‘Looking for someone?’
The tiny figure pivoted slowly in the direction of Paterson’s voice. Mrs Kilsyth’s face registered surprise, then slight embarrassment. After a second her features regrouped into an expression of extreme irritation. She gave a cursory wave in their direction and turned back to the two old men with whom she’d been conversing.
‘What is she playing at?’ Paterson matched Mrs Kilsyth’s look of irritation, and raised it to furious.
‘The same as us I expect.’
‘And is she planning to just ignore us standing here?’
‘I don’t think so, Guv.’ She sincerely hoped that she wasn’t. She could do without a set-to between the two of them, watched by half the homeless people in London. To her relief, Mrs Kilsyth seemed to be saying her goodbyes to the men.
As she walked away, one of them shouted after her in a broad Glaswegian accent. ‘I think I know the man you want, doll. Come back and we can talk about it.’ He cackled. ‘You can buy us a cup of tea first.’
‘Looks like you’ve got a hot lead there, Mrs Kilsyth.’
She glared at Paterson. ‘At least I’m trying.’
‘Trying to do what? Get yourself mugged?’
‘What choice did I have? After speaking to you yesterday I didn’t have much faith that you were actually going to do anything. And as the old adage says, if you want something doing, do it yourself.’
‘Well you had no need to come all the way down here. I spoke to our HQ and they’ve sent us to retrieve the professor.’
She looked up and down the length of the Embankment, as if searching for something. ‘Just the two of you?’
‘Yes just the two of us! What did you expect? We are trying to be inconspicuous here. Would you prefer it if we had an army of police officers scouring the alleyways of London, and leaking to the press while they do it?’
She considered this for a moment. ‘I suppose.’
‘Have you found out anything useful?’ asked Mona.
‘I’ve been showing Sandy’s picture to the many gentlemen of the road I have encountered, and several of them are of the opinion they could take me to him right now if I paid them suitable expenses.’
Paterson smiled. ‘And yet you’re still here.’
‘Call me cynical, Mr Paterson, but I’m not sure they’re telling the truth. Nobody has said anything sensible, such as they saw him here last night.’
‘Well, you can leave the hunting to us now.’
‘I don’t think so!’ She folded her arms. ‘I’m staying right here to make sure that you do actually look for him.’
‘And you know a lot about mounting a search do you?’ Paterson indicated the homeless men who were watching their discussions. ‘Another half hour here and you’d have been minus both your purse and your innocence.’
‘You’re a few years late to be protecting that, Mr Paterson. Now I may not be trained in the ins and outs of witness recovery, but I’ve been around your kind of institution long enough to spot a token effort when I see one.’
‘It’s not token, it’s discreet.’
She raised an eyebrow.
‘Believe me, we are every bit as keen as you to find the professor.’ It was Paterson’s turn to fold his arms. ‘And anyway, I only have your word for it that you are genuinely interested in Professor Bircham-Fowler’s well-being. For all I know you’re spying on him, for persons and reasons unknown.’
‘Then I’ve been embedded for a bloody long time!’ She waved a hand at him, dismissing him back in the direction of Hungerford Bridge. ‘Right, have it your way. You continue your investigation and I’ll continue mine.’
‘Guv,’ said Mona, a note of concern in her voice. Having Theresa continuing her own search would be disastrous. While she had more faith in Mrs Kilsyth’s ability to look after herself than Paterson did, there was huge potential for her to get into trouble. She could get mugged or attacked, and end up attracting the attention of the police. Or, if she wandered around long enough she was sure to bump into the London equivalent of the HET, who would be busy trying to contain the public health problem presented by a large number of people with uncertain health statuses bedding down together for the night. Either way, if she wound up in trouble it wouldn’t be long before someone questioned why Professor Bircham-Fowler’s secretary was trawling the underpasses of the South Bank.
‘Yes, I know, Mona, I get your point. Mrs Kilsyth can assist us, and I mean assist.’ He waggled a finger at her. ‘No telling us what to do, no saying we’re getting it all wrong; in fact, no whinging of any kind.’ He turned the finger back toward himself. ‘I am in charge here.’
She looked at Mona, and shrugged. ‘Whatever you say – Guv.’
The address for Elijah was annotated with a description of how to get there.
‘We’re looking for a church hall, Guv, down one of these backstreets. I’ll check the map on my phone.’
‘Where would we be without the map?’
Mona glared at his back. Greg’s A–Z app had proved invaluable, even if Paterson did glare at her every time she consulted it. She wondered how he would prefer to navigate the streets of London. He might know every close, cut-through and rat run of Leith, but here they were on foreign territory.
‘According to the map, Guv, it’s the next road on the right.’
‘Mrs Kilsyth,’ she touched her arm to stop her walking past the turning. ‘We’re down here.’
‘Theresa, dear, call me Theresa.’ She smiled and obediently followed her.
‘I’m Mona.’
‘Mona.’ She nodded. ‘A lovely name. And your boss is called?’
