The woman at the reception desk wore oversized red glasses, and a confused expression.
‘I don’t understand,’ she said, leafing through a large folder which appeared to contain handwritten diaries for everyone in the organisation. Mona was glad to see the HET wasn’t the only workplace failing to grasp the organisational opportunities presented by Microsoft Outlook. ‘Why would Maria arrange to see you today when she’s had this week booked as annual leave for months now?’
Mona’s heart sank; if Maria was sunning herself in Lanzarote that would bring their one line of investigation to an abrupt end. ‘She’s off on holiday?’
‘No, just getting some work done on her flat, I think.’ She snapped the folder shut. ‘I can see if anyone else can help you, but if it was about a grant application we might be struggling, because funding is pretty much Maria’s baby, and the boss isn’t in today either . . .’
Mona manoeuvred herself further into the office. Unlike the previous charity they had visited, this was a modern, open-plan building. A couple of staff were tapping away at computers, and in a glass-fronted meeting space a woman was addressing a small group of young people, a couple of whom appeared to be more interested in their phones than the content of her presentation.
‘Gillian, did Maria say anything about coming in off leave today?’
The only other woman in the office looked up from her computer and shook her head. ‘No, don’t think so.’
Above the woman’s head there was a large whiteboard with the location of all the staff written on it. Maria had ‘annual leave’ written against her name in big red letters. Unfortunately nobody’s surname was included.
‘Do you have a business card for her? I can give her a ring to reschedule.’
‘Of course!’ The receptionist looked relieved that there was an acceptable solution to the problem, and began rooting around in her desk drawer. ‘Here you go.’
Mona looked at the card. Maria Sánchez-Lewandowska. Funding Officer.
‘Thanks. You’ve been very helpful.’
She ran down the steps and looked up and down the street to see where Theresa had got to. Mona had gently suggested that it would be better if she visited the charity by herself, and had been taken by surprise when Theresa had agreed. She’d been prepared for more of a fight. Mona wasn’t sure if her sudden compliance was due to the fact that Paterson wasn’t here to argue with, or if the stress of their searching was taking its toll on her. But where had she got to? Mona hoped that she hadn’t taken off without her. Progress might be slow, but she’d a feeling that might be about to change.
‘I’m here.’ She turned to see Theresa, who was fanning herself with a magazine. ‘Sorry, I went in search of shade. This entire street is a suntrap. Success?’
‘I think so.’ She showed her the business card. ‘Can’t be too many Londoners with a moniker like that. Looks like part Spanish, and what do you think that is, Polish perhaps?’
‘Well, Spanish would make sense. Her mother ran off with a Venezuelan PhD student. Sandy was devastated.’
‘Might have been helpful to mention that at some point, Theresa.’
‘I would have done if I’d thought for one minute that the relationship had lasted all this time. The student was a good few years younger than Sandy’s wife, you know. We all assumed it was just a fling.’ She lowered her voice. ‘Between you and me, that student was a very handsome young man.’
Mona smiled, and looked at the card again. ‘And judging by the double-barrel I guess Maria married an Eastern European.’
‘Married!’ Theresa looked wistful, and Mona stared at her in surprise. ‘I knew her as a little girl,’ she explained. ‘She was a pretty little thing, very talkative; much more her mother’s daughter than her father’s, to be honest. So I’m allowed to be pleased that she’s all grown up and married. Anyway, what will you do now – run her through your Green Card database?’
‘No.’ Mona pulled up Google and started typing. ‘That leaves a pretty big digital footprint – they log everyone who accesses a file. Seeing as we’re trying to stay below the radar I’m going to start with the electoral roll.’
‘Can you do that on your phone?’
‘Hope so.’ Mona scrolled through the government website. After a couple of minutes’ searching, she found what she was looking for. ‘Got her!’
‘Really? All this time she was a couple of clicks away on a website?’
‘Yup. All it took was the correct name.’ She reached into her bag for her phone. ‘Let’s work out how to get to her house from here.’
Maria’s address led them to a row of terraced townhouses in Clapham, on a tree-lined street which once must have been a highly desirable location for Victorian families and their servants. Now, Mona assumed, the sub-divided buildings were highly desirable starter flats for London’s army of young professionals. Their particular interest was in number 75, which currently had the door to its communal stair propped open. Builders in blue boilers suits were carrying items out of a van marked m&k plumbing and into the building.
‘I don’t see why we can’t just go in.’ Theresa peered round the side of the tree. One of the plumbers caught sight of her and gave a cheery wave.
‘Could we be a little bit discreet? The Guv said to wait for him.’
