Songs by Dead Girls Read online

  He gave his arms a good stretch. He certainly shared Carole’s feelings of relief, but there was also some other emotion at play. Today had been awful, scary, challenging, and most of the time he’d felt completely out of his depth. But they’d got through it. Minor scratches to the car aside, the two of them had triumphed, finding an obviously difficult Defaulter and getting her safely into her Health Check. And they hadn’t needed the help of Maitland, Mona or any other ex-cop to do it. Maybe, just maybe, he could do this job. His train of thought was interrupted when the nurse’s door opened again.

  ‘Ms Barr wants to visit the Ladies before she leaves, if you could escort her?’ She looked at Carole. ‘Toilets are just back toward the main entrance, and then the second door on the right.’

  Carole nodded. ‘OK, Alessandra, shall we . . .’

  ‘Don’t need a fucking escort.’ She stormed off along the corridor, with Carole hurrying behind her.

  The nurse beckoned him into her room. ‘That was a bit of a ruse, to be honest. I wanted a quick word with you before she left the building . . .’

  They were interrupted by the sound of someone yelling.

  ‘Let me go!’

  This was followed by a chorus of pensioner outrage, and the lone baby started its wailing again.

  With a feeling of impending doom, he wrenched open the door and ran back out to see Carole crouched on the floor. He dropped down beside her, and was horrified to see her face was pouring with blood.

  ‘Kicked ’e.’ Carole waved in the direction of the front door. ‘Go ’fter . . .’

  He ran back along the corridor and out into the street. There was no one to be seen. A couple of school kids ambled into sight.

  ‘Did you see a woman run past?’

  They shook their heads and walked off, laughing and looking over their shoulders at him.

  Alessandra had vanished.

  He returned to find Carole sitting on a plastic chair in the waiting room, with a white towel held against her face. A group of elderly ladies were standing round her. As he approached, one of them took it upon herself to update him.

  ‘That woman went mad!’ She looked at him, pure fury on her face. Bernard wondered if she was holding him in some way responsible.

  ‘She pushed this lassie over then kicked her in the face. She might have broken her jaw.’

  ‘It’s OK, Mrs McGregor, I’ll see to it.’ The nurse gently steered her away, then turned her attentions back to Bernard. ‘Your colleague needs to go to Accident and Emergency immediately. I’ve had a look and I don’t think it’s broken but she should be properly checked out and X-rayed.’

  ‘’Ust get out of ’ere.’ Carole stood up, her hand still holding the towel against her face.

  ‘Yes, of course.’ He took her arm, and guided her toward the door, the faces of the small crowd watching them go.

  ‘Excuse me.’ The nurse stopped them. ‘Because of all this nonsense we didn’t get a chance to finish our conversation.’

  ‘OK,’ said Bernard, his mind already busy planning his route to A&E.

  ‘How much do you know about the woman you brought in?’

  ‘Next to nothing, to be honest. We suspect she might be a prostitute, and possibly takes drugs. But other than that we just picked her up and brought her here.’

  ‘I see.’ She nodded. ‘Well, I just wanted to tell you that whoever that woman was, her blood group conclusively tells me she’s not Alessandra Barr.’

  Carole lowered the towel slightly. ‘’Uck.’

  5

  ‘Pillars Lane. It doesn’t look far on the map, Guv.’ Mona traced a finger from where they were to the offices of the Hearthless Hearts UK charity. ‘We can probably walk it.’

  ‘Hmm. Give me another look at their website.’

  Mona handed over her phone. ‘See, Guv, on their page about the sleepover you can see there’s a sentence saying “For more information call Maria . . .” and if you look really closely at the sleepover photograph you can see that guy from EastEnders.’

  ‘Fascinating. Would have been helpful if they’d included a picture of Maria, or a surname.’

  Theresa stood on tiptoe trying to look at the screen. ‘Oh yes, he’s the café owner from Albert Square, isn’t he?’

