There were few books, mostly Mills & Boon romances, Martina Cole and bulky collections of illustrated fairy tales by Hans Christian Andersen and the Brothers Grimm, along with children’s books like The Water-Babies, Tales of Beatrix Potter, The Wind in the Willows and not surprisingly, a reproduction of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking-Glass with the Tenniel illustrations. The wardrobe held a couple of denim jackets, a winter coat with a fake fur collar, various leggings, distressed shorts and jeans, some miniskirts and cheap print dresses, along with a few pairs of shoes, including sandals, no-name trainers and two pairs of pumps. There was no mobile phone or computer. No stereo system, CDs, iPods or the like. No purse or handbag. No TV. In many ways, it was a spartan room, and Annie was hardly surprised Mimsy didn’t spend much time there. Though no doubt it was spartan exactly because she hadn’t spent much time there. But where had she spent her time, and what were the attractions there?

“Gerry, would you go ask Mr. Thornton for a bin bag and permission to take the contents of Mimsy’s laundry basket? Who knows, we might find something in her pockets, or stains with DNA to match the samples Jazz took from her body.”

Gerry went out and after a few moments came back with a black bin bag. “He says he doesn’t care what we take,” she told Annie. “The level in that whisky bottle’s gone down a fair bit, too.”

“People deal with bad news in their own way,” said Annie. “Any word from Johnny?”

“Nothing. I think there’s something seriously wrong with him.”

“You’re probably right about that. Brain damage would be my guess.” She glanced around the room again. “Anything else you think we should take?”

“Maybe the hairbrush?” said Gerry. “Just to make sure about the DNA.”

“Good point.” Annie put the hairbrush in one of the smaller plastic bags she carried in her shoulder bag, then put Mimsy’s dirty laundry in the bin bag and labeled both.

Downstairs everything seemed much the same except, as Gerry had noted, the level in the whisky bottle. The football game was still on, fast approaching extra time, Johnny hadn’t moved, and Thornton was lighting another cigarette. “We’ll be off now,” Annie said. “Are you sure there’s nothing we can do for you before we leave, Mr. Thornton?”

“Nay, pet. Just leave me be. I’ll be all right. Johnny and me, we’ll be all right.”

“Are you sure you don’t want us to call someone?”

“I don’t know as I want to talk to anyone right now,” said Thornton. “But thanks, hen. You’d best be on your way now, all right? Find out what happened to our Mimsy.”