‘Well, I haven’t seen her leave. I’ll try Mr Vincent’s room.’ She picked up the telephone, pressed two digits and waited while the extension rang. Then she frowned. ‘There’s no answer. Perhaps they’ve gone to the sun lounge.’ An attendant was coming from that direction. ‘Oh, Roddy,’ she called. ‘Have you seen Mr Vincent?’

‘I thought he was in his room,’ the attendant called back. Hepton felt the hairs bristle on the back of his neck.

‘Where’s his room?’ he said.

‘The end of the corridor on the first floor, but you can’t just—’

He couldn’t just, but he already was: he ran to the sweeping staircase, took it two steps at a time, stumbling at the top, and ran along the first-floor corridor. He pushed open the last door he came to and looked in. It was a large, airy room, the walls cream-coloured and the bed a double. Some of Paul’s things were lying about, but not untidily. There was an en suite bathroom, and Hepton paused at this door before turning the handle, expecting the worst.

‘Paul?’ he called. Then he pushed the door and let it sweep open on its silent hinges. But the bathroom was empty. He felt momentary relief, though he couldn’t say exactly what he had thought he would find. Then his neck prickled again. Paul wouldn’t have left knowing that Hepton was on his way. He would have stayed close to his room. He wouldn’t have let Harry take him away without a struggle. Not unless he’d been drugged …

The woman from the front desk was standing at the bedroom door, with the attendant peering over her shoulder.

‘He’s not here,’ she said.

‘So where is he?’ Hepton’s voice was loud, and the woman recoiled a little.

‘The stool from beside the bed’s not there either,’ she said. ‘Maybe he’s taken it into the garden …’

‘I’ll go and look,’ said the attendant, skipping away, glad perhaps of a little bit of action. Hepton was back in the corridor again. He examined the other doors. Three, like Vincent’s, were unmarked. Other bedrooms, he supposed. And one was marked Stores.

‘Where else might they have gone to talk?’ Hepton asked the woman.

‘Well, there’s the television room, of course, but it’s not ideal for conversation. Some of our patients are slightly deaf, and they like the volume turned up. Then there’s the morning room and the library.’

‘Library?’

‘Downstairs. It’s usually empty. But I’m sure I would have seen them go in there. They’d have had to go through reception to get to it.’

‘Would you check anyway?’ The woman seemed doubtful. Hepton tried a smile. ‘Please?’ he said. ‘It’s very urgent that I talk to Mr Vincent.’

She hesitated. ‘Very well then,’ she said, and turned and walked back along the corridor.