When Paul took the police up to Freya’s attic room, it had a tableau-like stillness. Her black Adidas kitbag hung from her favorite swivel chair. A glass of cherry Lucozade gave off a powerful scent from beside her bed. Pairs of snow-white sports socks were arranged with precision in the drawer, but her makeup spilled over the dressing table and her en suite was a bombsite of balled-up towels. The room was a scene of contradictions: meticulous in some ways and chaotic in others; simultaneously adult and childish, with weighty psychology textbooks next to threadbare teddies she’d had forever. There was nothing obviously missing, apart from the handbag and jacket she’d taken to school—of course, Steph remembered she’d been wearing her navy Puffa and Paul felt a failure for not having a clue.

Back in the living room, the questions began.

Who would have seen Freya today?

Does she have a boyfriend? (Paul and Steph shook their heads in unison, then glanced at each other with a silent appendix: “Not as far as we know.”)

Does she drink alcohol? (“She’s more into fitness . . .”)

Take drugs? (Steph’s outraged “No!” was directed right at the female PC’s note-taking hand.)

And you’re certain this is unusual behavior for her? (Paul’s voice rose at last, steely-edged: “We wouldn’t have called you if it wasn’t.”)

Right near the end, the woman caught him off guard: “I know this sounds extreme, but we need to get the full picture . . . Do either of you have any enemies? Anyone who might want to harm or threaten you? For any reason?”

Paul flinched, then froze. Steph must have felt it, sitting next to him, because her head turned his way. From the opposite sofa he saw the PCs’ surprise at this break in the routine. Most parents probably dismissed this question in an instant: Ridiculous, of course not.

Steph was still looking at him. They all were. He shook his head and the police officers seemed to make a silent decision to move on, asking about Freya’s recent state of mind. Paul stared at the photos on the wall and tried to deny the dread that was welling from his stomach.

Don’t jump to wild conclusions. She’s at a friend’s, forgotten to charge her phone. She’ll be back by morning and we’ll make her promise never to scare us like this again.

Another voice wormed its way forward. You complacent idiot, Paul. Of course something like this was always going to happen.

4.

KATE

Twenty-five years earlier