the left and snapped on the kettle, which was full. A cafetiere stood nearby. It already contained fresh coffee grounds and there was a small gift card still attached to the handle. It read,
Brook located the coffee jar and added another spoonful, then unearthed another mug from a cupboard. It contained four cups in total — all from different sets. Brook smiled. There was even a jam jar.
When the kettle boiled, Brook filled the cafetiere and opened the fridge. The only food was a half-full takeaway carton, a quarter of melon and a packet of butter. Brook plucked the milk from the door and made the coffee. He took a sip and opened another cupboard which was empty apart from three wine glasses.
‘Do you have a search warrant, Inspector?’
Brook turned. Yvette Thomson stood at the door. She was about three inches shorter than his six feet, slender but with a full figure that strained against her snug white T-shirt. She was strikingly pretty and could’ve passed for late twenties but Brook knew, with an eighteen-year-old son, she had to be early thirties, at least.
She grinned suddenly at Brook’s discomfort and her face lit up. ‘Sorry.’ She laughed. ‘I’ve been watching too much
‘Sorry to get you up this early, Mrs Thomson,’ said Brook. ‘I thought I’d catch you and Russell before you went to work.’
‘It’s Miss, though I’d prefer Yvette. And you could have given it another six hours.’ She yawned. ‘I’m working behind the bar at the Mermaid at the moment. It helps pay the rent while I study.’
She seemed in no hurry to enquire about his visit so Brook dredged up some more small talk. ‘What are you studying?’
‘I’m doing a course in Beauty Therapy at Derby College,’ she replied.
‘It seems to be working,’ said Brook, for something to say.
She smiled at him and took another sip of coffee. ‘I’ve missed a lot of the course actually — didn’t start until November.’
‘Must be tough moving during the academic year, especially for your son.’
Yvette considered Brook from behind her cup. ‘What’s all this about?’
‘I need to ask Russell a few questions. Is he here?’
‘Sorry. Rusty’s hardly ever at home.’
‘Pity. Who’s Wilson?’
Yvette Thomson rolled her eyes. ‘Oh my God — one of Rusty’s mates at the college.’ She looked away briefly. ‘By mates, I mean fellow students. Rusty doesn’t make friends easily.’
‘And were you expecting him?’
‘Wilson? No, but he keeps popping round, asking if I need any jobs doing. Well, it’s a rented house so I’m not about to embark on home improvements, but that doesn’t stop him asking. It was sweet at first,’ she said, ‘but it can get on your nerves. Apparently, he thinks I’m a MILF.’
Brook emitted a one-note laugh. ‘I hate to say it, but I know what that is.’
‘So do I,’ she answered. ‘A girl at college told Rusty it means Mums I Like Fine. Poor Rusty — so smart, yet so naive.’
‘He’s meeting girls at least.’
‘Adele? She’s
‘You’re referring to Adele Watson, I assume,’ said Brook. ‘She was at a party with Russell at the weekend.’
Yvette gulped back her coffee and narrowed her eyes. ‘Is that what this is about?’ She put a hand to her brow. ‘Shit, he’s not been filming people without permission again, has he? I should never have bought him that bloody camcorder.’
Brook held up a hand. ‘He’s not in trouble. I just need to speak to him about who was at that party.’
‘Did something happen?’
‘He hasn’t said anything?’
She looked at the floor, thinking. ‘Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve seen him since.’
‘You haven’t seen him since?’ repeated Brook. ‘It’s Thursday today. We’re talking about last Friday.’
Yvette Thomson held her palms up. ‘Inspector, I’m not a bad mother — but I work nights. Rusty’s old enough. He has a key. He comes and goes. Have you got kids?’
‘A daughter. She’s twenty.’
‘Then you’ll know. If they want money or feeding, you see them. If they don’t. .’
Brook nodded, though he was in uncharted waters. ‘Can I see his room?’
‘Tell me what’s wrong first. You’re starting to worry me.’
‘Kyle Kennedy was reported missing on Sunday. On Tuesday, Adele Watson and another girl, Becky Blake, were reported missing. No one’s seen any of them since the party.’
‘And you think. .’ She turned and ran up the stairs. Brook followed. On the dark landing she hesitated as though getting her bearings, then burst through a door and stood frozen against the sunburst from the window. Brook pushed past her. The single bed was unruffled. In the middle of the duvet a mobile phone rested on a glossy leaflet.
Yvette leaned over Brook’s shoulder to read the only word she could make out. ‘Deity.’
‘Miss Thomson, you have to calm down.’ Brook watched her rifle through a kitchen drawer.
‘It’s in here somewhere.’
‘What is?’
She pulled out a sheet of paper and pored over it. ‘This.’ She looked at her watch and back at the paper. ‘It’s Rusty’s timetable. He’s got a Media Studies lecture in two hours. He never misses that; he’s a big film buff.’
‘But-’
‘He’ll be there, I’m telling you. He wouldn’t leave me on my own.’
‘Okay, okay. I’ll come with you, just settle down. We need to inform the college officially anyway. In the meantime, we need a picture of him.’
Yvette shook her head. Tears were in her eyes. ‘I haven’t got one. We left a lot of stuff behind in the move.’ She started to sob.
‘All right. Before we go to the college, I want you to come back to Russell’s room, if you can face it, and tell me if anything is missing. .’
Yvette Thomson had finally calmed down enough for Brook to leave her on her own in the kitchen, writing out a list of contact numbers, as well as any places, apart from the college, Russell might hang out.
Brook returned to Russell’s room to bag his mobile, as well as the leaflet. Russell’s laptop was closed on a table but Brook didn’t disturb it. He searched the bedroom quickly but found nothing of interest. There were only a handful of books, all connected to Russell’s love of films: actors’ biographies, memoirs and a book entitled
The walls though were covered with at least a dozen original movie posters, only some of which Brook had seen before.
Brook looked around the room for something that might contain Russell’s DNA. There were no combs or grooming products of any kind. Even a cursory glance at the bed didn’t produce any strands of hair. Although shabby, the room appeared to be spotless.
Brook moved into the bathroom. There was only one toothbrush in a pot and it appeared to be brand new. He left it there. A canister of shaving foam raised Brook’s hopes but there were no other shaving implements to accompany it.