The mention of more trouble in Vauxhall caused Anna to panic.
DC Sweeny was driving so she took out her phone and speed-dialled Chloe’s number.
She suddenly regretted her decision to leave her daughter at home alone. What the hell had she been thinking?
But when Chloe answered on the fourth ring, she quickly put her mother’s mind at ease.
‘It’s quiet outside and the street is empty,’ she said. ‘I can hear sirens but they sound a long way off. And the people next door have already been in to check on me.’
‘That’s a relief,’ Anna said. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Having something to eat. I haven’t long been up. And I’m OK, so don’t worry.’
‘I’ll try not to. Just don’t forget what I said about staying indoors, and phone me if for any reason you get scared.’
As they approached Camberwell, it was strange seeing that things had almost returned to normal. Traffic was moving and there were pedestrians on the streets. A lot of the shops were boarded up either because they’d been vandalised or because the owners had decided not to open them.
The route to the café took them past The Falconer’s Arms. The police and forensic officers were long gone and it was back to being a derelict building that nobody was paying any attention to.
The café was just around the corner from it, and as they pulled up outside there was no sign of any rough sleepers.
‘I expect the owner did as we suggested and invited him inside,’ Sweeny said.
Anna’s phone rang as she was getting out of the car. It was DI Walker with some news about Gavin Pope and his wife.
‘We’ve solved the mystery of why they’re not at home and haven’t been answering their phones,’ he said. ‘Turns out they’ve been to visit his parents who live down in the New Forest. The house is in an area with no mobile signal. They’re heading back now and we’ve arranged to talk to them. Meanwhile, we haven’t come up with anything concrete that implicates them in Jacob’s abduction.’
‘That doesn’t mean they weren’t involved, so let’s pursue them until we’re sure,’ Anna said.
‘Will do, guv. Have you arrived in Camberwell yet?’
‘Just. The roads were pretty clear so we didn’t have any problems.’
‘And have you touched base with the homeless guy?’ Walker asked.
‘We’re about to,’ she said.
*
There were only four people inside the café and it was obvious to Anna right away who it was they had come to see.
He was sitting at a corner table tucking into a plate of egg, chips and baked beans.
Sweeny spoke to the café owner who told them the guy’s name was George Rigby and he didn’t know that the police wanted to speak to him.
‘He’s a pleasant enough bloke,’ the owner said in a thick South London accent. ‘He’s been hanging around these streets for as long as I can remember. And this ain’t the first time I’ve let him have a meal on the house.’
As Anna approached George Rigby it occurred to her that he appeared typical of the almost four thousand homeless people who were rough sleeping on the streets of London.
He was bundled into a dark overcoat and had lank, shoulder-length grey hair that clearly hadn’t been washed in weeks.
When Anna reached the table he looked up at her and smiled, revealing a random scattering of yellow teeth.
‘Do you mind if I join you, Mr Rigby?’ she said, pulling out a chair. ‘And before you answer, I should tell you that I’ve asked the owner over there to feed you until you’re full and then to give you a goody bag when you leave.’
He stared at her for several beats, his eyes shot with blood. Then he spoke in a voice that was gravelly from too many fags and poor health.
‘Suit yourself,’ he said. ‘Are you some kind of social worker then? Is that it?’
Anna took out her warrant card and showed it to him.
‘I’m a police officer,’ she said. ‘Detective Chief Inspector Anna Tate.’
At that moment Sweeny joined them at the table.
‘And this is my colleague Detective Constable Sweeny,’ Anna said.
Rigby’s eyes stretched wide as he looked from one to the other, clearly confused.
‘So what am I supposed to have done then?’ he asked, sitting back in the chair.
Anna smiled. ‘Absolutely nothing as far as I know, Mr Rigby.’
‘Then what’s this about? Why are you being nice to me?’
An empty ache touched the pit of Anna’s stomach suddenly. The man opposite her looked so pitiful, and she couldn’t help feeling sorry for him. She guessed he was in his fifties or early sixties but she really couldn’t be sure.
She watched him shove a chip into his mouth and wondered when he’d last eaten a proper meal.
The café owner came over with a tray of teas and placed three mugs on the table. Anna waited until he’d gone before answering Rigby’s question.
