Christian picked up the wallet and opened it. Intrigued that all it contained was sixty pounds in cash, a debit card, a Boots advantage card, a tube ticket and a photograph of a smiling family group in a London square.
'You travel light…' He checked the name on the bank card. '...Syed Masood. And keep yourself clean.' he smiled at the loyalty card and turned his attention to the picture.
There was something vaguely familiar about the location, he knew most places in London had similarities, but he was sure he recognised one of the buildings in the background. He moved closer to the street light, angling the photo to get a better view.
He spotted a green shop front.
'Minute Mart!'
Well it was possible that they had other branches, not just the one in Walford. He peered more closely at the faces of the group posing stiffly on a bench.
"Fuck me, it's the old postman!"
A passing man leered, staggering drunkenly.
"Don't mind if I do Darlin'. I'll post yer letters."
Christian scowled at him, sending him scuttling away under the steel of his glare.
He pondered the best course of action. There was no business card so he couldn't ring the owner and tell him he'd found his wallet. He vaguely recalled that the Mother, Zainab was it? Had been Denise Fox's boss, and Jane might have known her. Perhaps they had their new contact details so he could send it off to them. That Zainab had been a bit of a tricky customer, he thought, funny but domineering. Masood had been alright though.
Wouldn't they find it odd that he had found their son's wallet? Wonder what he had been doing hanging around in Soho?
Christian doubted if he was out, he recalled his nervousness, the agitation. And if he was married with kids, could it all be a bit difficult to explain away? They had been religious too, Muslim.
Much as he would have loved to see him again, Christian didn't want to make his life a misery, so he pocketed the wallet and decided to hand it in at the police station on his way home. He'd wait a little while, force down another drink in the bar, just in case he came back looking for it.
'You wish, Christian.'
He took up his previous place outside, leaning against the wall, chatting to a couple of old acquaintances, his eyes constantly raking the crowds, seeking a slim, dark figure.
Until he saw him, head down, scanning the floor, misery heavy on his shoulders.
Christian thrust his beer bottle at the man beside him and yelled;
"Oi! Handsome!"
But Syed kept walking.