Dawson pulled up at what must have been the grandest house yet.

He knocked the front door of the home of Harrison Forbes; the last name on his list. Harrison’s name had appeared on the roster eleven months ago and had simply disappeared for the beginning of the spring term.

Dawson paced a few steps before knocking again. He heard the sound echo around the hall.

He stepped back and took a look around. There were no vehicles parked around the property, and there was an air of silence.

He strode to the three-car garage block and tried the handle. Locked.

He walked back to the house and knocked again.

He wasn’t expecting anyone to answer. There was clearly no one home but it was best to check before he began peering in windows. He had no wish to frighten the living daylights out of anyone.

He stood on tiptoe and glanced in through the bottom left corner of the kitchen window. At first glance, it appeared tidy and organised. Until he took a second look. The kitchen wasn’t uncluttered, it was empty.

He moved along to the next window, which revealed a grand, spacious lounge area, without one item of furniture.

Damn it, the Forbes family had evidently moved out, and he had no other address.

He got into the car and headed back down the drive. He entered the traffic to the main road and then took the next left, leading him up the drive of the next available neighbour.

Oh, to have your nearest neighbour about a quarter mile away, he thought. But a bugger if you just needed a cup of sugar.

The blaring lights and three parked cars told him he could at least speak to someone.

The door was open before he’d even parked the car. Of course, a house like this would have cameras and a security system.

The man that came towards him was holding a bull mastiff who was slobbering at him disturbingly on a short, tight leash.

‘May I help you?’

The politeness of the question was at odds with the hungry-looking dog.

The man was dressed in a white shirt and black suit trousers. He guessed he had just come back from work.

‘Sorry to disturb you,’ Dawson offered, half talking to the dog. ‘I was just at the Forbes’ property next door and—’

‘You want to buy it?’ the man asked doubtfully, eyeing his Renault Megane.

Oh, how he hated judgemental people.

‘No, I’m a police officer and I need to speak to the family. Do you have a forwarding address?’

The man shook his head as the dog lunged uncomfortably close to his genitalia. His owner tugged him back to his side.

‘They didn’t leave an address, and may I know your interest?’

‘I’m afraid not. It’s a matter I can only discuss with the family.’

‘Then I’m sorry, but we can’t help you. They didn’t tell us where they were moving to, and we just keep a check on the house now and again.’

‘So, you have a telephone number for them?’ he asked, hopefully.

The man shook his head. ‘There is a managing agent and a solicitor, and everything goes through them.’

‘All sounds a bit mysterious,’ Dawson said, trying to lighten the mood.

The man did not respond in kind.

‘Not surprising, after what happened,’

‘And what was that?’ he asked.

The man’s face closed completely. ‘Not for me to say, officer.’

Too late, Dawson realised that he had not played that very well. If he’d been thinking clearly, he would have used the old trick of pretending to know what had happened to at least elicit some detail. He blamed the fact it had been a long day and he was tired.

He reached into his pocket, and the dog snarled and growled in his direction.

‘Easy, boy,’ the man said, tugging him again.

‘It’s just this,’ Dawson said, holding out a card. ‘Could you pass along my details through the communication channel. Just tell them I could really do with talking to them.’

The man took the card and turned to move away.

‘Please, tell them it’s about Heathcrest.’

The man nodded and stepped away, muttering something as he went.

Dawson couldn’t be sure, but it had sounded like ‘I wouldn’t hold your breath.’

He sat back in the car and rubbed at his forehead. He really should call the boss and head home.

He took out his mobile phone and called up a search engine. Something had happened to Harrison Forbes, and he wanted to know what.

He typed in the kid’s name and got precisely no matching results. Hundreds of hits for his father who owned valuable rental property in London but not one item for his son. No Facebook account, Twitter, Instagram, Snapchat. Absolutely nothing and not one news report of any kind to corroborate what the neighbour had said.

And why all the secrecy surrounding the family moving away. Who or what were they afraid of?