Deity (24 page)

Yvette gulped back her coffee and narrowed her eyes. ‘Is that what this is about?’ She put a hand to her brow. ‘Shit, he’s not been filming people without permission again, has he? I should never have bought him that bloody camcorder.’

Brook
held up a hand. ‘He’s not in trouble. I just need to speak to him about who was at that party.’

‘Did something happen?’

‘He hasn’t said anything?’

She looked at the floor, thinking. ‘Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve seen him since.’

‘You haven’t seen him since?’ repeated Brook. ‘It’s Thursday today. We’re talking about last Friday.’

Yvette Thomson held her palms up. ‘Inspector, I’m not a bad mother – but I work nights. Rusty’s old enough. He has a key. He comes and goes. Have you got kids?’

‘A daughter. She’s twenty.’

‘Then you’ll know. If they want money or feeding, you see them. If they don’t . . .’

Brook nodded, though he was in uncharted waters. ‘Can I see his room?’

‘Tell me what’s wrong first. You’re starting to worry me.’

‘Kyle Kennedy was reported missing on Sunday. On Tuesday, Adele Watson and another girl, Becky Blake, were reported missing. No one’s seen any of them since the party.’

‘And you think . . .’ She turned and ran up the stairs. Brook followed. On the dark landing she hesitated as though getting her bearings, then burst through a door and stood frozen against the sunburst from the window. Brook pushed past her. The single bed was unruffled. In the middle of the duvet a mobile phone rested on a glossy leaflet.

Yvette leaned over Brook’s shoulder to read the only word she could make out. ‘Deity.’

‘Miss Thomson, you have to calm down.’ Brook watched her rifle through a kitchen drawer.

‘It’s
in here somewhere.’

‘What is?’

She pulled out a sheet of paper and pored over it. ‘This.’ She looked at her watch and back at the paper. ‘It’s Rusty’s timetable. He’s got a Media Studies lecture in two hours. He never misses that; he’s a big film buff.’

‘But—’

‘He’ll be there, I’m telling you. He wouldn’t leave me on my own.’

‘Okay, okay. I’ll come with you, just settle down. We need to inform the college officially anyway. In the meantime, we need a picture of him.’

Yvette shook her head. Tears were in her eyes. ‘I haven’t got one. We left a lot of stuff behind in the move.’ She started to sob.

‘All right. Before we go to the college, I want you to come back to Russell’s room, if you can face it, and tell me if anything is missing . . .’

Yvette Thomson had finally calmed down enough for Brook to leave her on her own in the kitchen, writing out a list of contact numbers, as well as any places, apart from the college, Russell might hang out.

Brook returned to Russell’s room to bag his mobile, as well as the leaflet. Russell’s laptop was closed on a table but Brook didn’t disturb it. He searched the bedroom quickly but found nothing of interest. There were only a handful of books, all connected to Russell’s love of films: actors’ biographies, memoirs and a book entitled
1000 Films to See Before You Die
. Despite his apparent love of film, there was only one DVD in the room –
Picnic at Hanging Rock
. He skimmed through the
books quickly but found no sign of handwritten notes of the kind left by Adele Watson.

The walls though were covered with at least a dozen original movie posters, only some of which Brook had seen before.
Blade Runner
,
2001
,
Badlands
,
Belle de Jour
,
Vertigo
,
Psycho
and
The Godfather
were the films Brook knew. Others unknown to him included
Picnic at Hanging Rock
and
The Blair Witch Project
. Four dots of Blu-tack indicated a missing poster, but Yvette had struggled to remember what it was.

Brook looked around the room for something that might contain Russell’s DNA. There were no combs or grooming products of any kind. Even a cursory glance at the bed didn’t produce any strands of hair. Although shabby, the room appeared to be spotless.

Brook moved into the bathroom. There was only one toothbrush in a pot and it appeared to be brand new. He left it there. A canister of shaving foam raised Brook’s hopes but there were no other shaving implements to accompany it.

‘John. I’m outside Derby College – the Roundhouse site. You sound a bit groggy.’ Brook looked at his watch. ‘Four hours’ sleep – that’s plenty. Listen. We’ve got a fourth student missing: Russell Thomson – same MO as the others. I’m here with the mother. She’s sure her son doesn’t have a passport, but check it out. She also told me there’s a course that Russell, Adele, Kyle and Becky take together – Media Studies. There’s a lecture in fifteen minutes so I’m dropping in to see if this is a hoax.

