False Tongues by Kate Charles Read Free Book Online Page B

another coffee for Richard; the first one had gone cold while she was ringing round Sebastian’s friends. When Sebastian comes home he’s going to be furious.
    â€˜I’m not a child.’ ‘Don’t baby me, Mum.’ Her son’s angry words sounded in Miranda’s head.
    But Richard had insisted on ringing the police. Now he was showering, getting dressed. Waiting for them to arrive.
    Surely it wouldn’t be long. The police station was nearby, and a missing teenager ought to have some sort of priority over traffic accidents and other routine business. Miranda wasn’t sure why she was gripped by such a sense of urgency; she tried to calm herself down with deep breaths.
    Still, it seemed an eternity as they drank coffee and Richard re-inspected the entire house, top to bottom. ‘No. He’s not here,’ he reported a moment before the door bell chimed.
    The policeman on the doorstep was in uniform: a shortish but powerfully built young man with spiky dark hair who identified himself as PC Jones. He checked the piece of paper in his hand. ‘And you’re Dr Frost?’ he asked, looking between Miranda and Richard. ‘Both of you, they said?’
    â€˜I’m Dr Frost,’ said Richard. ‘My wife is a doctor as well, but she’s a surgeon, so technically she’s Mrs Frost.’
    PC Jones shook his head in confusion. ‘Whatever.’
    Miranda invited him into the front room and offered him coffee, which he refused, getting out his notebook as he took a seat on the sofa. ‘If you can just give me the details, Mrs Frost. Or Dr Frost.’
    â€˜I told them on the phone,’ Richard cut in impatiently. ‘Our son is missing. Sebastian. He’s not in the house, he’s not answering his phone, and his friends don’t know where he is.’
    â€˜He didn’t sleep in his bed last night,’ added Miranda.
    The policeman turned his head and looked at her, frowning, then scratched his head with his pencil. ‘How can you be sure of that, Mrs Frost?’
    To her it was obvious, not deserving of time-wasting explanations. ‘Because his bed is made. It hasn’t been slept in.’
    â€˜How do you know for sure that he didn’t sleep in it and then make it?’
    Miranda took a deep breath. ‘Sebastian never makes his bed. Never. Nothing I can say to him ever makes any difference. He just won’t do it. So every afternoon the cleaner makes his bed. While he’s at school.’
    â€˜ Every afternoon?’ pursued PC Jones. ‘Yesterday was Sunday, Mrs Frost. Easter Sunday, in actual fact. Was your cleaner here yesterday?’
    â€˜Yes, she was. Briefly. As a special favour to me.’ He was looking at her strangely; Miranda felt compelled to explain. ‘My husband and I both work long and irregular hours. In A and E. Mrs Bolt has been with us for many years. She’s more than just a cleaner.’
    PC Jones made a note. ‘Mrs Bolt, you say. Have you been in touch with her regarding your son’s whereabouts?’
    Why on earth hadn’t she thought of ringing Iris? Miranda turned to Richard, almost gasping with relief. ‘That’s it. She’ll know where he is. Can you ring her now?’
    â€˜Yes, of course.’ Richard reached for his mobile.
    But Iris Bolt didn’t know where Sebastian was; she hadn’t seen him since yesterday afternoon.
    Having invested so much in that brief hope, Miranda now felt the panic rising again, more insistent than ever. Someone should be doing something; someone should be out there looking for him.
    â€˜The hospitals,’ PC Jones went on methodically, as if consulting a mental checklist for missing persons. ‘Have you been in touch with them? With A and E?’
    â€˜We work there,’ Richard reminded him with more than a touch of ironic impatience. ‘We were there last night. Both of us, until late.’
    â€˜There