by Lesley Kelly
‘I’m sure she had something she was debating whether to tell us, Guv.’
He grunted, and set off toward the car.
Mona slid into the passenger seat. Without taking his eyes from the road, Paterson spoke. ‘Mrs Kilsyth was quite something, wasn’t she?’
‘I quite liked her, Guv.’
Something approaching a smile played across Paterson’s face. ‘So did I.’
Mona’s mobile beeped.
‘Is that Bernard?’ asked Paterson.
‘Yep.’ She read the message. ‘As I suspected, he thinks our Defaulter is a prostitute.’
‘Time to visit Annemarie?’
‘Absolutely, Guv.’
6
Annemarie was a Leith legend. She’d run a project supporting working girls for as long as anyone could remember, and had managed to tread a fine line between supporting her clients, and working, occasionally co-operatively, with the police. If Alessandra Barr had been plying her trade on Salamander Street, Annemarie would know about it. Bernard had never met her, but Maitland had spent half an hour regaling him with stories about her robust attitude to working with law enforcement, and consequently his stomach was churning as his hand hovered over the buzzer.
‘Are you sure she’ll be happy to talk to us?’
Mona reached past him and gave the buzzer a good long press. ‘Only one way to find out.’
After a couple of seconds, a small, stout woman with greying short back and sides appeared. She opened the door a crack, and surveyed them. She looked at Mona. ‘I know you, don’t I?’
‘I was CID, now in the Health Enforcement Team.’ She held her ID aloft. ‘Can we come in?’
‘You can, he can’t.’ She pointed at him, and he jumped. ‘No offence, son, but it’s a women-only space.’
‘Oh, OK, no problem.’
‘Tell you what, I’ll come out there. Just let me grab my fags.’
Mona whispered to him. ‘Do not say anything to her about the dangers of smoking.’
‘I wasn’t going to,’ he lied.
Annemarie reappeared with her cigarettes and a large set of keys.
‘Quite some security setup you’ve got here, Annemarie.’
‘I know, hen. I’ve worked here for thirty years, and when I started the women could just walk in off the street. Then someone’s pimp tried to stab one of the girls on the premises so we got the intercom. Then you lot came along and we had to get a Green Card machine.’ She laughed, which turned into a cough. Bernard wondered if he should have a quiet word about smoking cessation after all, then caught Mona’s eye. He smiled, guiltily.
Annemarie was breathing again. ‘It’s a wonder any lassies come in at all. Anyway, what can I do for you?’
‘We’re looking for a woman who has missed her Health Check. We think she’s possibly working as a prostitute, and we wondered if you’d seen her.’
‘She got a name?’
‘Alessandra Barr.’
Annemarie let out a long puff. ‘Don’t know her.’
Bernard tried not to wave the smoke away. ‘She might be using a different name?’
‘No, I’d know her real name. They used to be able to call themselves anything and we were happy with that, but these days you lot would close us down if we didn’t know the names and health status of everyone that comes in here. Doesn’t make it easy to help vulnerable people, but what can you do?’
Mona unfolded a photocopy. ‘Would you look at her picture?’
Annemarie peered at it. ‘Two black eyes? Poor cow.’
‘You don’t remember anyone coming in with two black eyes?’ asked Bernard.
The two women exchanged an amused glance, and Bernard kicked himself for his naivety.
‘That photo could be half of the lassies we have in here on a bad day. You tried looking in one of the refuges for her?’ Two women appeared round the corner of the building, one tall and one short, both with cigarette packets in their hands. ‘Here – ask a couple of the lassies.’
‘Ladies.’ Mona nodded to them. ‘Can I ask if you recognise this woman?’
They huddled in to look at the picture.
‘Look at the state of her.’ The smaller girl shook her head. ‘Can’t say I know her.’
Bernard watched the other girl. She’d glanced at the picture then stepped away.
‘What about you, miss? Do you know her?’
The tall girl shook her head.
‘OK,’ said Mona. ‘Thanks for your time, everyone. We’ll check out the refuges as you suggested.’ She held out a card to Annemarie. ‘You’ll get in touch if you hear anything?’