‘If they really are AWOL, I’ll talk to the other students taking the course, see if they know anything. On that subject, get on to Charlton. If these four
are
missing, we’re going to
need a lot of bodies at the college tomorrow to interview as many people as we can – staff, students, lecturers, the works. It’ll be a big operation but it has to be done tomorrow before the college breaks for half-term and memories fade.’

Brook listened for a moment. ‘No, it’s better if you talk to him. If he mentions budgets to me, well, I may not be diplomatic. Tell him I’ll be holding a press conference tonight. That should get his attention. How did the surveillance go? Nothing. As expected.’

Brook rang off and walked back towards Yvette Thomson, standing outside the college’s entrance. Her eyes were red-rimmed from tears, and despite the warmth of the day, she appeared to be shivering. Nevertheless she still managed to smile weakly at him.

As Brook crossed the car park towards her, he spotted a black Porsche parked in one of the reserved bays. He stopped briefly to jot down the licence-plate and bay number then continued on to the entrance.

‘You look cold. You should’ve waited inside.’

‘I’m all right,’ she said. ‘Besides, I forgot my accreditation.’

‘I didn’t,’ replied Brook. Inside the entrance he flashed his warrant card at the attendant who buzzed them through the nearest turnstile.

‘We’ve got ten minutes yet. Let’s get you a hot drink.’ Brook guided her towards the refectory and sat her down at one of the tables. He beckoned over a man in a chef’s hat and ordered two cups of tea. ‘Put lots of sugar in – it’s good for shock.’

‘Where are you going?’

‘I won’t be a minute, Miss Thomson. Just need to check something at the security desk.’

‘Eve.’

‘Pardon?’

She covered his hand briefly and Brook resisted the urge to pull it away. ‘I hardly know you, Inspector, but you’ve been so kind. My name’s Yvette but please call me Eve. That’s what my special friends call me.’

Brook looked down into her eyes. ‘Eve.’ He smiled at her. ‘That’ll save a lot of breath.’

To Brook’s surprise, she laughed, her distress forgotten for a moment.

Brook held the heavy wooden door for Yvette Thomson and followed her through into the Media Suite. A man in his early thirties with blond tinted hair, parted in the middle, was bent over a laptop, tapping attendance marks on to an online register. Meanwhile, half a dozen bored-looking teenagers stared vacantly or poked at their phones, their backs to Brook and Yvette. Only one student, a well-built and handsome young man feeding a DVD into a machine, stopped what he was doing and watched the pair walk to the front of the suite.

Brook returned the boy’s unwavering gaze. It was the same young man who had stood under the streetlight looking up at Brook, as he and Noble had searched Kyle Kennedy’s bedroom.

‘Even for the day before half-term this is a poor turnout,’ said the man to the laptop. ‘Okay, start the film, Jake.’ The boy appeared not to hear him and continued to stare at the detective.

‘Adam Rifkind?’

The man looked up at Brook, startled. ‘Can I help you?’

Brook ran a swift eye over the salon tan, the weak chin, the
faint line of the missing wedding ring and the casual attire. ‘I’m Detective Inspector Brook, Derby CID.’

‘Eve,’ purred Rifkind, suddenly seeing Brook’s companion. He unveiled his most charming smile. ‘I’m sorry, Rusty hasn’t arrived yet.’ His beam disappeared as Yvette Thomson hurried from the room, her hand over her face to suffocate the whimpering. ‘Oh my God,’ said Rifkind, ‘so it’s true.’

‘True?’ enquired Brook.

‘These rumours circulating, that some of our students are missing.’

‘Where did you hear that?’ asked Brook.

‘Other students.’ He turned to a young blonde girl in the front row. ‘Fern, did you tell me Becky was missing?’

The girl nodded. ‘Sort of. I been calling Becks since I got back Sunday. She’s my best mate,’ she explained to Brook. ‘Her stepmum told me she disappeared. Kyle too.’

‘You don’t sound too worried,’ observed Brook.

The girl’s expression turned to one of pity for someone as uninformed as Brook. ‘Becks can look after herself. She’s gone on holiday, her stepmum said. Her passport’s gone – and Kyle’s.’ She leered. ‘Reckon Becks is gonna shag him straight—’

‘Yes, thank you, Fern,’ interrupted Rifkind. ‘Very colourful.’

‘What about Russell Thomson?’ asked Brook, addressing the room. ‘Anyone know where he might have gone?’ Brook’s question was greeted by silence. ‘Has anyone seen him or Kyle or Becky Blake since last Friday?’ Again silence, accompanied by shaking of heads. Brook turned his gaze on to Rifkind. ‘What about Adele Watson? Same questions.’

