‘That’s the littlest one of the five, isn’t it?’
‘I have no idea, but it’s not little at the moment. Look at me!’ Erica paused dramatically with her arms outstretched. ‘Look at me! It covered my boobs!’
‘And nice boobs they are too,’ Frannie said, trying not to laugh at the amateur dramatics going on in the hall. ‘Go and have a shower, and I’ll do you a bacon buttie and a coffee.’
Erica moved towards the stairs. ‘You’re a star. Did the meeting go okay last night? I didn’t hear you come in, I was out for the count by about nine.’
‘Boring book, was it?’ Frannie asked. ‘Yes, the meeting went well, but we all went to the pub afterwards. It was gone eleven when I arrived home, so I tried not to wake you. I moved your Kindle off the bed, and even that didn’t disturb you.’
Erica waved a hand in acknowledgement, and Frannie returned to the kitchen, wondering if she should have a bacon sandwich also, despite having finished her toast. She’d lost two pounds the previous week, and she had been trying really hard to not eat rubbish… Her brain took no persuasion and she placed six rashers on the grill.
Erica, in dry clothes, stood and watched as Ivor Simmonite began the post-mortem. The girl’s head was resting on a block, her long blonde hair hanging over the edge of the table.
Ivor seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time inspecting her upper arms and instructing his colleague to take photographs, particularly of the tiny butterfly at the top of the right arm, and of the palm of her right hand. He was clearly not going to be rushed into anything, despite there being nothing that could help with identification. Her fingerprints hadn’t been on their database, so it would mean much more detailed research to find out who she was.
Erica felt her phone vibrate in her jeans pocket, and she quickly read the message before leaning forward to use the intercom. ‘Ivor, I have to go. We may have identification for you. Can you let me have the full report of the autopsy as soon as you have it, please?’
Ivor turned his grey eyes towards her, held up a thumb in acknowledgement, and Erica left the viewing platform.
Becky Charlesworth and Katie Davids lifted their heads as the interview room door opened.
‘DI Erica Cheetham,’ Erica said, and held out her hand. They shook it, uncomfortably, clearly not used to shaking hands.
‘You’re here to report a missing person?’
Becky stared at her. ‘We didn’t expect to be reporting to a DI. We thought it would be the officer on duty at the front desk.’
Smart young lady, Erica thought.
‘Tell me about your friend. When did she go missing?’
‘Last night. She went to the university Drama Studio to watch Macbeth with our other friend, Clare Vincent. They’re both taking the same course. We’d all arranged to meet in the pub later, but only Clare showed up, worried because she couldn’t find Susie.’
‘Susie?’
‘Oh, sorry. Susie is Susanna Roebuck. All four of us share a house.’
Erica was writing. ‘Spell Susie’s first name, will you?’
Becky obliged.
‘Let me get this straight, so it’s clear in my mind. Student accommodation?’ Becky and Katie nodded. ‘And collectively you are Rebecca Charlesworth, Katie Davids, Clare Vincent and Susanna Roebuck?’ Again Becky and Katie nodded.
Erica turned to the next page. ‘Can you give me a description of Susie, please? And where is Clare?’
‘Clare and Susie had a lecture this morning,’ Becky confirmed, ‘an important one, so Clare’s gone to that so they at least both have notes on it, even if Susie, for whatever reason, isn’t able to be there. Susie has long blonde hair, usually wears it down, ponytails give her a headache. Pretty, slim, she’s twenty. Blue eyes, but not bright blue, bluish-grey, I’d say. About five feet four. Certainly smaller than me.’
Erica took a deep breath. ‘Any identifying features? Tattoos, piercings?’
‘She has pierced ears, wears gold studs during the week, but she might have changed them last night for going to the theatre. No other piercings that I know about.’ Becky turned to Katie as she finished speaking. ‘Which arm is her butterfly on?’
Katie thought for a moment, then pushed forward her right shoulder. ‘It’s here, at the top of her arm.’
Erica gave a slight nod. ‘And do you know her parents’ address?’
Becky fished around inside her bag, producing a small diary. She looked in the back, then passed it across to the DI. Erica wrote down the address, noting that it was in Bridlington, on the east coast.
‘Are her parents elderly?’
Becky looked puzzled, and turned to Katie. ‘No. Mid-forties, Katie?’
Katie agreed. ‘If that, actually. Why?’
‘It’s me jumping to conclusions,’ Erica said. ‘I kind of assumed they’d retired to the coast.’
Katie gave a half smile. ‘No, Susie’s lived there all her life. She was glad to get a place at Sheffield, but she loves the coast. All four of us camped in their back garden in the summer. They live in a massive house. We haven’t checked if she’s there…’
‘Why not?’
‘We didn’t want to worry them. Harry and Olivia are so lovely – we’re always getting food parcels and other stuff from them. And Susie can’t have decided in a few seconds that she wasn’t going to wait for Claire to go to the ladies, she was going home to Brid. She’s not like that. I have some pictures on my phone from that camp in the back garden, so I can show you what she looks like.’ Katie scrolled through her phone and handed it to Erica.
Susie was wearing a strappy top, her right arm raised to her eyes, shielding them from the bright sunshine. Her tattoo was clearly visible, and Erica used her fingers to enlarge the butterfly.
‘What is she like, your Susie?’
‘Generous, pretty, clever – cleverer than me, anyway,’ Becky said. ‘Which is why we don’t understand her not contacting us. She knows we’ll be going out of our