Theresa snorted. ‘I’m not sure what exactly he’s going to bring to our meeting. He’s been singularly unsuccessful in finding out what happened to Sandy at King’s Cross.’
‘That’s not entirely true. We do know that from what Greg could establish, nobody meeting the professor’s description was either arrested or found in a distressed state last night.’
‘I suppose.’ She sighed. ‘No news is good news.’
A taxi turned into the street, and Mona caught sight of her boss’s unsmiling face on the back seat. ‘I think this is the Guv now.’
He climbed out, shoving his wallet back into his coat pocket. ‘There’s going to be an expenses claim and a half after this trip. So, have you definitely found her?’
‘Well, we’ve found the home residence of Maria Sánchez-Lewandowska. So unless there are two Maria Sánchez-Lewandowskas in the Greater London area, I think we’ve found her. And fair play, we were due a break.’
‘It’ll be a break if the professor is sitting in her living room drinking tea. Otherwise, it might be just another dead end.’
‘Thanks for the positive frame of mind, Guv. So, what are we going to tell her when we go in there?’
‘The truth,’ said Theresa.
Paterson glared at her. ‘I believe Mona was asking me?’
‘I don’t care who she was asking. We should tell the poor girl the truth.’
‘And what exactly is your interpretation of “the truth”?’
It was a good question. Mona wasn’t certain that she could explain the actual reason for their mission, beyond the fact that Cameron Stuttle was up to something, he wasn’t going to get his own hands dirty and Paterson hadn’t had the balls to tell him to get stuffed.
‘The truth, Mr Paterson, is that I am a colleague of her father’s, and I’m worried about him.’ She sighed. ‘Desperately worried.’
Paterson thought for a minute. ‘Actually, that’s probably the best angle we can go for. But perhaps, as a novelty, you could let Mona and me actually do the talking this time?’
Theresa rolled her eyes but she led the way across the street. They waited at the gate as two men navigated an olive-green plastic bath out of the doorway, down the path, and into a skip.
‘Can see why she’s getting rid of that, Guv.’
‘Had one like that when we were growing up. It was the height of fashion, I seem to remember; my mother was very proud of it. Anyway, which number do we want?’
‘75b. Just follow the dust and plumbing professionals.’
The flat’s front door was propped open with a large earthenware vase. Paterson knocked loudly. ‘Hello?’
A young woman appeared in the hall, a cardboard box in her hands. She was tall and slender, with long dark hair that fell to just below her shoulders. Mona wasn’t sure, but she thought she could spy a bit of a bump in her stomach area. Was the imminent arrival of a baby the reason for all this renovation?
The woman put the box down, and smiled. ‘Oh, I thought you were the builders. Are you looking for me?’
‘Are you Maria Sánchez-Lewandowska?’ Paterson made a brave attempt at the correct pronunciation.
‘Yes.’ She looked a little cautious.
‘I’m sorry to just appear on your doorstep like this, but we need to speak to you about your father.’
Her face immediately scrunched with worry. ‘Xavi? Has something happened? Is he OK?’
‘Sorry, I should have been clearer. Not your stepfather, Ms Sánchez-Lewandowska, I meant your biological father, Alexander Bircham-Fowler.’
Her face continued to betray her emotions, with a look of surprise being quickly followed by a grimace of annoyance. ‘I really don’t want to discuss him. I haven’t seen him since I was a child.’
Mona worried that Theresa would leap in at this point to defend the professor, with a potted history of his attempts to look for her followed by a list of his many good points, but silence reigned. Theresa had been uncharacteristically quiet throughout all of Paterson’s attempts to win Maria’s trust. Mona had half-expected her to elbow her way past them and throw her arms round the professor’s long-lost child. She turned to look at her, and noticed that she was using a small white handkerchief to dab her eyes.
Maria seemed to be getting increasingly irritated by their presence. She held on to the door and Mona could see her attempt to edge away the vase that was holding it open. Any second now the door was going to be slammed in Paterson’s face and he would have to wedge his size twelve brogue into the gap before it closed. She assumed that he was ready to do so; he had a face that brought out people’s inner door-slamming instinct.
‘Anyway, who are you people?’
‘We, ehm, work with Professor Bircham-Fowler in Edinburgh.’ Paterson leaned casually but effectively against the door, to hinder any attempts at closing it. ‘Unfortunately your father has been missing for two days now. Our last reported sighting of him was here in London.’
Her face was becoming less readable, possibly as she became less certain of how she felt. ‘I’m sure it will be something to do with his work. My mother always said he was a workaholic. I’m sorry but I don’t see what that has to do with me. If it wasn’t for his continual appearance on the news I wouldn’t even know what he looked like.’
‘We thought he might be trying to find you.’
