‘Why wouldn’t it?’
‘Just a gut instinct. Like I said, I’ve never taken to him. He seemed like the sort of person who would do that sort of thing, if he got the chance.’
‘But it doesn’t mean that he has anything to do with Natalie’s disappearance.’
‘No, it doesn’t,’ she admitted. ‘But I’ve been thinking since I got home – he really didn’t seem to care at all that she was missing. Not one bit of compassion. He just seemed so cold.’
‘I agree. But it still doesn’t mean he’s guilty of anything. Apart from being a lowlife.’
That got a smile from her.
Cullen thought for a second. ‘You still think Natalie might be in danger?’
‘Yes. I really do.’
‘Would you mind if I took a look in her room?’
‘I thought you were never going to ask,’ she said, jumping up from the sofa.
‘Just one question,’ he said, ‘before I begin.’
‘Go on?’
‘Have you got any Earl Grey? I’m parched.’
CULLEN SAVOURED the mug of tea, complete with a couple of Rich Tea biscuits that were perfect for dunking, as long as you left them in the liquid for just enough time. Amy had her father’s love for ‘dippers’, as they called them up North, and he was pleased she’d got a stock in the cupboard.
‘More biscuits?’ Amy asked, entering from the kitchen as Cullen scrolled on his phone. He was looking for any new stories about this morning’s incident, but there were none.
‘Better not,’ he said, downing the rest of the tea. ‘Right, point me in the right direction.’
They made their way up the stairs and to Natalie’s room. Amy did a quick check first, in case there was anything embarrassing there, but once she’d given the all clear Cullen got to work.
‘What are you looking for?’ Amy asked as he started looking through papers on the untidy desk.
‘To be honest, I’m not sure,’ he replied, continuing with the search. ‘Something, anything that might give any indication of where Natalie is.’
There was nothing of note. Lots of articles about marketing and branding. A lifestyle magazine. Some receipts for meals out, groceries, and the rail journey to London.
And buried under everything, a book.
New Horizons.
Cullen picked up the autobiography, its cover displaying a smiling headshot of Sir Kenneth New. The strap line read:
The secret of my success, in my own words!
He examined the back cover.
‘Some preparatory reading for the weekend,’ Amy said sadly. ‘She was so excited about everything. She got that book a few months ago in Cheltenham at the book festival. Went to watch a talk by Sir Kenneth, and he was doing a signing.’
Cullen opened the cover to reveal Sir Kenneth’s message on the inside front page.
Lovely to meet you, Natalie. You are truly delightful! I hope we meet again very soon!
‘This guy sounds a bit much. Were you there?’
‘No, she went with one of her course friends. It’s not really my thing.’
He placed the book down on the desk. ‘Or mine.’
‘If you’re into branding, then Sir Kenneth is the main man. I remember when Natalie got back home from meeting him. She was so excited – couldn’t stop talking about his presentation and how nice he’d been during the signing. I teased her about having a crush.’
‘And did she?’
‘Maybe. Whatever it was, though, after that day she was desperate to work for his company, so when she got through to the final selection weekend, it was a dream.’ She paused in thought. ‘And now it’s turned into a nightmare.’
‘I need to talk to these people.’
17
Previous Friday evening
‘I’M SORRY,’ Russell said, taking a step back. ‘I’m really sorry, I didn’t plan for…’
‘It’s okay,’ Natalie replied. ‘It wasn’t just you.’
They looked at one another, not sure about the next move.
‘No, it was me really,’ Russell said with a smile, trying to lighten the mood. He held up his hands. ‘I won’t spout any rubbish about misreading signs, I promise. It was my bad.’
‘I just can’t,’ Natalie said. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘No, I understand. It’s a stupid idea, fraternising with a fellow contestant. It’s very sensible of you to put a stop to it.’
‘It’s not that.’
‘Oh?’
‘In other circumstances,’ Natalie said, ‘it would be different. But I’ve just come out of a difficult relationship, and I don’t think I’m ready yet.’