She nodded, and put the card into her pocket without looking at it.
As they left Bernard looked back over his shoulder. The tall girl was busy texting on her phone. She looked up and saw him watching her, and swiftly turned her back on him. He wondered if the text was related to their visit. Was she texting Alessandra to warn her they were looking for her? Or was she warning someone else?
7
‘Mona?’
She pressed the print button, downloading a copy of the contacts page from the Edinburgh Women’s Refuge website, then looked up to see Marguerite, the ever-cheerful admin assistant, standing in the doorway to the office. She was beaming from ear to ear. Mona wondered what had induced this idiotic level of happiness. It couldn’t be falling in love; she knew from many unfortunate encounters in the Ladies toilet that Marguerite had a long-term boyfriend called Kevin, who if she was to be believed, had a poor employment record and a wandering eye (although for some reason she remained annoyed that he hadn’t yet proposed to her and showed no immediate signs of preparing to). But if not love, then what? Purchase of puppy? Maitland for once telling a joke that was genuinely amusing, rather than sexist?
‘There’s a woman downstairs asking for you.’ She giggled. ‘She wouldn’t give her name but you’ll never guess who she looks exactly like?’
Had Theresa Kilsyth paid them a visit? So that was what was amusing her – though Mona felt a little surprised that Marguerite could correctly identify a politician who had been out of power since before she was born. ‘Is it by any chance Mrs Thatcher?’
Marguerite’s face fell. ‘Oh, how did you know?’
‘Lucky guess. I’m amazed you know what Mrs T looked like.’
‘Oh yeah, my dad was a big fan. He met her during the Falklands War – you know he did a tour of duty there? In fact, he got his photograph taken with her. It’s up in our living room, next to the one of him meeting Jim Davidson.’
‘OK.’ Mona couldn’t help but think that Kevin’s marital reluctance might be a little bit to do with his new in-laws. ‘Anyway, can you tell her I’ll be down in a minute.’
She stuck her head into Paterson’s office. ‘Guv, I think Theresa Kilsyth is here to see us.’
‘Who?’ he asked, not looking up.
‘Maggie Thatcher from earlier.’
‘Crap.’ He threw his pen down on the desk. ‘I’d hoped we were done with all this nonsense. Well, go and get her. Let’s see what she wants.’
‘Hello again, Mrs Kilsyth.’
Theresa Kilsyth stopped dead when she caught sight of Paterson. ‘I came in to see this young woman, not you.’
He shrugged. ‘Well, you got us both as a package. What can we do for you?’
‘Can we close the door?’
Mona obliged. Even after it was shut Mrs Kilsyth seemed reluctant to start speaking. She pulled her handbag on to her lap, and sat hugging it to her. Eventually, she sighed. ‘I have decided, possibly against my better judgement, to trust you. As you have identified, Sandy is missing, and as you have also realised, in serious danger of not attending his Health Check. Which, of course, would mean the end of his career.’
‘Has he been under a lot of stress?’ asked Mona.
‘My dear, his life is non-stop stress. How could it be otherwise? He generally copes with it very well. No, this is nothing to do with work.’
‘So, you know where he is?’
‘Not exactly.’ She hesitated, then produced a large brown envelope from her bag. ‘Shortly after you left today, this arrived for him.’ She passed it across the desk.
‘Private and Confidential?’ Paterson read the front of the envelope.
‘Do you want to find Sandy or not?’
Paterson smiled, then flicked open the flap and slid the contents out. Mona looked over his shoulder at the contents. It was a black-and-white photocopy of a photograph, taken at night. A pretty girl in a sleeping bag was seated on the ground, leaning against a concrete wall. In the background, a river was visible. The girl was wearing a hat and gloves, and the whole scene had a wintry feel to it. Another sleeping bag was next to her but all that could be seen of the person occupying it was another gloved hand.
‘Turn it over,’ instructed Mrs Kilsyth.