Rifkind’s eyes widened and he appeared to catch at a
breath. ‘Adele? She’s missing too?’ Brook could detect surprise in Rifkind’s voice. It seemed genuine.

‘None of them have been seen since Kyle Kennedy’s eighteenth-birthday party, last Friday night.’ Brook looked around the small gathering. ‘Did anyone here attend the party?’ All heads were shaking again. All except the boy identified as Jake. ‘What about you, Jake?’

Jake looked down at the wrapping paper torn open on a nearby chair. Brook followed his gaze. ‘I was invited. But I didn’t go.’

‘Why?’

Jake appeared unable to answer. When he did speak, it was with venom. ‘Because Kyle’s a faggot and I didn’t want to catch AIDS.’ While the other students laughed, Jake’s face was like stone. Rifkind gave him a look of disgust but, to Brook’s surprise, said nothing.

‘It’s a wonder you were invited at all,’ replied Brook coldly. ‘And even stranger that you should buy him a present.’

Jake looked at the DVD case and then at Brook. ‘I told you, I didn’t go.’

‘No. But you must be very worried about your friend to stand outside Kyle’s house, watching us conduct our inquiry.’ Jake bowed his head without reply. ‘Do you know who else was invited?’ This time he simply shrugged. ‘What’s your surname, Jake?’

‘McKenzie.’

Brook turned to the lecturer. ‘Can I have a word in private, Mr Rifkind?’

After a brief hesitation, Rifkind nodded and indicated the door. ‘Start watching the film, people. I won’t be long.’ He followed Brook to the door and turned off the lights as Brook
held the door for him. In the darkness, a female voice boomed through the speakers.

Brook stopped in his tracks and turned back to the giant screen. A beautiful young girl with long blond hair was lying on a bed.

‘We’ve seen this bit,’ called one of the students. Whoever was in charge of the remote control returned the DVD to the main menu.

‘
Picnic at Hanging Rock
,’ said Brook under his breath before following Rifkind out of the suite.

‘What can I do for you, Inspector?’

‘You can tell me what it’s like driving a Porsche,’ Brook smiled. Rifkind narrowed his eyes at him. ‘I saw it outside. The security desk told me it was yours.’

Still Rifkind eyed him, saying nothing. Finally he shrugged. ‘It gets me from A to B,’ he said, with a smugness that unexpectedly raised Brook’s hackles. ‘How can I help?’

‘I’d like to hear about your relationship with Adele Watson.’

The double-edged nature of the request gave Rifkind pause but he sidestepped the trap without difficulty. ‘Certainly. She’s a very able girl, very bright – my star Literature student, in fact.’ He looked coolly at Brook. ‘She’s going to Cambridge next year if she achieves her expected grades. And thanks to me, she will.’

Brook smiled politely to crank up Rifkind’s discomfort. ‘And she’s a very pretty girl.’

‘I
wouldn’t know about that, Inspector. I’m a happily married man.’

‘Not according to her diary.’ Brook paused. ‘Unless Adele’s having an affair with another Adam Rifkind who teaches here.’

Rifkind seemed suddenly out of breath. The walls finally crumbled and he looked around to be sure no one was watching his carefully constructed self-assurance being dismantled. He made to speak but stopped himself. At last he managed, ‘She’s eighteen. We . . . didn’t do anything illegal.’

‘That’s reassuring,’ answered Brook. ‘But it may not tally with the Sexual Offences Act, Section 16, subsection (c) on Abuse of a Position of Trust.’ He smiled again to quicken Rifkind’s heart-rate. ‘Where is she?’

Rifkind’s head snapped back. ‘I’ve no idea. You must believe me. I didn’t even know she was missing until now.’

‘You haven’t tried to contact her?’

‘No. We . . . broke it off.’

‘When?’

‘Over a week ago. And I haven’t seen her since this time last Thursday.’

Brook nodded. ‘So she dumped you.’

‘No!’ exclaimed Rifkind indignantly. ‘I took the decision that we should . . .’ He glared at Brook.

‘Was she upset?’ asked Brook.

‘Why are you asking, if you know already?’ Then Rifkind closed his eyes in self-reproach. ‘You haven’t read her diary, have you?’ he added bitterly.

‘I never said I had,’ replied Brook, with an unnerving grin. Normally he disliked applying the thumb-screws, but he’d taken an instant dislike to Rifkind. He reminded Brook of Terri’s stepfather, Tony Harvey-Ellis, the smooth-talking
Public Relations manager who had taken Terri’s virginity when she was just fifteen.