‘Yes, that’s why I came in to report it.’

‘Has she ever done anything like this before?’ Gillard asked.

‘Never. It’s completely out of character. I got a text from her yesterday afternoon to say she was on her way into Waterloo—’

‘Where from?’

‘From Guildford, on the train. Well, Clandon actually.’

Clandon’s small station, a few miles east of the city, served a semi-rural hinterland. On a good day its well-heeled commuters could reach central London in less than an hour. ‘Can you show me the message?’ Gillard asked.

Karen nodded and passed him the phone.

Bea, where are u? All set for tonite?

On the train now. I’ll be there. X

The reply was timed at 15.58 on the Tuesday.

‘Is that the entire thread?’

‘Yes.’

‘And Beatrice lives with you?’

‘Yes, we share a flat at the Royal College’s student accommodation in West London. She’s not been home.’

‘How can you be sure?’

‘None of her stuff has been touched. The music stand has still got the music for the previous concert on it. And her violin is missing.’

‘Have you been in contact with her other friends?’

‘Yes, two of them are the other members of the quartet. I think all her London friends are musical. No one has heard from her since late yesterday afternoon.’

‘When did you actually last see her?’ Gillard asked.

‘On Sunday. The quartet played at a wedding at Clandon Spa Hotel, near Guildford.’ Gillard knew the place, it was one of the grandest hotels in the area.

‘Are you aware of any change in her personal circumstances, such as a death in the family, breaking up with a boyfriend, anything that would make her particularly unhappy?’

‘No. She’s got a steady boyfriend in Germany.’

‘Does she have a tendency for mood swings—’

Karen shook her head until her earrings jangled. ‘I’m not getting this across to you. She’s steady as a rock. She’s the leader of our quartet. I mean she’s the one who makes sure that we turn up.’

Gillard nodded, and rolled a pencil between his fingers. ‘I know it’s a big thing for you, missing the concert and all, but people go missing for all kinds of reasons, and after such a short time there’s no fundamental reason to believe anything untoward has happened.’

‘She would never have missed that concert,’ Karen said. ‘You don’t know her.’

‘Okay. We’ll need a description. What was she wearing?’

‘When I saw her on Sunday, she was in her typical uniform. A mid-calf-length navy blue overcoat, with a long rainbow scarf. She had this lovely mauve fedora, too.’

‘She should stand out then,’ Gillard replied. ‘Do you have a photo?’

Karen dug into her bag and produced an iPad. ‘I picked this from her YouTube channel,’ she said, selecting a video and turning it around so the officers could see it. Beatrice was wearing a sparkly black dress, standing in front of a full orchestra, with her eyes half closed and a beatific smile. The detective tried to concentrate on the woman’s elfin face, framed by wavy chestnut hair, but the power of the music and its overwhelming melancholy kept intruding. It was almost as if the soundtrack for the case was getting ahead of itself, the woman’s musical epitaph appearing before they knew whether she was dead or alive.