‘I understand.’ He looked at her carefully. ‘Someone hurt you? Whoever the guy is, he must be mad.’
Natalie laughed away the compliment, but could feel herself blush. ‘He is mad, of sorts. He’s also controlling and a liar.’
‘Sounds like you’re much better off without him.’
‘I am.’
‘Was it a long-term relationship?’
‘Eighteen months. We met in the first week at university, at one of the Freshers’ events in town. Hit it off straight away. I wasn’t sure at first, he’s five years older than me, a postdoctoral researcher…’
‘A postgrad hanging around Freshers’ events? Sounds dodgy and desperate to me.’
‘I know, I know, thinking back, it is a bit weird. But at the time, I didn’t question it. I know now that it should have been a warning sign. Looking back, I feel like a bit of fool, to be honest. He reeled me in, and I just let him. Then he really hurt me.’
‘You don’t need to tell me any more,’ Russell said. ‘I don’t want to pry.’
‘It’s okay,’ Natalie replied. ‘You know, I haven’t even told my best friend, Amy, the whole story. I haven’t told anyone. Maybe tonight is the right time, here with you.’
‘Only if you want to.’
‘But you don’t want to hear this, do you? I mean, you don’t even know me, why would you want to listen to my problems, my relationship failures?’
Russell shrugged as they took a seat across from one another. ‘Because I’ve had three glasses of this,’ he said, holding up the glass of whiskey, ‘and I’m a pretty good listener when I’m drunk.’
Natalie laughed. ‘For a person dealing in death, you’re a pretty funny guy.’
Russell raised an eyebrow. ‘It helps to have a sense of humour where death is concerned. Otherwise it all gets just so morbid.’ He knocked back the rest of the whiskey. ‘So, Natalie, oh lovely one, do tell me some more about this total jerk of an ex-boyfriend of yours.’
‘His name’s Jack. Like I said, he’s a postgrad researcher at the university. Not the same department, thankfully. He’s a psychologist.’
‘Oh, psychologist, you’ve got to look out for those.’ He tapped his head. ‘I dated a psychologist once. Never again.’
This elicited another laugh.
‘What’s this guy’s name?’
‘Jack. Jack Morton.’
‘And especially, never date psychologists called Jack.’ He pointed at her with his glass. ‘Ever.’
‘I promise,’ she replied.
‘Sorry, do go on.’
‘Are you sure you want to hear this?’
‘Yes, of course. Tell all.’
‘Okay. At first he was amazing, the perfect boyfriend. For the first six months really, things couldn’t have been better. He was kind, considerate, gave me space to be with my other friends. I was so happy. Maybe that’s what blinded me to the truth of what was happening. I didn’t even notice the change at first. It came snaking around me like quicksand, and before I realised something was wrong, I was up to my neck in it.’
‘So he started getting heavy?’
‘It started out as little comments. About who I was going out with, and when. You know, just little asides, snipes at my friends. I can see now he was trying to drive a wedge between us – especially me and my hou
semate, Amy. He really didn’t like her, and I think it’s because she saw through him – she could see what I took a lot longer to see.’
‘I’ve met men like him. They see women as possessions. I bet he cheated on you, didn’t he? More than once?’
‘Yes, he cheated on me. More than once. I found out that he’d been seeing one girl for a few months behind my back.’
‘But he still wanted you.’
‘I guess.’
‘Was the abuse physical, if you don’t mind me asking?’
‘No, it was never physical. But it hurt in other ways.’
‘I’m sure it did.’
‘You know, when I look back, I can’t believe I didn’t see what was happening sooner. What’s that they say about boiling a frog: do it slowly and the frog won’t even realise until it’s too late. Well, that was me.’ She smiled sadly.
‘But you weren’t boiled,’ Russell said. ‘You survived.’
‘Yes,’ she said, sipping at her own drink. ‘I did survive. And now I’m free. Although I don’t really feel that free in this place, with its weird rules.’