‘I haven’t seen him in the best part of two decades.’ Irritation was returning to her voice. ‘Why would he suddenly be looking for me?’
‘Because someone sent him this picture.’ Mona pulled the photocopy out of her bag and handed it to her.
She stared at it for a few seconds. ‘That was on a sleepout to raise funds to tackle homelessness. I used to work for the charity that organised it.’
‘We know that, but we don’t think your father does. He’s dropped everything to come to London to try to find you because he thinks you’re homeless and sleeping on the streets. We know he has been searching for you on the Embankment. No one has heard from him since he left for London and we’re worried that he has come to harm.’
Maria leaned her head against the door and her hair fell across her face, obscuring her expression. Mona thought she could sense that her previous irritation was turning into distress. It couldn’t be easy, having three strangers appear on your doorstep, dredging up memories of your childhood. And that possible baby bump – should they try and ease off on the stress, get her sitting down, nice cup of tea perhaps?
She felt a rustle at her back as Theresa pushed past her. ‘Seven years old!’ She reached for Maria’s hand, and held it between her own. Maria looked up in confusion, flicking her long hair back over her shoulder.
‘You used to be in and out of your dad’s office all the time. And here you are, all grown up . . .’
Maria pulled away. There was no ambiguity about her distress now, and Mona could see tears starting to streak her face. Maria pushed the photocopy back toward them. ‘You need to go. Now.’
A builder appeared at the top of the stairs. He stood there looking them over, obviously trying to figure out what was going on.
‘But . . .’
‘Please, just leave!’ Her voice was getting louder.
The builder took a step forward. ‘Everything OK, Mrs S?’
‘Yes, fine. Please carry on.’
With a stern glance at the three of them he disappeared into the flat.
Maria bent down and moved the vase away from the door. ‘My father hasn’t been here and I’ve no interest in seeing him.’
‘I’ll leave my card in case you do hear from him.’ Mona held the closing door, and pressed the card into Maria’s hand. ‘I know this is difficult for you but we absolutely do need to hear from him if he makes contact with you.’
The door closed behind them with a thud.
‘That went well, Guv.’
Theresa missed the sarcasm in her voice. ‘It went dreadfully.’ She started scrabbling around in her handbag, and produced her handkerchief again. ‘She’s never going to speak to us again, or to Sandy. He was obviously trying to make things right with her, and we’ve just ruined any chance he had of a relationship with her.’
Paterson sighed, and pointed over the bannister. ‘And to make matters worse, we’re trapped.’
A middle-aged plumber and what looked like his apprentice were manoeuvring a bath up the stairs. It was a narrow space, and judging by the repeated cries of ‘easy there’ and ‘take it slow’ the older man was intent on getting it up the stairwell without scraping the wall. They stepped back to allow them space. Mona hoped that Maria wasn’t too upset to open the front door, otherwise the bath was going to have to remain precariously balanced on the landing, or even worse, return back to the bottom of the stairs before they could escape.
To her surprise the door opened again, and Maria stood there. ‘Excuse me!’ She was looking at Theresa. ‘Are you Mrs Kilsyth?’
Theresa stopped dabbing her eyes. ‘Yes, I am.’
‘I remember you.’ Maria’s voice cracked. ‘You were always very kind to me as a child.’
Theresa pushed Paterson out of the way, and reached out to Maria. ‘Your father was, and is, a workaholic. I’m sure he made a very bad husband, and possibly not a great dad. But I know that he did love you very much, and it broke his heart when he lost touch with you.’
Maria’s face disappeared under her hair again, but her heaving shoulders left no doubt that she was upset. Tears were also streaming freely down Theresa’s cheeks. Mona looked over at Paterson, who rolled his eyes. He made a generalised hand movement indicating that she ought to do something, which she returned with a specific shrug of her shoulders, indicating that there was no way she was getting in the middle of that.
A scraping sound followed by a mild oath alerted them that the bath had reached the top of the stairs.
‘All right to bring this in, Mrs S?’
Maria fled into the flat without answering.
The plumber looked at them in confusion.
‘I’d take that as a yes, chaps.’
‘Right you are. Easy there . . .’
Their way now clear they walked slowly down the stairs, Theresa sniffing and dabbing as she went. ‘Do you think she’ll ring us if she does hear from Sandy?’
‘I don’t know, Theresa.’ Paterson held open the front door to let them both pass through. ‘But let’s hope so, because right now we’ve not got any other leads.’
A figure on the other side of the road caught Mona’s eye. ‘I wouldn’t say that, Guv.’ She pointed at a man standing in the shady spot that they had recently vacated. ‘Isn’t that . . .’
‘Sandy!’