  ‘If you two ladies are quite done discussing the soaps, I wonder if you could give us a minute alone, Theresa?’

  She looked surprised. ‘OK. I’ll wait over there.’ She headed over to the edge of the walkway, and stood looking out across the Thames.

  ‘What’s up, Guv?’

  ‘Just trying to get my head round how we’re going to play this. We can’t just bowl up there and start asking questions.’

  ‘Seemed to work OK with Elijah.’

  ‘Yeah, but we had a strong introduction from the local police, and also, he was the happiest, most trusting man in the world. There’s nothing to say that we’ll get the same reception at this place. Some of these charities can be pretty hostile to people working in Virus policy. You know, all the usual civil liberties bullshit.’ He glanced over at Theresa. ‘And I’m not sure that having Miss Moneypenny running round with us is exactly going to help.’

  Mona followed his gaze. ‘We do make a pretty odd-looking trio, Guv. Any suggestions?’

  ‘Yup. I keep herself occupied, and you do a solo trip. Less danger of her mouthing off about something that she shouldn’t be.’

  ‘Fine, Guv, totally makes sense. Theresa’s not going to like it, though.’

  ‘She can lump it then. This is my investigation, and what I say goes.’

  She smiled at her boss’s attempt to put his foot down. There was something else that was bothering her, though. ‘Guv, do you think that Maria knows about her father? According to Theresa she hasn’t seen him in years. We might not get the best response if we barge into her place of work, talking about her dear old estranged dad.’

  ‘Don’t see we have much of a choice. You’ll just have to play it by ear. Hoi!’ He shouted over to Theresa. ‘Stop lazing around. We’ve got things to do.’

  She pulled a face and walked over to them. ‘Top-level security meeting over?’

  ‘Yes, and we decided that Mona is going to handle the next bit solo.’

  Theresa stared at him. ‘Over my dead body!’

  Paterson sighed. ‘Come on. We can walk and argue at the same time.’

  Pillars Lane was a narrow street, with buildings four storeys high on either side of it. When Mona looked up she had the uneasy feeling that the buildings were leaning inward, as if their upper floors had edged slowly closer in the centuries since they were built, and would one day come to rest against each other. Optical illusion or not, this meant that daylight was in short supply at ground level. The buildings were old redstone, crumbling in patches, and looked like they’d been there since Dickens was a lad. Mr Dickens would probably have noticed a few other changes though: where once these blocks would have thronged with families who called them home, today they housed a range of different offices, perched on top of coffee shops interspersed with the occasional barber.

  There was a lack of helpful numbering, so Mona walked slowly, checking the doorplates as she went. She hoped Paterson was going to be OK. Theresa had argued her case for coming with her for the ten minutes it had taken them to walk to Pillars Lane without stopping to draw breath. Paterson had borne this manfully, responding only with the word ‘no’ at regular intervals. However, outside Katalina’s Coffee Stop Theresa had made one too many insinuations that Paterson was incompetent, in over his head, and didn’t know what he was doing, and he had responded with a suggestion that Professor Bircham-Fowler had probably run off because he was fed up with her nagging. When Mona had left them to it, Theresa was using her bag to assault a public official going about his business, to the general entertainment of the Coffee Stop’s patrons.

  Mona located number 89, and pressed the buzzer for Hearthless Hearts UK. The logo against their name showed a fireplace with a
tiny heart burning in it, which made her smile.

  ‘Hello?’ The intercom sprang into life.

  ‘I’m here to see Maria Bircham-Fowler.’

  ‘Who?’

  A van drove past her, and she leaned in closer to make herself heard. ‘Maria?’

  ‘There’s no one works here with that name.’

  ‘It’s about the annual sleepout?’

  There was a pause. ‘You’d better come up. Fourth floor.’

  The door buzzed, and she entered before the girl could change her mind. Inside the building was even darker than the street outside, and it took a second or two for her eyes to adjust. She wandered up and down the narrow passageway on the ground floor, then reluctantly accepted there wasn’t a lift and set off up the stairs. As she approached the fourth floor, a door opened slightly and a hand emerged.