‘Quite. This place is just so controlling. I can’t really get over it, to be honest. It’s like being at some kind of Victorian boarding school.’
‘I thought the same.’
‘I guess that makes us the really naughty pupils.’ He grinned mischievously. ‘What do you think they’d do if they caught us?’
‘What, apart from throwing us out of the house?’
‘You don’t think we’d just get a warning?’
Natalie thought back to how Tabitha had looked when she was searching her room. ‘I really doubt it.’ She decided to tell Russell what had happened.
‘I can’t believe it,’ he said, as Natalie had finished relaying the story. He blew out his cheeks. ‘So, she knows I was out of my room. He ran a hand through his hair. ‘She’s probably searching for me right now. Or waiting to ambush me when I come back.’ His eyes twinkled in the semi-darkness. ‘Hey, maybe I should come back to your room instead. Just for tonight.’
‘You’re persistent,’ Natalie noted. ‘I’ll give you that.’
‘No, seriously,’ he said, ‘I feel a bit bad actually. I mean, first you had the interrogation from Tabitha, and then I come along and convince you to break the rules, which might mean the end of your dream job.’
‘It’s fine,’ Natalie shrugged. ‘I didn’t need much convincing.’
‘No, I suppose you didn’t,’ he reflected.
‘I guess I felt the need to rebel,’ she explained. ‘I’ve just come out of a controlling relationship. I felt free and excited. And then I step through the doors of this place, and it’s right back to being under someone else’s influence. I think I needed this.’
‘That’s good then,’ Russell replied. ‘I don’t feel quite so guilty now. But I am intrigued.’
‘Intrigued?’
‘About who sent the notes.’
‘Yes…’
‘Aren’t you?’
‘I haven’t had much time to think about it really,’ she said. ‘By the time I found out about the note to Tabitha, you came along and took my mind off it.’
‘So, you’ve got time now,’ he said. ‘Who do you think it is?’
‘I…’ Natalie hesitated. She’d only just met her fellow housemates. It would be pure guesswork, so it seemed totally unfair to finger one of them for the act. ‘I really don’t know.’
Russell smiled conspiratorially. ‘Don’t you?’
‘No. Why, should I?’
He shrugged. ‘I thought you’d have your suspects, that’s all.’
‘Why, do you?’
He surprised her by nodding.
‘Really? Who?’
‘Samantha.’
‘What makes you think it’s her?’
‘Gut feeling.’
‘What? And that’s all? You can’t point the finger at someone just because of a gut feeling. It’s not…’
‘Fair?’ he cut in. ‘No, it’s not I suppose. But I still think it’s her. No, I believe it’s her. I just don’t have any proof, yet.’
Natalie raised an eyebrow. ‘Yet? You plan to turn detective, do you?’
‘Something like that.’
‘Go on, Colombo, what’s your strategy?’ she teased.
‘Well, it’s quite simple really. We match the handwriting with the note.’
‘Tabitha has the notes.’
‘Okay…’ He thought to himself. ‘Then either I try and retrieve the notes from Tabitha, or I’ll ask Samantha, look her right in the eye and ask her if she did it.’
‘That sounds like a really bad plan. The plan of someone who’s had too much expensive whiskey.’
‘You’re probably right.’ He put down the empty glass on the table next to him. ‘I do think it’s Samantha, though. Just watch out for her.’
‘But she seems so…’
‘Seems,’ Russell said. ‘She seems.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean that you don’t know anything about her, apart from what she’s told you. You have no way of checking out the facts, because you can’t get out of the house, and you can’t connect to the internet to Google her. She could be telling you anything.’
Natalie thought back to something that Samantha herself had said after dinner – that they couldn’t check the veracity of Russell’s Lord Sinclair murder story because they hadn’t got access to the internet. It was funny to realise how much everyone relied on the web to validate things, and it was only once you were denied access that it suddenly became apparent. ‘Well, you could say that about any of us. How do I know you’re who you say you are?’
