He was silent for a moment. ‘Actually I didn’t drop her. She walked out to the main road where the bus stop is. It’s only 200 yards.’

‘What time was that?’

‘Just before eleven.’

‘Are there bus services at that time of night on a Sunday?’

‘I don’t know.’

Gillard didn’t want to press too hard at this point. There were obvious question marks over Singer’s account, but he would rather apply pressure when he was in a position to make notes.

‘Did you contact her to make sure that she had got home all right?’

‘Not until the next day. And she didn’t reply. I think she’s upset with me.’

‘Why would that be?’

‘We had an argument. I think she misunderstood my intentions.’

Or understood them too well, Gillard thought. ‘Would that be about the nature of your offer of accommodation?’

‘Er, yes, I suppose so.’

‘Do you have any idea where she might have gone?’

‘None whatsoever.’

He arranged to visit Singer in the evening, and then hung up.

The man had volunteered a great deal of information that did not put him in a great light. But it was equally clear he hadn’t told the complete truth.

Rob Townsend was waiting by Gillard’s desk, like a dog expecting dinner. ‘What have you got for me, Rob?’ he asked.

‘Got a clear trace on the phone. She didn’t go back on Sunday evening, despite the text message saying so. The phone was off for a day and a bit, until Tuesday afternoon when she headed up to London, according to the cell site analysis. She lights up all the towers from Clandon to Waterloo. The speed and path fits with a train journey, with further traces within London during the evening. There’s another trip, seemingly by road, towards Brentford this morning.’

Gillard blew a sigh of relief. ‘Hopefully she’s not missing at all then. What about texts and emails?’

‘There’s dozens incoming, only a few in the other direction. I’ve just sent an electronic copy of the warrant to the service provider, so should get be able to see the full contents today.’

‘Did you call in any CCTV?’

‘Well, I thought maybe we didn’t need to. It would be hard to know where to start.’

‘Not Waterloo obviously, unless you want to send Carl Hoskins mad scanning a million people emerging from trains. You obviously start at the quietest place where she would be easy to spot. Clandon station, I suppose. Does that fit the trace?’

‘Yes, that seems to be where she got on.’

Clandon, a tiny village a few miles east of Guildford was known for Clandon House, a stately home belonging to the National Trust. The small station served a semi-rural hinterland of well-heeled commuter belt. The village hall where the concert took place was just a few hundred yards south.

‘Did you ring Network Rail to check whether it has CCTV?’

Townsend looked flustered. ‘Not yet, sir.’ It was easy to see what he was thinking. She’s obviously alive and kicking so why would we bother?