There was writing on the back which Paterson read aloud. ‘“I wouldn’t let my daughter live like this.”’ He looked up. ‘I don’t understand. Care to enlighten me?’
‘I’m very worried about him. Sandy was married, quite briefly, in his thirties. He had a daughter, but the marriage didn’t last. Although I can’t say I was surprised when his wife left him; he’s really not an easy man to live with. Even in his thirties he was a complete workaholic. Anyway, the divorce was what you might call acrimonious, and his wife moved down to England somewhere, to be near her parents. And over the course of the years he lost touch with his daughter, which I know caused him a great deal of pain.’
Mona remembered the photograph of the young girl on his desk.
‘But over the last couple of years, since the Virus came along, I know he’s been trying quite actively to find her. We all know that young people are a high-risk category for the Virus, Sandy better than anyone, and not knowing if his daughter is alive or dead is taking a dreadful toll on him. And then, the day before yesterday, one of these big brown envelopes arrives.’
‘What was in it? The same as this one?’
‘I don’t know – it was marked P&C, so I just passed it straight to him. But I do know he went a little bit crazy after it arrived, storming around his office swearing, which is totally unlike him. Then he left early, which is even more unusual. I’ve never known him leave the office before 7pm.’
‘Any idea where he went?’
‘I checked his web browser, and the last site he looked at was for flights to London.’
‘Why London?’
She picked up the photocopy. ‘It’s been a year or two since I was down there myself, but I’d say that that photograph is of the South Bank. That’s the Thames in the background.’
‘Would the professor know that?’
‘Probably. We were both down there for a long weekend before all the Virus nonsense kicked off. We went to a couple of things at the National.’
There was a delicate pause. ‘You’re a couple?’
‘Sandy is a colleague and a dear friend. We are not a couple, an item, lovers, however you care to phrase it. But I care for him deeply, and I do not want to see the press eat him alive because he has missed a Health Check.’
Mona peered at the envelope. ‘I think the postmark says Mount Pleasant – is that London?’ Nobody responded. ‘I’ll check it out.’ She pulled out her phone.
‘So, your theory is that the professor is in London somewhere, probably near the National Theatre, looking for his daughter who may be sleeping rough?’
She nodded. ‘That would be my guess, yes.’
‘Have you tried contacting him?’
‘His phone is switched off.’
‘So, what’s the daughter’s name? Mona can liaise with the Met, see if she’s been arrested for anything.’
‘I don’t know her name. If we knew that we’d have found her by now. When she was seven years old her name was Maria Bircham-Fowler, but I think her mother probably remarried, and she may well have taken her stepfather’s name. To say nothing of the fact that now she’s nudging thirty she may well be married herself.’
‘Mrs Kilsyth, do you think anyone else will know that the professor has gone to London?’
She shot him glance. ‘Like who? Your spy? Someone else in the office who’s spying on him?’
‘I’m not any happier about this than you are.’ Paterson looked aggrieved. ‘But yes, our spy or anyone else’s.’
‘I’m pretty sure that no one else saw the contents of either envelope, and I cleared the browser immediately, but I’m no technician. If someone knew what they were doing with technology, who knows? And of course, whoever sent him the letter will probably guess that he’ll be on the next train. So what happens now?’
‘I phone SHEP,’ said Paterson, ‘and I assume they will dispatch some people to London to find the professor.’
‘We need to find him soon. And we need to make sure all this is done discreetly.’
‘I can assure you that SHEP is just as concerned about the situation as you are, Mrs Kilsyth.’
She stood up.
‘I’ll show you out.’ Mona ushered her back out of the office and down to reception.
Mrs Kilsyth paused at the front door. ‘So you think I’m right about that being the South Bank?’
‘I’m not as familiar with London as you are, but looks like it. And Mount Pleasant is a London sorting office, so it does all tie in.’ She touched Mrs Kilsyth’s arm. ‘Try not to worry. He’s lucky to have a friend like you looking out for him.’
‘Unfortunately, my dear, I think he’s going to need more than friendship to get him out of this.’
