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him?’
    Noble sought the words. ‘Do you think he’s come back? That he’s started again with Caitlin.’
    ‘That case is closed,’ said Brook. ‘Officially. Deity is dead.’
    ‘You didn’t think he was dead at the time,’ said Noble.
    ‘Everyone else did.’
    ‘Even so, we should check . . .’
    ‘I did check,’ said Brook. ‘Before you got back. The Deity website is gone for good. There’s no connection, John.’
    ‘But Caitlin’s a student who disappeared without trace,’ insisted Noble. ‘Same as the others.’
    ‘It’s not the same,’ said Brook. ‘Caitlin left no message, no clue. The Deity students left artefacts to show they were leaving of their own volition.’ He raised a digit. ‘And they left as a group.’
    Noble was encouraged, and seized his opportunity. ‘Aha, well, Caitlin’s not alone. I’ve been on to Interpol.’
    ‘Interpol?’ A smile pulled at the corner of Brook’s mouth. ‘Being a bit melodramatic, aren’t we?’
    ‘Maybe, but I remembered something – a case three years ago. Another Irish girl who went missing. So I checked with Interpol and found the names of five young women reported missing over the last three years by parents in Poland, Italy and Ireland.’
    ‘Students?’
    ‘A couple of them,’ retorted Noble defensively.
    ‘At Derby University?’
    ‘One was.’ Noble cast around his desk for the paperwork. ‘Daniela Cassetti from Perugia. She flew to East Midlands in August two years ago to enrol at the university but disappeared after two terms. Easter, this time last year! She was supposed to fly home for the holiday but never arrived and didn’t show up for the summer term. Exactly the same as Caitlin!’ He reached for a second sheet of paper. ‘And there was another Irish girl, a student teacher from Dublin visiting family in Derby. Bernadette Murphy. Also three young Polish girls vanished, all thought to have been in the area . . .’
    ‘ Thought to have been,’ repeated Brook. Noble was quiet. ‘The Derby area?’
    ‘East Midlands,’ answered Noble, not looking up to catch Brook’s sceptical eye. He rustled for another piece of paper on his desk. ‘Adrianna Bakula—’
    ‘John, slow down,’ said Brook ‘Not only are those women not local, they’re foreign nationals. They could be travelling anywhere in the UK, even assuming they’re still here.’
    ‘But the similarities . . .’
    ‘Such as?’
    ‘They’re all young, single women from overseas. Like Caitlin.’
    Brook finally trapped Noble’s wandering eye. ‘You do know there must be hundreds of thousands of young people wandering the globe at any one time, experiencing life. And they’re all effectively missing until they walk through their parents’ front doors again.’
    ‘Maybe,’ said Noble softly.
    ‘Definitely,’ said Brook. ‘It’s part of growing up and leaving the nest. Young people go out into the world, get a taste of freedom and forget they even have parents, never mind communicate with them. It’s called freedom. I was the same. I saw my parents as jailers, and when I finally left, getting in touch with them was as alien as . . .’
    ‘As paying attention to Interpol bulletins?’ suggested Noble.
    ‘Exactly,’ retorted Brook, unwilling to be embarrassed. ‘I’ve had all this with my own daughter. Throw a divorce into the mix, and unless you make a supreme effort to contact your kid, you might easily not speak to them for years. It’s a wonder more parents don’t report their children missing.’
    ‘How is Terri?’ asked Noble.
    ‘She’s fine,’ said Brook, holding out his hands to make the point. ‘I assume.’
    ‘So that’s it, then?’
    ‘I’m sorry, John. With no evidence of a crime, we pass Caitlin’s file over to the Missing Persons Bureau. They can work this nationally . . .’
    ‘While they look for thousands of other runaways and mis-pers.’
    ‘We’ve nothing to work with,’ insisted Brook. ‘No