There were four doors leading off the landing, all shut. A second staircase led up to the next floor, but there was a sign across the stairs that said Fintan’s Lair. There had been no mention of a “Fintan” in any of the Brethren’s e-mails—she’d try up there only if she struck out down here. Dismissing the door behind which the sound of the shower was loudest, Susan tried one that opened into a room clearly belonging to Elise. There was a rainbow row of nail polish along the mantelpiece, files and folders marked A–Z by subject on the shelves, and a desk by the window that looked as if it had been tidied with a set square. The only hint of disorder was the heap of clothes left in the middle of the floor. The next room barely looked lived in—although Susan recognized Daisy’s pajamas on the bed and quickly shoved them into an empty backpack, found hanging on the back of the door, which she was at least 63 percent sure belonged to Daisy, too. Susan turned to the room at the front, feeling the steady build of triumph that came with knowing she was on to something. No lock. Jasper and Elise had relied on rumor alone as deterrent.

Paper chaos reigned inside—splayed books in French and Spanish lay facedown on almost every surface, sheaves of notes and magazines strewn across the floor. Clothes hung over the back of the desk chair, the end of the bed, and the corner of the wardrobe, from which a dinosaur onesie loomed into view. The place lived up to its reputation . . . apart from one area. There was a single tidy zone on the far wall. Someone had positioned an Anglepoise lamp (Daisy’s!) to light a stack of wooden crates, upon which stood one of those obscenely expensive candles that wealthy, frivolous students used as a way of demonstrating a personality.

On the floor next to that, an assortment of oddities laid in a heap. Travel sets of branded toiletries, expensive stationery, a leather jacket, some pricey scarves, a stack of games and Blu-rays and hardback books . . . some barely worn shoes still in their boxes. And there, dangling off a student-issue mug tree, was a selection of necklaces and bracelets and bangles and rings.

Hurriedly, Susan pulled her phone from her bra and snapped photos of the things the Brethren had so willingly handed over, priced and ready to sell over the Internet. Then she crouched down and hunted for Daisy’s missing necklace.

It was only when Susan knocked the pile of Blu-rays over and they clattered to the floor that she realized she could no longer hear the hiss of the water pipes.

When Esther’s phone buzzed, her immediate reaction was to check it.

“Now’s really not the best time . . .” Daisy said.