Coffee was brewing in the police station when they arrived and the guard on desk duty had poured a mug for himself. It cooled by his elbow as he took details from Justin. After a short wait, they were brought into a back office where a heavyset woman with short, brown hair introduced herself as Sergeant Moran and asked them to be seated. She fired questions at Justin. Did Constance have a boyfriend? Was she in the habit of staying out late? Had she shown signs of withdrawal, a loss of interest in school? Had there been a row at home?
‘Sort of,’ Justin admitted.
‘There’s no such thing as a “sort-of” row with a thirteen-year-old,’ the sergeant said. ‘What was it about?’ If her grim expression was any indication, she must also be the mother of teenagers, Karl thought. His apprehension was increasing every time she glanced at him.
‘She was annoyed because we refused her permission to go to a rock concert,’ said Justin. ‘She went to bed at about eleven but we only realised she was missing this morning.’ He turned to Karl. ‘You tell her why you thought Constance could be on the beach.’
Sergeant Moran listened impassively as he repeated what he knew. ‘This could easily be a similar escapade,’ she said when he finished. ‘We’ll do some preliminary checks with the emergency services and talk to her close friends. Once we’ve reviewed the situation, we’ll be back in touch with you. In the meantime, continue the search and contact us immediately if you’ve any further information.’
Nicole was in bed when he returned home. He debated waking her but decided to let her sleep.
He rang his office and spoke to Barbara Nelson, his deputy editor.
‘Everything’s under control here,’ she assured him when Karl explained what had happened. ‘I’ll look after things until you come in.’
He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. ‘I don’t know what’s going on, Barbara. It’s so unlike Constance to wander off without telling her parents.’
‘She’ll be back soon,’ said Barbara. ‘I ran away from home when I was fourteen. Can’t remember why now. It was either my bulimic phase or else the shoplifting episode.’ She laughed. ‘Those teenage years, Karl. Who’d want them back? Give me the midlife crisis, anytime.’
‘You could be right.’ Her cheerfulness lifted him briefly. ‘I’ll talk to you later.’
Unable to stay in the house, he left a note for Nicole and drove to Glenmoore Woods. The trees formed arches above him and the sun flickered through the high crowns as he called Constance’s name. The woods had been his playground when he was a boy. He had known its distinctive terrain but, today, everywhere looked the same. No markers to distinguish one tree-lined path from another. What would Constance have done here? Met someone? A boy perhaps, and kissed him in one of the loamy hollows? Karl poked a stick through the undergrowth in the hope that he would find something, a scrap of clothing, a hairslide, a shoe, anything that would give him a clue that she had walked this way. The rustle startled a bird from the undergrowth, its wings almost brushing his face. She would never have come here, he realised. He was just wasting time; yet he continued combing the woods until Justin rang. An immediate police search was being organised. Sergeant Moran wanted to question Karl again and would be calling to Justin’s house shortly.
The sergeant looked even more intimidating in her yellow hi-vis jacket. Her presence seemed to suck the air from the living-room. She was accompanied by a younger policeman, who introduced himself as Garda Finnegan. Constance’s friends had been questioned, she said. They had denied any knowledge about a dare and insisted they had never heard of The Fearless. The photo galleries on their phones had been examined but nothing linked to the images Karl had described.
The young guard took notes as Karl told them what he knew about The Fearless. His information was sparse and sounded more outlandish each time he repeated it. A garda family liaison officer arrived shortly afterwards. Shauna Robertson’s expression was confident yet kindly, her voice trained to soothe distraught families. Matthew and Lara would have to be interviewed. The questioning would be sensitive, Shauna reassured them, and done in the presence of their parents. If journalists made contact, their queries would be handled by the Garda Press Office. Sensational reports could frighten Constance and make it more difficult to find her. The guards left shortly afterwards, taking Constance’s mobile phone and laptop with them. Jenna’s terror was barely contained as she accompanied them to the front door.
Neighbours came to their gates, puzzled by the sight of a squad car on Cherrywood Terrace. The news was spreading. A missing child; soon the tremor would become seismic. They gathered in the kitchen, hugged Jenna and Justin. Everyone kept insisting there had to be a rational explanation for Constance’s disappearance. No time must be lost in finding her. They spoke too fast, as if they were afraid a pause would allow doubt to settle and ferment.
The doorbell rang again. When Karl opened the door, a photographer, accompanied by a younger woman, stood outside.
‘Good afternoon.’ The woman’s eyes widened, as if she was surprised to see him standing before her. ‘I’m Amanda Bowe from Capital Eye,’ she said. ‘Can I speak to either Justin or Jenna Lawson?’
Capital Eye was a daily tabloid that specialised in bold, lurid headlines. The thought of Constance being that headline revolted Karl.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Neither my brother or his wife are available to speak to the press.’
‘Then perhaps you’d like to answer a few questions.’ The reporter slid her tongue over her teeth in an involuntary flick. Mid-twenties, Karl guessed, chic yet business-like in a black trouser suit and white blouse, the top button undone, a hint of lace at her cleavage. She thrust a small recorder towards Karl. ‘Is it true that Constance Lawson was not in bed this morning when her mother entered her room?’
‘No comment,’ he replied. Had Constance’s friends alerted the media? Everything was moving too fast, like a snowball on a hill, increasing in size with each lurch.
‘If your niece is missing, and my source has told me she could be missing since last night, you need exposure and you need it fast,’ she said. ‘I can get the details into our evening edition but I’m on a tight deadline so I need information now.’
‘I’ve told you, we’ve nothing to say to the press.’
‘By saying nothing, you’re admitting that Constance is still missing. Tell me otherwise and there’s no story.’
‘Ring the Garda Press Office if you want information. As I’ve already told you, I’ve no comment to make.’