‘We want to ask you about The Falconer’s Arms pub,’ she said. ‘As you probably know there was a serious fire there on Friday.’
He nodded. ‘I heard that a lad was killed. The bloody estate agents or owners should have made sure nobody could get inside. But I didn’t start it if that’s what you think. I haven’t been there for over a week now – I’ve been kipping in the doorway of an empty shop over near the leisure centre instead.’
‘We know the fire had nothing to do with you,’ Anna said. ‘A mob of youths turned up there and one of them threw a petrol bomb.’
He gritted his teeth. ‘Bloody animals. It’s hard enough finding somewhere safe to bed down without them causing all this trouble. I’ve been living on the streets for four years and I’ve never known anything like this.’
‘Neither have we, Mr Rigby,’ Anna said.
She paused then while he ate another chip and washed it down with some tea.
‘We’ve been told that you used to sleep in the doorway of The Falconer’s Arms,’ she said.
‘That’s right, and I’ll be going back there soon I hope. It’s set back from the road so I don’t keep getting disturbed. And it feels like home as well because many years ago I worked there behind the bar.’
Anna was taken aback. ‘We didn’t know that, Mr Rigby.’
He shrugged. ‘Well you do now. Best job I ever had. But then fifteen years ago me and my wife, who’s now dead bless her, moved to the other side of London so I had to pack it in. Shame it closed down. I reckon it was the best boozer around here.’
Anna reached in her pocket for the old photo showing the group gathered in the pub.
‘I downloaded this from the internet,’ she said, handing it to him. ‘It was taken twenty-five years ago and shows some of people who worked there then. Do you recognise any of the them?’
He examined it carefully through half-closed eyes.
‘This was before my time,’ he said. ‘But yeah, I knew about half this lot.’
Anna pointed to the blonde woman. ‘What about her?’
He nodded. ‘Yeah, that’s Hilary. Nice lady she was. In fact, I saw her son recently. He came up to me a little over a week ago and paid for me to stay in a hotel for a fortnight.’
Anna felt the air crash out of her lungs and it was Sweeny who responded first.
‘Is that really true?’ she asked him.
‘I ain’t got no reason to lie,’ he said. ‘He told me that the pub owners had made complaints about me but if I disappeared for a while it would blow over and I could then come back. He said he didn’t think it was fair and he felt sorry for me. So on the Saturday before last he picked me up in his car and drove me to this little place in Blackfriars. He paid them in advance for bed and breakfast for two weeks and gave me some cash to keep for spending. Now don’t get me wrong. The hotel is a pile of crap, but I wasn’t complaining. I had a warm bed to sleep in and cooked breakfasts every day for a week.’
‘I thought he paid for two weeks,’ Sweeny said.
‘That’s right, he did. But the manager kicked me out because I spent the money I was given on booze, got drunk and chucked up in reception. So I found myself back on the streets sooner than I expected. I thought it best to steer clear of the pub so that’s why I ended up near the leisure centre.’
Anna leaned over the table, ignored the awful smell that assaulted her nostrils, and said, ‘I need to be clear about this, Mr Rigby. You’re saying that Joseph Walsh, Hilary’s son, paid for you to stay in a hotel so that you would move away from The Falconer’s Arms.’
He frowned. ‘I don’t know anyone named Walsh.’
‘We’re led to believe it was Hilary’s married name. Before that she was Hilary Metcalfe.’
Rigby stuck out his lower lip and Anna could see that he was becoming even more confused.
‘We’ve found out that Hilary died five years ago from cancer,’ she said. ‘Joseph then sold the house they lived in near here and moved to Australia.’
Rigby shook his head. ‘You’ve got this all very wrong, Detective. I may have lost a lot of things in recent years but not my memory. First of all, Hilary never married anyone named Walsh. I met her husband plenty of times when he came into the pub. It’s where they first got together. And their son has always been known as Joe, not Joseph. I also know for sure that Joe didn’t sell up and move away. He still lives around the corner in Devlin Road. In fact you might even know him.’
‘What makes you think that?’ Anna said.
‘Well because he’s a bleedin’ copper.’
‘Are you serious? What’s his name?’
‘Benning. Joe Benning.’