‘They’re not. There’s dancing in the studio, but it’s not what I’d call a rave. They’re middle-aged, most of them. The music is crap. There’s a vicar and some ladies older than my parents. More your age, really.’
‘Thanks. I must see if I can get invited. When were you there?’
‘Night before last.’
The same night Mel had disappeared. This, surely, was critical. Keep the girl talking and find out all you can.
‘As recently as that? Did any of your friends go with you?’
She made a sound of scorn. ‘No chance. They’re a bunch of scaredy-cats.’
‘You’re certain of that?’
‘Positive.’
‘I bet they all wanted to know about it, though.’
She nodded. ‘Isn’t that typical?’
‘How do you know you were the only one of your class there? That happens to have been the night Melanie went missing.’
‘Mel wasn’t there.’
‘Can you swear to that?’
‘You don’t know her, or you wouldn’t even ask. She’s not into parties.’
‘Unlike you.’
‘I’m up for anything funky. It’s just a shame it was a let-down.’
‘Not funky?’
‘I didn’t let the others know it was a turn-off when I texted them.’
‘You texted them from the party?’
‘Naturally. Crashing it was a top result and I wanted everyone to know.’
‘All of them, including Mel? Did you get a message back?’
‘From Mel? No.’
‘Going by what you just said, she didn’t miss much. Did anyone spot you as a gatecrasher?’
‘Tom, obviously, and he was OK with it.’ She appeared to decide enough had been said about the party. ‘Can we talk about something else? I’m getting bored with this.’
‘Do you have any idea where Mel might be?’
She shook her head. ‘What a dumb question. I’d have told someone by now, wouldn’t I? And now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got work to do.’
‘She hasn’t texted you?’
‘She hasn’t texted anyone for two days.’
‘Each hour that passes makes it more likely she’s in real trouble. You’d help me if you knew anything, wouldn’t you?’
‘Of course. I want you to find her.’
He believed her. For all the posturing, she had integrity.
Back in the art room, he was keen to question Tom Standforth about the party.
The young teacher was on the defensive straight away. ‘Who’s been talking? Ella, I suppose.’
‘I was thinking that as Ella turned up uninvited, Mel may have had the same idea.’
‘Hold on,’ he said. ‘You’re not suggesting I have anything to do with Mel’s disappearance?’
‘Asking, not suggesting.’
‘Well, she most certainly wasn’t there. I wasn’t pleased when Ella gatecrashed. The parties are for my adult friends. We don’t need schoolgirls barging in.’
Students, he thought, but didn’t voice the thought. ‘She didn’t seem all that impressed.’
‘What did she tell you?’
‘That the parties might suit someone my age. Cheeky.’ He grinned. ‘I’m not angling for an invitation, but it would be useful to meet your artist friends. Will they be at Fortiman House tomorrow, being Saturday?’
Tom frowned. ‘I don’t know why you need to meet them.’
‘We’re following up all the contacts Mel has made recently. She comes to your Saturday sessions, so she must have met the artists.’
‘They’re not kidnappers.’
‘Did I say they were?’
‘They wouldn’t appreciate being questioned by the police.’
‘No one ever does. What time do you get under way?’
He seemed to accept the inevitable. ‘Eleven.’
‘Don’t worry. I won’t ask what they smoke.’
‘I had the feeling those schoolgirls were running rings round me,’ he confessed to Georgina back at the hotel.
‘They probably were.’
‘I wouldn’t want to be their teacher.’
She smiled. ‘Don’t worry. You’d never get the job.’
‘They’re smart. They seem to be chattering nineteen to the dozen, but I’m certain what I’m getting isn’t the whole story. There’s more to come out. They’re selective in what they tell me.’
‘How do you know?’
‘The way they have of shutting me down when I’m getting warm, particularly the goth girl, Ella. Suddenly I’m told not to be boring. She’s only seventeen and she’s capable of making me feel like a schoolboy.’
‘Peter, you should be grateful. Thanks to this assignment of mine, you’re getting an education yourself.’
‘How, exactly?’
‘Into the ways of women. I don’t suppose you’ve ever been exposed to such a line-up of females: the devious schoolgirls; their overbearing headmistress; the highly inflammable Hen Mallin; her downtrodden sister-in-law, Cherry; not to mention me, bossing it over you twenty-four hours a day. And you haven’t even started on the artists. It’s a wonder you’ve survived as long as you have.’
23
Before visiting Fortiman House next morning, the police car took a route through a wooded area near Boxgrove that even the driver wasn’t familiar with. It was so quiet along these back ways that the local wildlife didn’t expect to be disturbed. Several pheasants and a rabbit came close to premature death and a territorial fox stood its ground in the middle of the lane until the last seconds.
‘The sat nav makes us close,’ the driver said without much confidence.
They were looking for the one-time home of the centenarian, Mrs Shah, who had once employed Joe Rigden as her gardener.
‘This has got to be the boundary fence,’ Georgina said.
A line of split hazel hurdles extended along the lane. After a short distance the driver braked in front of a low iron gate. Chained to it was a dusty and faded enamel nameplate with the words HOLLY BLUE COTTAGE and a picture of a butterfly. The two detectives got out. Being in such a remote spot, the cottage probably had as much land as the owner would wish to cultivate. Whether you could term it a garden any longer was questionable.
The front was as overgrown as the ancient wood they’d just passed through.
‘The one that got away,’ Diamond said. ‘A gardener hasn’t been near this place since the old lady died.’
‘Sad,’ Georgina said.
Between enormous shrubs crying out for a clipping, the cottage came into view, not quite the House of Usher, but showing signs of neglect. Slates were missing from the roof and the windows hadn’t been cleaned in a long time.
‘Last night I did some checking on the present owner,’ Diamond said. ‘It’s a company known as Mombasa Holdings Limited.’
‘Exotic,’ Georgina said.
‘Kenyan Asian, I would guess, like the late Mrs Shah. Clever people, making money and expanding into property.’
‘This doesn’t look clever to me. Who’d want to live here, way out in the country?’
‘Mrs Shah did.’
‘I don’t know how she managed when she was so old.’
‘She paid people to come to her, like Joe Rigden.’
‘Whoever is here now isn’t employing a gardener. Is it inhabited, do you think? Doesn’t look like it. You’d think they’d want to collect some rent and make it profitable.’
‘Maybe there are plans to develop it.’
‘It’s remote, Peter.’
‘It’s not all that way out, just difficult to reach. Five miles from Chichester, probably. We’re townies, you and me. Plenty of people like the country way of life.’
‘Desolate. I’d pay money not to live here. Do you still want to look round?’