慖s there anyone else in halls??she asks.
慉 few overseas students,?says Eileen, 慳nd Joe. Joe McMahon from my course. That抯 why I wanted to talk to you. I抦 worried about him.?
And I抦 worried about you, thinks Ruth.
慦hy??she asks.
慔e抯 not answering his phone. His blinds are drawn and there抯 no answer when I knock on his door. I抦 worried he might have . . . done something to himself. His mum committed suicide. He told me about it.?
慖抦 going to get on to the police,?says Ruth.
Nelson has never visited the halls of residence at UNN but, as he drives through the maze of buildings, he抯 reminded of similar places in Brighton and Plymouth, where his daughters were students. There are the same apartment blocks, bookshops and caf閟 with tiny roads between them, like a child抯 version of a town. The only difference is that, when he was dropping off Laura and Rebecca, the miniature streets were full of students and their parents, carrying luggage and saying tearful goodbyes. There had been balloons at Brighton and 憇tudent welcomers?at Plymouth. Presumably, there were similar festivities at UNN, when term started last September but, today, the campus is deserted. Cherry tree blossom blows across the courtyards, looking like confetti from a long-forgotten wedding. The shops are boarded up and, across the bolted door of Canary Caf? someone has written, 慳bandon hope all ye who enter here?
On the phone, Eileen told him to go to 慥ancouver? as if its location was obvious. But, in the event, Nelson finds it easily. It抯 the largest building, almost as big as a small hotel and with the same anonymous feeling to it, stone cladding with a vertical line of plasticky-looking blue tiles, rows of windows all with the same dreary blinds. There抯 a girl standing under the blue porch. She抯 wearing a mask but Nelson can tell that she抯 anxious just from the way that she抯 standing, arms wrapped around her body. She抯 wearing jeans and a T-shirt, too flimsy for the breezy spring day.
慐ileen? I抦 DCI Nelson.?He shows his identification and, keeping his distance, takes off his mask so she can see his face. Eileen barely glances at the warrant card. Nelson wants to tell her to look properly. What抯 she doing, living in this deserted place all on her own? What are her parents thinking??
慣hank you for coming,?says Eileen breathlessly. 慦hen Dr Galloway said she was calling the police I didn抰 know . . .?
慏r Galloway has a hotline to the Serious Crimes Unit,?says Nelson. He puts on his mask. 慡he said you were worried about a fellow student.?
慪es,?says Eileen. 慚y friend Joe. He抯 not answering his phone and his blinds are drawn.?
慉re you sure he hasn抰 just gone home??
慖抦 sure. He抯 got nowhere to go. Like me.?
The girl needs a hug and a hot meal, thinks Nelson. Well, he can抰 supply either.
慍an you show me Joe抯 room??he says.
Eileen leads him up a staircase that smells of plastic and neglect. Joe抯 room is on the first floor at the end of a line of doors, some of which still have names on them. Trixie Bell. Big Ed. The Cookie Monster.
Nelson knocks on the last door. 慗oe??
He knocks harder. 慞olice! Open up!?
No answer. His voice echoes along the empty corridor.
慡tand back,?says Nelson to Eileen, even though she is dutifully keeping two metres away.
He charges the door, which opens easily. The darkened room is completely empty. Nelson takes in bed, desk, chair and a collage of photographs, all showing Dr Ruth Galloway.
Chapter 22
Judy rolls her eyes although there抯 no one in the room to see it. Once again, the boss has gone rushing off after a phone call from Ruth, something about a student possibly being at risk. The best thing to do, in Judy抯 opinion, would have been to call campus security but Nelson muttered that it was quicker to go himself. Then he charged out of the office, knocking over a small table on his way. Judy heard his car roaring in the car park ?she recognised the slightly dodgy exhaust ?and then everything was silent.