Mona sat at her desk, idly doodling the word ‘London’. She’d been to the Big Smoke precisely three times in her life: once on a training course, when she’d seen little except the inside of the airport and the conference centre, and twice to visit a woman she had befriended. Kat. She’d had high hopes of the friendship turning into something more intimate, but a few fumbles aside, this hadn’t happened. Her trips to London had introduced her not just to women-only pubs, but also to the world of after-hours bars, and clubs, and the dangers of the night bus home. She was glad she’d had a guide to show her round. Late-night London was a tough old place; she hoped the professor was equal to navigating its challenges.
‘Mona.’ The Guv nodded her in the direction of his office, closing the door firmly behind her. ‘I spoke to Stuttle.’
‘And is he sending someone to find the professor?’
‘Yes.’
Paterson looked surprisingly annoyed about this. Mona wondered why – surely he was expecting that this would be how SHEP would play it? Unless . . . a sudden, unpleasant thought crossed her mind.
‘Is he sending us?’
‘Yes.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes! And the even better news is that this is still unofficial. He wants us to take a day’s annual leave each to do it.’
Mona’s jaw dropped. ‘He can’t make us do that!’
‘No, he can’t make us do it. But I’ll say yes because he’ll make my life hell if I don’t, and you’ll say yes because it’ll help speed your climb up the greasy pole.’
‘Give it up, Guv.’ Her boss’s cynicism about her motives was getting wearing. ‘I’ll say yes because it’s important Professor Bircham-Fowler is found.’
‘Well, whatever, it looks like we’re off to London.’
‘For how long?’
‘There and back in a day, if I can possibly swing it. Two days tops. I’m not hanging around there any longer than I absolutely have to. So, go home and I’ll text you when I know what our travel arrangements are. And make sure you travel light. We don’t want to be hauling bags round London.’ He stood up. ‘I suppose I better tell that lot out there.’
He opened the door, and was met with the kind of silence that indicated that until very recently the people in the room had been talking about what was going on in Paterson’s office.
‘Listen up, you three. Mona
and I are both taking a day or two’s annual leave, starting immediately.’
‘You’re going on holiday together?’ asked Maitland.
‘I don’t have to explain my plans to you, Mr Stevenson.’
Carole caught Mona’s eye and she looked back in a manner that she hoped communicated the futility of asking Paterson anything at the moment. She wasn’t sure how much she was at liberty to share with her colleagues, but she’d definitely be making it clear to them that the Guv hadn’t invited her for a dirty weekend at a country hotel. As it turned out, her colleagues had other things on their mind.
‘So who’s in charge while you are gone, Mr Paterson?’ asked Bernard.
Maitland snorted. ‘I can’t believe you even had to ask that, Bern. It’s got to be me, obviously, Guv. You need a bit of police common sense to run this place properly.’
Bernard’s expression registered fury, mixed with a hint of resignation. Mona thought he’d made a fair assessment of his chances. The ‘police common sense’ slant was bound to play well with Paterson. Personally, she wasn’t sure that either of them could be trusted to manage anything more complicated than finding their way to the canteen and back.
‘Oh God.’ Paterson looked round at the options before him. ‘Well, Carole has obviously got more common sense than the two of you put together, and Bernard is the brains of the operation. But, though it pains me to say it, Maitland probably has the best idea . . .’
‘Mr Paterson, you can’t be serious. Maitland doesn’t have the skills for what is largely an administrative role . . .’
Mona winced. This wasn’t the best angle to take with the Guv, who preferred to see himself as still firmly in the front line of law enforcement, ignoring all the evidence to the contrary, not least his expanding waistline.
‘Sorry, Bernard, but my mind is made up.’ He pointed at Maitland. ‘And you – don’t make me regret this.’
Bernard picked up his coat, zipped it all the way to the top, and walked briskly out of the office, without a word to anyone.
‘Don’t go,’ shouted Maitland, smirking. ‘I want to discuss your work plan for tomorrow.’ He took off after him, intent, no doubt, on further gloating.
