Mason still hasn’t said anything. I’m not even sure if he heard me. I turn to him. He’s got a toy dog in his hands and keeps twisting it. It’s distress, I know, but it looks unnervingly like he’s wringing its neck.

‘Mr Mason?’

He blinks. ‘I dunno,’ he says dully. ‘Elevenish maybe? It was all a bit confused. Busy. You know, lots of people.’

‘But it was midnight when you realized she was missing.’

‘We decided it was time the kids went to bed. People were starting to leave. But we couldn’t find her. We looked everywhere. We called everyone we could think of. My little girl – my beautiful little girl – ’

He starts to cry. I still find that hard to handle, even now. When men weep.

I turn to Sharon. ‘Mrs Mason? What about you? When did you last see your daughter? Was it before or after the fireworks?’

Sharon shivers suddenly. ‘Before, I think.’

‘And the fireworks started when?’

‘Ten. As soon as it got dark. We didn’t want them going on too late. You can get in trouble. They can report you to the council.’

‘So you last saw Daisy before that. Was it in the garden or in the house?’

She hesitates, frowning. ‘In the garden. She was running about all night. Quite the belle of the ball.’

I wonder, in passing, how long it is since I’ve heard anyone use that phrase. ‘So Daisy was in good spirits – nothing worrying her, as far as you knew?’

‘No, nothing. She was having a lovely time. Laughing. Dancing to the music. What girls do.’

I glance at the brother, interested in his reaction. But there is none. He is sitting remarkably still. Considering.

‘When did you last see Daisy, Leo?’

He shrugs. He doesn’t know. ‘I was watching the fireworks.’

I smile at him. ‘Do you like fireworks?’

He nods, not quite meeting my eye.

‘You know what? So do I.’

He glances up and there’s a little flutter of connection, but then his head drops again and he starts pushing one foot across the rug, making circles in the shagpile. Sharon reaches out and taps him on the leg. He stops.

I turn to Barry again. ‘And the side gate to the garden was open, I believe.’

Barry Mason sits back, suddenly defensive. He sniffs loudly and wipes his hand across his nose. ‘Well, you can’t be up and down opening the door every five minutes, can you? It was easier to have people come in that way. Less mess in the house.’ He glances at his wife.

I nod. ‘Of course. I see the garden backs on to the canal. Do you have a gate on to the towpath?’

Barry Mason shakes his head. ‘Fat chance – council won’t let you. There’s no way he got in that way.’

‘He?’

He looks away again. ‘Whoever it was. The bastard who took her. The bastard who took my Daisy.’

I write ‘my’ on my notepad and put a question mark next to it. ‘But you didn’t actually see a man?’

He takes a deep breath that breaks into a sob, and he looks away, tears starting again. ‘No. I didn’t see anyone.’

I shuffle through my papers. ‘I have the photo of Daisy you gave Sergeant Davis. Can you tell me what she was wearing?’

There’s a pause.

‘It was fancy dress,’ says Sharon eventually. ‘For the children. We thought that would be nice. Daisy was dressed as her name.’

‘I’m sorry, I’m not with you – ’

‘A daisy. She was dressed as a daisy.’

I sense Gislingham’s reaction, but don’t allow myself to look at him. ‘I see. So that was – ’

‘A green skirt, green tights and shoes. And a headdress with white petals and a yellow centre. We got it from that shop on Fontover Street. It cost a fortune, even just to hire it. And we had to leave a deposit.’

Her voice falters. She gasps, then clenches her hand into a fist and pushes it against her mouth, her shoulders shaking. Barry Mason reaches across and puts an arm round his wife. She’s whimpering, rocking backwards and forwards, telling him it’s not her fault, that she didn’t know, and he starts to stroke her hair.

There’s another silence, then suddenly Leo edges forward and slips off the sofa. All his clothes seem slightly too big for him; you can barely see his hands for his sleeves. He comes over to me and gives me his phone. It’s showing a still from a video. A still of Daisy in her green skirt. She’s a beautiful child, no doubt about that. I press Play and watch for about fifteen seconds as she dances for the camera. She’s brimming with confidence and exuberance – it radiates off her even on a two-inch screen. When the video stops, I check the tag – it’s only three days old. Our first piece of luck. We don’t always get something as up to date as this.

‘Thank you, Leo.’ I look up at Sharon Mason, who’s now blowing her nose. ‘Mrs Mason, if I give you my mobile number can you send this to me?’

She waves her hands helplessly. ‘Oh, I’m hopeless with those things. Leo can do it.’

I glance at him and he nods. His fringe is a bit too long, but he doesn’t seem to mind it in his eyes. They’re dark, his eyes. Like his hair.

‘Thanks, Leo. You must be good with phones for someone your age. How old are you?’

He blushes, just a little. ‘Ten.’

I turn to Barry Mason. ‘Did Daisy have her own computer?’

‘No way. The things you hear about with kids online these days. I let her use my PC sometimes as long as I’m in the room with her.’

‘So no email?’

‘No.’

‘What about a mobile?’

This time it’s Sharon who answers. ‘We thought she was too young. I said she could have one for Christmas. She’ll be nine by then.’

So that’s one less chance of tracking her down. But this I do not say. ‘Did you see anyone with Daisy last night, Leo?’

He starts, then shakes his head.

‘Or before that – was there anyone hanging around? Anyone you saw going to or from school?’

‘I drive them to school,’ says Sharon sharply. As if that settles it.

And then the doorbell rings. Gislingham flips his notebook shut. ‘That’ll be SOCO. Or whatever we’re supposed to call them now.’