Кара Хантер: Close to Home

Sharon looks at her husband, bewildered. ‘He means forensics,’ says Barry.

Sharon turns to me. ‘What are they here for? We haven’t done anything.’

‘I know that, Mrs Mason. Please don’t be alarmed. It’s standard procedure in a – when a child goes missing.’

Gislingham opens the front door and lets them in. I recognize Alan Challow straight away. He started on the job a few months after I did. Hasn’t aged that well. Too little on top, too much round the waist. But he’s good. He’s good.

He nods to me. We don’t need the pleasantries. ‘Holroyd’s just getting the kit from the car,’ he says briskly. His paper suit is creaking. It’s going to be hell in that thing when the sun comes up.

‘We’ll go upstairs first,’ he says, pulling on his gloves. ‘Then start outside as soon as it’s light. No press yet, I see. Praise be for small mercies.’

Sharon Mason has got unsteadily to her feet. ‘I don’t want you poking about in her room – touching her things – treating us like criminals – ’

‘It’s not a full forensic search, Mrs Mason – we won’t be making any mess. We don’t even need to go into her room. We just need to take her toothbrush.’

Because it’s the best source for DNA. Because we might need that to match to her body. But this, again, I do not say.

‘We will be making a more extensive search in the garden, in case her abductor has left any physical evidence that might help us identify him. I trust we have your agreement to do that?’

Barry Mason nods, then reaches up and touches his wife’s elbow. ‘Best we just let them do their job, eh?’

‘And we’ll be arranging for a Family Liaison Officer to attend as soon as possible.’

Sharon turns to me. ‘What do you mean, attend? ’

‘They’ll be here to make sure you’re kept informed as soon as we get any news, and to be on hand in case you need anything.’

Sharon frowns. ‘What here? In the house? ’

‘Yes, if that’s OK with you. They’re fully trained – there’s nothing to worry about, they won’t be at all intrusive – ’

But she’s already shaking her head. ‘No. I don’t want anyone here. I don’t want you people spying on us. Is that clear?’

I glance at Gislingham, who gives a minute shrug.

I take a deep breath. ‘That is, of course, your right. We will designate a member of our team to be your point of contact, and if you change your mind – ’

‘No,’ she says quickly. ‘We won’t.’

***

02.45

Oxford’s News@OxfordNewsOnline

BREAKING Reports coming in of considerable police presence on the Canal Manor development – no further details as yet . . .

02.49

Julie Hill@JulieHillinOxford

@OxfordNewsOnline I live on Canal Manor – there was a party last night and the police are here now questioning the neighbours

02.49

Julie Hill@JulieHillinOxford

@OxfordNewsOnline No one seems to know what’s happening – there are about 15 police cars

02.52

Angela Betterton@AngelaGBetterton

@JulieHillinOxford @OxfordNewsOnline I was at the party – it’s their daughter – apparently she’s gone missing – she’s in my son’s class

02.53

Julie Hill@JulieHillinOxford

@AngelaGBetterton Oh that’s awful, I thought it must be drugs or something @OxfordNewsOnline

02.54

Oxford’s News@OxfordNewsOnline

@AngelaGBetterton What’s the little girl’s name and age?

02.55

Angela Betterton@AngelaGBetterton

@OxfordNewsOnline Daisy Mason. Must be 8 or 9?

02.58

Oxford’s News@OxfordNewsOnline

BREAKING Reports coming in of possible child #abduction in the Canal Manor development. Sources say an 8-yr-old girl is missing from her home

03.01

Oxford’s News@OxfordNewsOnline

If you hear more on the Oxford #abduction tweet us here – bringing you Oxford local news and more throughout the night

***

Just after three the media team ring me to say the news is out, and we may as well make the best of it. Twenty minutes later the first outside broadcast van arrives. I’m in the kitchen; the family are still in the sitting room. Barry Mason is lying back on an armchair, his eyes shut, though he’s not sleeping. When we hear the sound of a vehicle drawing up he doesn’t move, but Sharon Mason rises from the sofa and looks out of the window. She sees the reporter get out, and then a man in a leather jacket with a mike and camera. She stares a moment then glances in the mirror and reaches a hand to touch her hair.

‘DI Fawley?’

It’s one of Challow’s team, halfway down the stairs. A girl, but I think she must be new because I don’t recognize her voice. I can’t see her face either, what with the hood and the mask. Contrary to what they’d have you believe on telly, forensic fashion is far more chicken-packer than TV CSI. They drive me crazy, those sodding shows – the last thing a real forensics officer would ever do is contaminate a crime scene by flicking their bloody hair extensions about. The girl beckons to me, and I follow her up to the landing. The door in front of us has a neat plaque announcing

Daisy’s Room

and a piece of paper stuck to it with Blu-Tack saying

KEEP OUT!!

in large untidy capitals.

‘We’ve got what we need,’ she says. ‘But I thought you would want to see the room. Even if we don’t go in.’

When she pushes open the door I understand what she means. No kid’s room ever looked like this outside of a sitcom. Nothing on the floor, nothing on the surfaces, nothing shoved under the bed. Comb precisely parallel with the brush. Soft toys sat in a line, staring at us with their small beady eyes. The effect is more than a little disconcerting. Not least because the boisterous, bubbly child I saw on the video footage simply doesn’t fit with a room as preternaturally neat as this. Some empty rooms echo with the people who once inhabited them. But this is the emptiness of absence, not presence. The only sign she was ever here is the Disney poster on the far wall. The princess from Brave , alone in the forest with her defiant bright red hair, and across the bottom in big orange letters CHANGE YOUR FATE. Jake loved that film too – we took him twice. It was a good message for kids – that it’s OK to be yourself; you just need the courage to be who you really are.

‘Horrible, isn’t it?’ says the girl beside me, breaking into my thoughts.

At least she has the tact to keep her voice down.

‘You think so?’

She’s taken her mask off now and I can see her wrinkle her nose. ‘Talk about over the top. I mean, absolutely everything matching like that? No one likes their name that much, believe me.’

And now that she mentions it, I see it. It’s all daisies. The whole bloody lot. Wallpaper, bedspread, curtains, cushions. All different, but all daisies. There are plastic daisies in a green pot, and a bright yellow daisy headband hanging on the dressing-table mirror. Glittery daisy hairslides, a daisy lampshade and a daisy mobile hanging from the ceiling. It’s not so much a bedroom as a theme park.

‘Perhaps she liked it that way?’ But even as I’m saying it I’m not buying it.