  ‘Can I see your Green Card, please?’

  Mona held it out, and the hand took it. Through the crack, Mona could see a young woman with long dark hair framing a serious face. She frowned at the card, but eventually opened the door wider, and handed Mona her Green Card back. ‘You’re interested in the sleepout? It’s not for a couple of months but we’re always keen to meet people who want to participate or sponsor it.’

  Mona nodded enthusiastically. ‘It’s a great event. But really I was interested in catching up with Maria.’ She pulled out the photocopied picture. ‘This lady?’

  The girl stared blankly at the picture for a moment, then nodded when recognition hit her. ‘I do remember her. She was working here when I started, but she moved on a couple of weeks later. Didn’t you realise she’s not here anymore?’

  ‘No, I haven’t seen her for years, and she’s still listed as the sleepout contact on your website.’

  ‘Is she?’ The girl’s face grew even more serious. ‘We lost our IT guy a couple of months back.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ Mona wasn’t sure what this meant. Lost to the Virus, or lost to a better paid job? Either seemed entirely possible. ‘I’ve not seen Maria for years. When I knew her she was Maria Bircham-Fowler, but she might have got married since then . . .’

  She tailed off, hopeful that the girl would jump in with a name. She didn’t.

  ‘She’s still Bircham-Fowler then?’

  The woman looked blank. ‘That doesn’t ring any bells, but like I said our paths only crossed for a few weeks. Sorry.’

  ‘Do you know where she works now?’

  ‘Some other charity, I think.’ She was starting to look suspicious. ‘Why are you looking for her?’

  ‘Oh, we were at uni together.’ Mona tried for an airily casual tone of voice that she wasn’t quite sure she pulled off. ‘I saw her picture in the paper and made up my mind I’d look her up next time I was in London. Of course, I didn’t realise she’d have moved on by then. Anyway, thanks for your help.’

  ‘Do you want to leave a card or anything? I can ask her to contact you if she ever pops back in.’

  Mona considered this for a second, and decided that it wasn’t worth it. ‘No, it’s OK, thanks.’ She backed out of the office with the girl still staring doubtfully at her, and trotted back down the stairs.

  The café was surprisingly busy; Mona wondered where the people had come from. Afternoon meant that office workers should be in offices, and they were a bit off the beaten track for tourists. It was also so hot that anyone with any sense would be sitting outside in the shade, sipping something cool. But maybe they served the best scones this side of the river. For all she knew they were in the gastronomic heart of the City, Foodie Central. A waitress approached her, and without waiting to be asked Mona pulled her Green Card out of the bag. The waitress glanced at it and looked round the room. ‘I’m not sure we’ve any tables at the moment . . .’

  ‘It’s OK, I’m meeting some people here.’ After a second reviewing the room, she spotted Paterson and Theresa tucked away in a corner. From the body language it looked as if the argument that had been raging when she left them had been replaced by mutual sulking. ‘They’re over there.’

  Theresa looked up eagerly as she approached. ‘Did you find out anything?’

  Paterson tutted. ‘Remember that whole “this is my investigation” discussion? Mona answers to me, not you.’

  Mona smiled and slowly pulled out a chair.

  ‘So,’ said Paterson impatiently, ‘did you find out anything?’

  ‘Not a great deal, I’m afraid. The woman I spoke to said Maria’s not worked there for a while now, despite what their website says. And she either didn’t know where Maria is now, or wouldn’t tell me. She did say that she was working for another charity . . .’

  ‘OK, we can follow that up.’

  ‘I can look online, Guv, but it could take a while. All we’ve got for sure is a first name, and a vague lead that she works for a charity, of which there must be hundreds in London. And that’s assuming that the charity that she’s working for actually lists its staff on its website . . .’

  ‘I get the picture.’ He put a hand up to stop her. ‘We’re not going to get this done and dusted today, so I better check in with Stuttle to see if he wants us to go home.’

