Fifteen
There was no sign of Ryan Whitaker at the address City University had given to Harry.
‘Check his letter box, Nigel.’
DC Beard walked across the litter strewn yard to the bank of letter boxes in the wall that stood between the building and the street. The letter box for number six was stuffed full of junk mail and a couple of utility bills with week old postmarks.
‘Looks like he hasn’t cleared it for about a week, Sarge.’
Harry tried the mobile number the university had given him. It went through to voice mail. He knocked on the door of number five. A young woman holding a small boy on her hip partially opened the door. Harry could see the chain lock.
‘Police,’ said Harry, holding his badge out for her to read. ‘I’m looking for Ryan. Have you seen him?’
She released the chain