‘You don’t. You have to take my word for it. But I could be lying. After all, a business giving people the funeral of their dreams, blasting their ashes into space. It sounds a bit unrealistic, doesn’t it? I could have just made it all up, as part of the game.’
‘The game?’
‘Yes, the game. We’re all playing to win, aren’t we, Natalie? And the prize is a big one.’
‘Well, I guess. But I hadn’t thought of it as a game.’
‘Life’s a game, with winners and losers.’
Natalie thought on what he had just said. ‘So are you telling the truth about your business?’
‘Yes.’
‘But you would say that, wouldn’t you?’
‘Yes, I would.’
‘So why should I trust you?’
‘You shouldn’t. That’s my point. You shouldn’t trust anyone in here, and that extends to me, and to Tabitha, and to anyone else.’
‘I…’
‘I can tell you’re uncomfortable with that thought,’ he continued. ‘But you need to have your wits about you. You need to toughen up. Because this weekend is really going to test you. And you need to be ready. Here.’ He passed her a card. ‘My contact details. When we all get out of this strange place, I’d really like to see you again.’
Natalie held the card and smiled. ‘I’d like that.’
18
Cullen caught an early train back to Paddington, armed with as much information as Amy could muster about Brand New, and what Natalie had in store for that weekend. It wasn’t a huge amount, but Google had filled in the basic blanks with some background on the company, including its location. His plan was to pitch up at the company headquarters on the banks of the Thames, and just wait in reception, passive-aggressively, until someone agreed to see him.
It usually worked.
He’d also taken details of Natalie’s friends and contacts in the London area. Anything that might help his informal investigations. Natalie was pretty well connected, so if she had indeed decided to hide out at one of their places, there were plenty of options.
His phone bleeped. It was a text from Amy. Yet another contact for possible follow-up. An old schoolfriend of Natalie’s who had recently got a job in the City.
Cullen texted back a thank you. He w
as glad Amy had agreed to remain in Bristol. As much as she wanted to help, it was better if he was left to do this alone. He loved spending time with Amy, but she was a distraction that he could do without if he were to work at maximum efficiency. She understood that.
He stretched out as the train sped towards the capital. He’d woken early with aches and pains across his middle back, following a night on the sofa bed at Amy’s place. The fold-out contraption had obviously not been designed for comfort, with springs like razor blades and a pungent musty odour that smelled like something dug out from the back of a dank cellar.
After a few minutes of thinking, he speed-dialled Beswick, unable to switch off completely from what was going on back at base. But maybe it was more than that. Beswick was his day-to-day confidant, and just because this current work in progress was unofficial didn’t mean that he didn’t crave the same input, the same means of bouncing ideas off someone.
It was how it worked.
‘Tony, how are things?’
‘Okay, thanks, Boss. Nothing really of note has happened since you left. But it has only been less than twenty-four hours.’
Cullen heard the smile in his voice.
‘Just checking,’ he said.
‘You enjoying your time off?’ Beswick asked, continuing the theme. ‘Taking the opportunity to relax?’
Cullen laughed. ‘Oh, yes, I’m having a lovely time.’
‘You on a train?’
‘Great powers of observation, as ever. I’m on my way back from Bristol.’
‘Bristol? Ah, you’ve been to see Amy.’ There was a pause. ‘But you’re coming back already?’
‘Well, she doesn’t want her dad cramping her style, so I thought I’d better make it a short one,’ he joked.
‘I know the feeling.’ Beswick had two daughters, both at university: one at Nottingham, the other at Durham. Clever girls and, as was the case with Cullen, the first in the family to study at university.
‘Actually the visit wasn’t for pleasure,’ Cullen revealed. ‘Amy’s housemate is missing.’
‘Oh.’
‘She was supposed to come back from London on Sunday evening, but didn’t return.’
‘And no contact since?’
‘A couple of text messages, but Amy suspects that they’re not from Natalie.’
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