  ‘Home?’ Theresa looked outraged. ‘You can’t just pack up and ship out. One of Scotland’s most valuable assets in the war against the Virus is out there on his own. He could be in trouble.’

  ‘I know. You don’t have to convince me.’ Paterson looked pained. ‘And the professor being in trouble is exactly what I’m worried about. We’ve tried to find him discreetly but the time may have come to contact the Met about this. The longer he wanders around the streets of London on his own the more chance there is of something happening to him.’

  ‘But then . . .’ Theresa looked suddenly vulnerable.

  ‘What?’

  ‘This episode could end Sandy’s career, particularly if we don’t get him to his Health Check.’

  ‘I know. I’m sorry.’ Paterson pulled out his mobile. ‘But it’s really not my decision to make. I’ll see what my boss says. I’m going out to phone him – Mona, get yourself a drink if you want one.’

  Theresa played absentmindedly with the salt cellar, frowning.

  ‘If we go home, you should come too,’ said Mona. ‘It’s dangerous for you to be wandering around on your own.’

  ‘Go home?’ Theresa pursed her lips. ‘And do what – prepare for retirement?’

  ‘No.’ Mona wondered exactly what age Theresa was. She’d guess around sixty, but she’d be hard pressed to say which side. ‘You’d still have a job with the university, I’m sure, whatever happens with the professor.’

  Theresa shook her head. ‘No, if Sandy’s career is over, so is mine. I couldn’t work for anyone else, not after all these years. And with my reputation, I’m not sure any of the younger academics would rush to snap me up as their PA.’

  ‘I’m sure your reputation isn’t bad . . .’

  ‘You don’t get the nickname “Maggie Thatcher” because you are overly approachable and highly loved.’

  ‘Well, you do look a tiny bit like her. And your style of dress . . .’

  ‘Are you saying I play up to it?’ She glared at Mona, then laughed. ‘Of course I do! I’ll use anything that will persuade the bright young chauvinists that I work with to give me a little respect. Which is all fine and well until I need one of them to employ me.’

  Mona tried, and failed, to think of anything comforting to say, and they sat in silence until Paterson reappeared.

  ‘What did Stuttle say, Guv?’

  ‘Well, after five minutes of impugning my detecting abilities, he said to give it another day. He remains very keen for your man to make his Health Check.’ He poked Theresa’s shoulder.

  ‘He is not my man, Mr Paterson, as you are well aware. And let’s stop wasting time.’ She stood up. ‘Let’s get Sandy found.’

  ‘Of course.’ Paterson nodded. ‘Right after we find us a hotel in Central London that meets the very stringent budge
t limit set by the HET office. We may need a time machine.’

  6

  Bernard stood with his foot on the bottom step of the stairs up to his office. He was having a great deal of difficulty in getting his other foot to move. Try as he might he couldn’t work out a way to frame the day’s events that wouldn’t result in a torrent of abuse from his temporary boss. Whichever way you looked at it, taking the wrong Defaulter to a Health Check smacked of incompetency. He could argue the mitigating facts that they had a very poor quality photograph to work from, and a woman claiming to be the person they were looking for. He guessed neither of these things would cut much ice.

  Carole had gone straight home from A&E, leaving him to single-handedly bear the brunt of any yelling that was going to take place. Not that anyone would have yelled at Carole. The state that her face was in meant that she would get nothing but sympathy. The blame was his, and his alone. He looked at the stone steps ahead of him, and decided that nothing, but nothing, was going to get him mounting them.

  ‘And I just said to him, “Kev, if you ever see her again, that’s like you and me finished, right?”’

  Marguerite’s distinctive voice carried through from reception, and suddenly Bernard found himself half a flight up and climbing. The only thing worse than explaining the situation to Maitland would be explaining it to Marguerite, who would want all the gory details and might even cry as an expression of her empathy. He ran the last few steps.