can’t even imagine how much competition there must have been for something like that.’
The flutter of unease Somer’s had all morning has sharpened into foreboding. It shouldn’t make a difference, that Sasha is clever and likes poetry and is interested in the world, but it does. It does.
‘Are those hers too?’ Fawley says now, walking over to a cork board hanging by the window. It’s thick with photos, but they’re very different to the ones her mother has downstairs: Sasha and her friends, grinning, sticking their tongues out, making rabbit ears behind each other’s heads. And beside the snaps and selfies, a scattering of sketches: what looks like the view across Port Meadow, a bowl of oranges and pears, a pair of pink stilettos, one lying on its side.
And suddenly Somer sees what Fawley’s getting at. ‘Oh, you mean the shoes?’
He shrugs. ‘And the Vogue thing. And the fact that Faith lives barely a mile from here.’
She joins him, and they stare in silence at the drawing.
‘An interest in fashion isn’t much, by way of a link,’ she says eventually. ‘Not when you’re talking teenage girls. And Faith is three years older, at college –’
‘Just look at her,’ he says. ‘Sasha, I mean.’
And she knows what he’s getting at. It’s not just the hair or the facial resemblance. It’s only a hunch – an intuition – but something tells her Sasha is the girl Faith has always wanted to be. Pretty in a happy, effortless, unforced way. Confident about who she is, content in her own skin, and barely able to imagine what it might feel like not to be. Even as her anxiety sharpens for Sasha, Somer still finds her heart aching for Faith.
‘I’ll give Faith a call and ask her if they’ve ever met,’ she says at last. ‘Being so nearby, I suppose it’s possible.’
‘And get me a list of all male employees under thirty at those building firms we’ve been looking at. It’s possible one of them is this older boyfriend Sasha’s mother is apparently unaware of.’
Somer didn’t know about him either, not till this moment. But this is the Fawley she knows – the Fawley they all know. The one who finds unseen connections, the one who gets there first.
She glances at him. ‘You think there really could be a connection with what happened to Faith?’
‘Yes,’ he says heavily. ‘I’m afraid I do.’
But she can’t read his expression. Resignation? Apprehension?
‘Update DS Gislingham, please,’ he says. ‘And then go through this room with a fine-tooth comb. Look for anything from her father, and any sort of diary. Basically anything that might give us some names – male names. And take that laptop in for Baxter to look at, but make sure you get Mrs Blake’s written permission first.’
‘Where are you going, sir?’
‘To Headington, to see Isabel Parker. The school have sent her home. Let’s just hope she remembers something Patsie doesn’t.’
He stops at the door. ‘And tell Gislingham I want everyone back at base at 6.00. If there’ve been no other developments.’
He doesn’t need to spell it out.
* * *
* * *
Back at the incident room, the atmosphere is dense with anxiety. They know the stats – how quickly the clock runs down on abduction victims, how low the chances are of finding them alive once twenty-four hours are passed.
Gislingham is at the front, collating the Sasha material on a whiteboard. A new one, set up next to Faith’s. Close enough that they can start drawing lines between them if they need to, but not touching, not yet, because Gislingham is superstitious, and he’s not alone. No one wants these two cases to be connected. No one.
‘There’s no sign of Sasha on the speed camera on Cherwell Drive last night,’ says Quinn, looking up and catching his eye. ‘I’m going to call the bus company – see if they have CCTV in that vehicle.’
Baxter glances up. ‘Good luck with that,’ he says heavily.
Gis turns and looks for Everett. ‘Anything on her mobile yet?’
‘I’ve asked for the call log,’ she says. ‘But the phone is definitely off.’
‘When was the last signal?’
‘Last night, at 9.35 in Summertown. Must have been just before they got on the bus.’
‘Isn’t that rather an odd time for her to turn it off?’ says Gis.
Ev shrugs. ‘Perhaps her battery was low.’
‘I’ve trawled her social media,’ says Baxter, ‘and Patsie’s right – looks like Sasha’s father did find her through Facebook. There’s a Jonathan Blake living in Leeds listed among her Friends, but he must