Free Dead of Winter by Elizabeth Corley Page B

relaxation in her shoulders as she drained her mug.
    ‘That would be Puff and Octavia. Here,’ she scribbled on a piece of paper. ‘This is Octavia’s room number; they hang out there as it’s larger than Puff’s. You might catch them before their next lesson. Be careful how you handle Octavia. She’s the younger daughter of Sir Dominic Henry, a very influential man in the City and generous donor to the College Foundation. Miss Henry more than makes up in self-belief for what she lacks in modesty. Now, to get there, take the back door from the hall and follow the brick path – avoid the lawn and the gravel.’
    He followed her instructions, found MacArthur House and climbed the stairs to the second floor. The sound of rock music flowed down the corridor from a room at the end. His knock went unanswered, probably because it couldn’t be heard, so he pushed open the door and stuck his head inside.
    Two girls the same age, one blonde, the other brunette and extremely pretty, were lying on twin beds, their feet tapping to the beat, cigarettes in their fingers.
    ‘Hello,’ he said, realising suddenly that he was breaking all the rules: alone with girls, in their bedroom, no other adult present.
    He needn’t have been concerned. They were too worried about him reporting their illicit smoking to think of making a complaint.
    ‘Octavia?’ The blonde nodded with affected indifference. ‘And Puff?’ The brunette gulped and whispered
yes
. ‘I’m Superintendent Andrew Fenwick. I’d like you to accompany me to the incident room so that I can interview you.’
    Fenwick studied Octavia’s room. It was large enough for two single beds, an armchair and a desk under a bay window. Across from where he stood was a door to an en suite shower room. The bedroom walls were covered with posters and student works of art. Behind one bed were delicate watercolours interspersed with charcoal sketches of plants and trees. Above the other were violent collages and an oil painting he thought grotesque. Immediately on his left was an abstract study in acrylics, all primary colour insistence. Although he didn’t understand the picture he found himself staring, drawn into its passion.
    ‘We’ve already told somebody everything we know,’ Octavia said belligerently, recalling his attention.
    ‘You haven’t spoken to me and I want to hear your account first hand.’
    ‘Why?’ Octavia wasn’t prepared to give an inch. She stubbed out her cigarette and swivelled her legs to the floor, searching with her feet for her boots.
    ‘You’re Issie’s best friends; she has been missing for more than twenty-four hours and if you had a shred of real feeling for her you’d be willing to help me in any way you could.’
    His bluntness shocked her into silence. Puff was already pulling on her outdoor jacket.
    In the incident room Fenwick took Octavia to one of the cubicles at the far end and asked Puff to wait.
    ‘I’m meant to be in history.’
    ‘Please feel free to call administration to let them know where you are.’
    He gestured to the phone. Octavia ignored it.
    ‘It’s a research set, they’ll think I’m in the library.’
    ‘You can have a teacher with you.’
    The look she gave him could have scorched earth.
    ‘Quite unnecessary.’ Octavia glared at him, crossed her arms and sighed as a policewoman came to join them.
    Fenwick leant forward, his tone more gentle.
    ‘I want to find Issie, Octavia. I know you think she’s run off but we don’t, not without money or her credit card.’
    ‘Issie has friends all over; she could be with any one of them.’
    ‘What makes you so sure?’
    Octavia took a lock of blonde hair and started to play with it. She affected a bored, suffering look. Fenwick tried to think how he would coax his daughter Bess out of a similar mood, not that she had yet graduated to Octavia’s level of indifference, but then she was only twelve. He caught Janice looking at him and nodded for her to come