‘Mr Paterson,’ said the Guv, without turning round.
Theresa rolled her eyes. ‘Where are we going?’
‘We’re visiting a community project. The worker here knows everyone, apparently. Number 27, Guv, this is it.’
Paterson knocked on the front door, which opened under the force of his fist. ‘Hello?’
They followed him into an old-fashioned church hall. The wooden floor creaked under their weight. The room had seen better days: the elegant cornicing on the ceiling was offset by the peeling paint on the walls. Half a dozen tables had red polka dot plastic covers over them, and a number of homeless men sat at them, drinking tea. Mona looked them over. They were a mixed bunch: old, young, black, white. The one thing they all had in common was an expression of extreme weariness. As homelessness went, these guys were on the front line. No sofa surfers here, this was the hardcore sleeping-under-bridges brigade.
There was a serving hatch in the corner of the room, with a strong smell of soup emanating from it. Paterson wandered over and knocked on the wood. ‘Hello?’
Two middle-aged black women appeared, their hands full of crockery and dishtowels. One of them stepped forward, her eyes full of suspicion. ‘Yes?’
‘Sorry to disturb you. We’re looking for Elijah?’
A head popped out of a doorway. ‘Someone say my name?’ The accent was broad East End. The man was black, as tall and as broad as the Guv, but wearing a grin that suggested an infinitely more cheerful disposition. ‘Because if you are looking for Elijah, consider him found. How can I help you?’
‘We were given your details by Detective Sergeant Paterson. We’re down from Scotland looking for an, ehm, missing person.’
‘DS Paterson? A good man. Very understanding when we have our little local difficulties here.’ Elijah laughed, a big booming sound, then shook each of their hands in turn. ‘You guys cops as well?’
Paterson made a non-committal noise. Fortunately Elijah didn’t follow it up.
‘So, who’s the dude you’re looking for? Or is it a lady?’ He looked round the café. ‘We don’t get so many women in here.’
‘It’s a man,’ said Mona, and produced the picture of the professor.
Elijah took it from her and studied it closely. ‘No, sorry. Can’t say I’ve seen him.’
‘Take your time.’
He handed it back. ‘No, really. He’s a weird-looking dude, and I ain’t seen anyone in tweeds like that.’
‘Have you seen this woman?’ Theresa elbowed them both out of the way, and waved the photograph of the professor’s daughter.
Mona wouldn’t have thought it possible, but Paterson radiated even more fury than he had earlier. Elijah looked surprised. ‘Oh, yeah, what’s her name again?’
‘You know her?’ asked Paterson. ‘Is she a rough sleeper?’
‘Nah, she ain’t no rough sleeper. She works for a charity – the Homeless wotsit UK lot? Know who I mean? This is their annual sleepout.’
‘A sleepout?’
‘Yeah. They all bed down on the Embankment to draw attention to the lack of resources to tackle homelessness. They always get a few famous people to join them, you know, soap stars, that kind of thing. It gets a lot of publicity for them.’
‘Any idea of her name?’
‘Oh, now you’re asking.’ Elijah stood staring into space, his brow furled. ‘Lovely girl she is. Sure it was something beginning with M, like Mary or Margaret.’ He slapped his forehead. ‘Maria! Her name’s Maria.’
‘Maria Bircham-Fowler?’ asked Theresa, again to the Guv’s annoyance.
‘Don’t think so.’ He shook his head. ‘Nah. Weren’t something like that. Something more exotic, I think. I thought she was foreign?’
‘Possibly,’ said Mona, reluctant to show her ignorance. Theresa might be able to shine some light on this. ‘Would you be able to give us the proper name of the charity she works for?’
‘You people are taxing my brain today! Homeless something UK. Homeless Hearts, I think? Something like that?’
‘Hearthless Hearts UK.’ A voice drifted out from the kitchen.
‘Antoinette – you are an angel! That woman,’ he pointed into the kitchen, ‘she never forgets anything, not a name, or a face. She’s very popular with our clients. So, if she says Hearthless Hearts UK, then that’s what it will be.’
‘Any idea where their offices are?’
‘I visited them with one of our gentlemen a while back. They were at Pillars Lane then, but that was probably about a year ago, but I didn’t hear anything about them moving. Antoinette!’ he yelled in the direction of the hatch. ‘Hearthless Hearts – they still down at Pillars Lane?’
‘As far as I know.’
‘We’ll start there then. Thanks so much for your help.’
‘Always happy to support the police. Though we do take donations for our work . . .’
Paterson smiled and dug into his pockets for a tenner, which he laid on the polka dot table. ‘It’s great that there are immune people like yourself doing this kind of work.’
‘Immune?’ Elijah’s big booming laugh sounded again. ‘I ain’t immune.’
The three of them stared at him.
‘Aren’t you scared of catching the Virus?’ asked Theresa.
‘Nah.’ He put his hands together as if praying. ‘The Lord will protect me.’