Sarah shakes her head, I realize we really are starting with nothing. There’s no time to waste. In this extreme cold, too much time has already gone by. “I’ll go and talk to her parents.”
Just then, the Hamptons come back in with a tray of mugs. “Thank you.” I take one of them. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to ask you about Hollie.”
Under makeup streaked by her tears, Mrs. Hampton’s face is white as a sheet. Her hands are shaking as she places the tray on the coffee table. “Won’t you sit down?”
While they pull up chairs, I get out my notebook and pen. Looking up at them, I do my best to reassure them. “We’ll be starting a search at dawn tomorrow. It’ll be centered on the village, but we’ll widen the search until we find her. Unless there’s anywhere specific you think she might be?”
When they shake their heads, I go on. “Can you tell me about Hollie? Do you have a photograph I could take?” As I speak, Sarah Collins passes me a six-by-four color photo. “It was taken six months ago.”
“Great.” I pause, taking in Hollie’s huge eyes and long dark hair, which look so much more striking than in the small photo the DI sent me. She’s a beautiful girl—and slightly ethereal looking. “When she wasn’t at school, was there anywhere she went, any friends she saw, any clubs she took part in?”
I watch their faces carefully as James speaks. “As we’ve told your colleagues, she’s friends with Niamh Buckley in the village. We don’t really know her school friends. She doesn’t bring them back here.”
It’s not unusual when teenagers reach a certain age, though I can’t help thinking that sometimes there’s a reason why they keep their friends from their parents. “How would you describe her?” Knowing as I voice the question, the answer depends on whom you ask. Parents are not always entirely objective. But maybe because Hollie isn’t her birth daughter, Stephanie Hampton’s assessment sounds believable. “She’s spirited and very clever, but she has demons. Hollie’s fragile—her mother died six years ago. I don’t think she’s ever come to terms with the loss. I think that knowing her for such a short time, I see her a little differently from James.” She glances at her husband. “I’d describe her as ferociously loyal, artistic, given to drama... but in short, she’s a tortured soul.”
I turn to James Hampton. “You think that’s a fair description? Would you like to add anything?”
He shakes his head slowly. “Not really.”
I turn back to Stephanie. “As her stepmother, did you get on well? I’m sure it isn’t always easy.”
“It wasn’t—not at first. I knew I couldn’t replace Kathryn—James’s first wife—but I thought that if I was someone Hollie knew she could rely on, it would be the best basis for a relationship with her. That’s what I’ve tried to be.”
It sounds a sensible enough approach to the minefield of stepparenting. “Has Hollie seemed upset lately? Or different in any way?”
“Not really.” As Stephanie looks at James, something flickers between them. “I’d say she was the same.”
James looks haunted. “Hollie’s always been a bit of a drama queen. It’s the way she’s made.”
I move on to the facts. “You last saw her when?”
“Tuesday.” Stephanie’s voice is sharp.
It’s now Thursday. “Was that Tuesday night?”
Stephanie nods. “Yes, at tea. We assume she spent the night here. Neither of us saw her on Wednesday morning. When it got to breakfast time, James went to wake her, but her bed was empty. It looked as though she’d slept in it, though.”
“So she left here sometime between Tuesday night and early Wednesday morning. What time do you get up?”
“I’m usually up around seven.” Stephanie glances at her husband. “James is later, as a rule.”
“So it’s reasonable to assume that Hollie had gone by then?”
Stephanie nods. “She could have slipped out while I was getting up, without me noticing, but it’s unlikely. Usually I hear her.”
But not impossible... I make a note. “So that morning, when you went to wake her for breakfast, you wouldn’t have been concerned that she wasn’t in her room?”
“No.” James Hampton frowns at me. “I really don’t see how this is helping anything.”
I hesitate, looking at both of them. “It may seem trivial, but I need to establish what Hollie’s routine usually was—what was and wasn’t normal. When did you think about calling the police?”
“I wanted to call that first night.” When Stephanie sounds resentful, my ears prick up. “James thought we should wait. He thought Hollie was probably at a friend’s house. On Thursday, we gave her until the end of the school day, but when she didn’t come home, we couldn’t wait any longer.”
“Would you have any idea from clothes that are missing, what she may have been wearing?”
Again, it’s Stephanie who speaks. “Probably jeans. There’s a pair I can’t find. Her jacket is missing—it’s green with a fur-lined hood.”
It’s more detail than I’d expected. “Would you mind if I had a look in her bedroom?”
James is tight-lipped as he gets up and heads toward the stairs. At the top, I follow him along the landing until he stops outside a half-open door. Feeling inside for the light switch, I turn it on. At first glance, it’s a typical teenage girl’s room—messy, items of clothing strewn here and there, drawers not closed properly, the doors to the wardrobe left ajar. A white metal-framed bed is along one wall, its pale pink covers disturbed, almost as though she’s just got out of it.
But this is the one part of this house that’s Hollie’s. The smallest clue could help find her. Without moving anything, my eyes scan bits of paper left on the pine desk where her laptop is, then a few that she’s stuck to the wall, photos and quotes alongside reminders to herself about homework.
I turn to James. “Do you know if Hollie keeps a diary?”
When he shakes his head, I ask, “Does she have a boyfriend?” Hollie’s a pretty girl. It would be more surprising if she didn’t.
“No.”
My eyes linger on the laptop. “It might help if we were to take this. Is that OK?” Not that it’s optional. If Hollie’s in danger, we need all the help we can get.
“Fine.” James speaks abruptly. Then he adds, “I don’t have her phone. We think she must have it with her.”
“So I understand.” I pick up the laptop. “Thank you. I think that’s all—at least, for now.”
After reassuring the Hamptons that we’ll be in touch, we walk outside. In the time I’ve been in the house, frost has covered my car and as I get in and drive away, I feel myself shiver. I think about how James was on edge, haunted, stressed, while Stephanie was brittle. Judging from the size of the house, they clearly have
