still seemed uncomfortable, scratching his eyebrow. ‘It’s very early still. Let’s keep the drug stuff on the backburner for the moment.’
‘It’s the most obvious line of enquiry,’ said Jo.
Stratton reddened. ‘So, enquire,’ he replied. ‘Just don’t put all our eggs in that basket.’
The phone in his office rang, and he went to get it.
‘What’s he so worried about?’ asked Heidi.
A few moments later, the front desk clerk buzzed a man into the CID room. Stratton trotted forward to greet him.
‘Nick!’ he said. ‘How are you holding up?’
Jo recognised MP Nicholas Cranleigh, but only vaguely – perhaps from pictures in the paper or something on TV. He wore a long black work coat over a suit. He was not quite as she’d envisaged, with his square, pugnacious face and neatly parted grey hair. She’d have guessed he was ex-military, rather than a banker.
‘Not too bad, Phil,’ he replied, his voice soft, almost unctuous. ‘Have we got anything?’
Jo watched the two men shaking hands, gripping each other’s elbows with a mixture of fondness and understanding. Old mates …
‘We’re making progress,’ said Stratton. ‘Forensics are over at the college, we’re putting together a timeline of Malin’s movements, and drawing up a network of associates. It won’t be long. We’ve contacted Malin’s mother.’
Cranleigh grimaced. ‘I suppose that’s sensible.’ He released Stratton’s arm and hand. ‘So do you think she’s all right?’
Stratton looked a little flummoxed, so Jo stepped in.
‘Excuse me, Mr Cranleigh. I’m Detective Masters, and I’m the lead investigator. We hope so, sir. Maybe it’s best to go somewhere private to discuss this?’
Cranleigh’s eyes narrowed in recognition. ‘Jill Masters, isn’t it? From that awful case in the summer.’
‘Jo,’ she corrected him. ‘I assume you’re talking about the Niall McDonagh kidnap. Yes, it was unpleasant, but happily we got a result.’
‘Stunning work by Jo here,’ said Stratton, like a proud father. Even though you didn’t believe me any step of the way …
‘Team effort,’ said Jo, acknowledging with a nod.
‘You don’t think that Malin’s been kidnapped, do you?’ asked Cranleigh.
‘It’s a possibility,’ said Jo. ‘Is there anyone who might hold a grudge against you?’
‘Plenty,’ said Cranleigh, with a wolfish smile. ‘I’m a politician.’ Jo couldn’t believe he was able to joke at such a time, and maintained a serious expression. He caught on, and added, ‘Honestly, no.’
‘You weren’t having Malin watched, then?’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘In a private security capacity, I mean.’
Cranleigh shook his head with a bemused grin. ‘Should I have been? I think you overestimate my means.’ He turned to Stratton. ‘Sorry, Phil, what’s your detective getting at?’
‘I’m not sure at all,’ said Stratton, glaring. ‘But we’ve got everyone working flat out.’
As soon as he’d said it, a voice came from the hallway. ‘It is fucking freezing. Put the heating on before my balls vanish completely.’
Stratton stiffened.
DC George Dimitriou came striding into the CID room, legs clad in Lycra, top half in a windbreaker, plus gloves and a buff. He was carrying his cycle helmet in one hand, a small rucksack in the other. His sweaty face was specked with dirt. Everyone was silent, and Jo tried to catch his eye.
‘What’s up?’ he asked. ‘Colder than a morgue in here.’
Stratton grinned, teeth bared. ‘Detective, this is Nicholas Cranleigh. The Right Honourable Nicholas Cranleigh. His daughter is missing.’
Dimitriou placed his helmet carefully on his desk, and wiped a streak of mud from his cheek. Sadly the ground didn’t swallow him up. ‘Ah, right. Nice to meet you, sir.’ Jo almost expected him to bow, but he settled for straightening his shoulders.
Stratton, looking furious still, put a hand on Cranleigh’s shoulder. ‘Would you like to come into my office, Nick?’ he said. ‘Drink?’
‘A coffee would be appreciated, if you’ve nothing stronger?’
Stratton looked from face to face in the CID room. ‘Jo, make Mr Cranleigh a coffee would you?’
So I’m the tea girl now?
‘Two sugars, please,’ said Cranleigh. Jo nodded as the two men went into the office and closed the door.
‘Fuck,’ said Dimitriou under his breath. ‘No one warned me.’
‘I tried,’ said Jo.
‘I hope you weren’t after a hot shower,’ said Heidi. ‘Boiler’s kaput.’
Dimitriou groaned.
Jo fired off her email to forensics, then went to make the coffee. She stopped on the way at the interview room, knocked on the window panel and beckoned to Pryce.
‘How’s it going?’ she asked, as he came to the door.
‘Almost done. Catskill says he’s got email records to show he was logged on in Goring at eleven-fifteen last night, so I can check that easily enough.’
‘There’s still a window,’ said Jo. ‘Think he’ll give us prints and a DNA sample voluntarily?’
‘He’s just very worried we’ll talk to his wife,’ said Pryce. ‘So shouldn’t be a problem.’
‘Malin’s father is here,’ said Jo. ‘Probably best they don’t cross paths.’
‘Got it. Any news on forensics?’
‘On their way. I’ll go back to coordinate.’
‘You need help?’
‘I don’t think so. I’ll try and have another chat with the Vice Provost too.’
As he went back inside, Jo saw Ross Catskill sitting upright in the chair. ‘Almost done now,’ she said. ‘You can leave soon.’
He smiled wanly.
Making the drinks, Jo pondered Cranleigh’s reaction. He seemed worried, of course, but almost weary too. They’d have told him about the blood, surely. She tried to put herself in his shoes. If this were her daughter, her step-daughter even …
