‘Thank you, ma’am.’ Gillard tried his damnedest to keep every trace of sarcasm from that response.

‘I’m sure you’ll do a fine job, Craig. I’m counting on you. I’m allocating DI Claire Mulholland to help you.’

The line went dead.

Gillard had originally entertained hopes of being able to make it for the funeral reception at the Red Lion, Colin Hodges’ local. His wife Joan would have ordered a great spread, and he had been looking forward to munching his way through a great stack of sandwiches. The magnitude and urgency of the case now dumped upon him made that impossible. He texted Joan his apologies.

Before driving back to Surrey Police headquarters in Guildford he emailed Research Intelligence Officer DC Rob Townsend, appended the missing woman’s mobile number and told him to get cell tower traces done in time for an incident room meeting in Mount Browne at four o’clock. Three hours should be enough. He also put in an urgent email request to the Met to get some basic interviews undertaken at the Royal College of Music in South Kensington with the missing woman’s teachers, friends and fellow students. He wanted her medical records, and any electronic devices at her student digs too. Years of experience led him to copy in the chief constable to ensure that his resource-grabbing request to the Met was treated with the appropriate respect, rather than the virtual two fingers that a nobody like him would normally get from the capital’s police service. Finally, he rang Mr Singer and left a message.

With the ball now rolling, Gillard began to consider the student’s movements. Lynne’s detailed notes showed that the Lysander Quartet had the week before taken a last-minute booking for the Clandon Spa Hotel wedding reception. Their set was over by eight, and all the musicians bar Beatrice went back to London. No one had seen her since that time, but there were two text messages from Beatrice’s phone on Tuesday afternoon. The one he had seen was to Karen Ellsworth, confirming that she would be at the concert in London. According to Karen, Beatrice’s second text was an hour later to another member of the quartet, saying she was fine and would be there on time.

The hands-free phone disturbed his thoughts as he was motoring on the A3. It was the control room patching through a call from an Adrian Singer. Perhaps the last person to see Beatrice Ulbricht.

‘Hello Mr Singer.’

‘I’m returning your call, detective chief inspector. I had a message earlier from PC Fairbanks. I’m really worried to hear about Beatrice. It’s quite unlike her.’

‘Yes, that’s what everybody says. I’d like to get you in to make a detailed statement, but perhaps I can just ask you a couple of questions.’

‘Of course.’

‘I understand that you had picked up Ms Ulbricht from Clandon Spa Hotel after the concert.’

‘I did, yes. I brought her back to my place in Westmeare for dinner, and after that I dropped her at the bus stop.’