Jimmie Chews @RedsUnderTheShed
I heard chance of finding a kid dead is 80% if it goes over 24 hrs. This #DaisyMason thing was always going to end in Tragedy
10.56
J the Kid @Johnnycomelately
It’s a sad reflection on our modern media world that everyone always suspects the parents. As if your child going missing wasn’t bad enough
10.59
Kathy Baines @FulloftheWarmSouth
@Johnnycomelately I agree – I wish people wouldn’t sensationalize everything. It’s so horrible already #DaisyMason
10.59
JJ @JampotJamboree88
I don’t believe any of it it doesn’t add up v suspiscious #DaisyMason
11.00
Kevin Brown @OxfordBornandBred
#FindDaisy #DaisyMason #Oxford #DaisyWhereAreYou #Missing
11.01
Eddie Thorncliffe @EagleflyoverDover
Just caught up with that #DaisyMason TV appeal – absolutely NO WAY those parents are innocent. Horrible body language
11.02
Lilian Chamberlain @LilianChamberlain
Twitter can be vile sometimes. Leave those poor parents alone. They’re going through enough. Shut up and let the police do their job #FindDaisy
11.03
Scott Sullivan @SnapHappyWarrior
@LilianChamberlain Can’t believe anyone can be that bloody naive. Just you wait, you’ll see I’m right #DaisyMason
*
The interview suite is marginally more comfortable than the family room, but it is only marginal. The main difference seems to be a couple of framed prints of golden retrievers. I wonder – not for the first time – if it’s supposed to be some sort of subliminal message. Barry Mason strides in with that archetypal alpha male gait of his – shoulders back, hips open. Alex calls it the walk of the cock. He looks up at the video camera on the wall, making sure I see him doing it, then pulls one of the fake leather armchairs as far from the table as he can realistically place it, sits down and hoists one foot on to the other thigh.
‘What I want to know,’ he says, without waiting for me or Quinn to sit down, ‘is why you’re wasting time with me when you should be out there looking for my daughter.’
I take my own seat and Quinn follows.
‘We are “out there”, Mr Mason, as you put it. We have over a hundred officers searching for Daisy. No effort is being spared – ’
‘If that’s true, how come you haven’t found her? I can’t believe no one saw anything – not in a poxy little place like that estate. Everyone’s always nosing about in other people’s business. You can’t be questioning the right people – you can’t be looking in the right places.’
There’s a part of me that can’t help agreeing with him, much as I dislike the man. I’ve never known an abduction case like this. No sightings, no leads, nothing. It’s as if someone waved a magic wand and Daisy vanished into thin air. Which is, of course, complete nonsense. But in a case like this, nonsense and rumour will expand to fill any vacuum, and right now, we haven’t a single reliable fact to put in their place.
‘As I said, Mr Mason, there is a huge team on this case. Bigger than any I can remember in the ten years I’ve been working here. But until we know precisely when Daisy disappeared, the risk is that you’re right – that we are indeed looking in the wrong place. And only you can help us with that. You and your wife.’
I have him there and he knows it. He stares at me, then shrugs and looks away.
I reach for my notebook. ‘So, you told us just now you were unaware that the girl at the party wasn’t your daughter. I have to tell you I find that very hard to believe.’
‘Believe what you sodding like. It’s the truth.’
‘You didn’t talk to her that night? You didn’t pick her up? One of the neighbours said you often carried her about on your shoulders.’
He makes a face at my stupidity. ‘Haven’t done that for months. She says it makes her look like a baby in front of her friends. And she’s too heavy to cart about these days. Not since I did my back in last Feb. Never been right since.’
Which makes three complex answers to one simple question. Liars always overkill, at least in my experience.
‘And you didn’t speak to her at the party? Use her name? Not the whole night?’
‘I was doing the barbecue. You never done that? If you take your bloody eyes off it for a minute it either goes out or burns the lot. I remember seeing her running about, but now you come to mention it, I don’t think I did talk to her. Not up close. I called out to her at one point asking if she wanted some sausages but she just giggled and ran off.’
And yet you didn’t realize it wasn’t your daughter’s laugh. I can hear it, even now, and I’ve only heard it once, on a cheap mobile phone.
‘How much did you have to drink?’
He bridles. He knows that wasn’t a non sequitur. ‘I had a couple. It was a bloody barbecue, for God’s sake. I wasn’t driving.’
I make a note or two. Purely for the sake of the pause.
‘So when do you remember seeing Daisy before that?’
‘Must have been about 5.30. That’s when I got in. I was supposed to take the afternoon off but there was an emergency at one of my sites in Watlington. Burst pipe – half a ton of tiling under water. Client was having kittens. And then the traffic was awful coming back.’
Three answers. Again.
‘But Daisy was definitely in the house when you got home?’
‘Yup. The music was on upstairs. That Taylor Swift thing. She’s always playing it.’
That, at least, rings true. It was what she was dancing to on the video. I glance at Quinn, who edges forward in his seat. ‘Did you go up, sir?’
‘To her room? No – Sharon was pestering me to set up the barbecue. Having a go at me for being late. I just called out hello to Dais and went out to the garden. Didn’t even have time to change.’
He seems to have no idea of the implications of what he’s saying.
‘So,’ I say, ‘you never actually saw your daughter or heard her voice?’
He flushes. ‘Well, no. At least I don’t think so. I think she called out but I can’t be sure.’
‘Which means your last sighting of her would have been at breakfast that morning? No contact after that?’
Clearly not. Now, finally, he looks shaken.
‘None of this makes any sense,’ he says at last. ‘Where is she?’
‘That, Mr Mason, is what we’re trying to find out.’
* * *
—
Out in the corridor again, I tell Quinn to check out the Watlington story. ‘Shouldn’t be too difficult to verify he really was where he says he was. I know I’m biased when it comes to the tossers in his profession, but I don’t believe a bloody word that bloke says.’
Quinn makes a face and I can’t really blame him; he’s probably had enough of my builder stories. The sink in that bloody extension still drips.
‘Right, boss. And shall I get Mrs Mason?’
‘She can wait a few more minutes. I’m going to have a fag.’
*
5 July 2016, 4.36 p.m.
Two weeks before the disappearance
The Connor house, 54 Barge Close, first-floor landing
Millie Connor and Daisy Mason are playing with Millie’s soft toys. Daisy has the look of a child who’s been let into the secret about Santa Claus but told not to spoil it for the little ones. Millie, by contrast, is deep into an immensely complex made-up story involving Angelina Ballerina, Peppa Pig and a one-eyed teddy bear. Every now and then Daisy makes a suggestion, then sits back and watches what Millie does. She smiles to herself every time this happens, whether her ideas are incorporated into the story or not, as if that doesn’t really matter. A moment later there’s the sound of a key in the door and after a couple of false starts Julia Connor eventually pushes the front door open and dumps three large carrier bags on the floor. Her face is red and her hair wet. She’s wearing gym gear.
‘Millie!’ she calls. ‘Are you home? Do you want some juice?’
Millie puts her head round the banisters. ‘No thank you. I’m just up here on my own playing.’
‘Is your brother not back yet, then?’