Chapter 16

They had wasted an hour of their time so far, although Harry felt obliged to point out that strictly speaking, it was police time.

"You wanna call it a day, 'sup to you, princess. We'll be officially off the clock in ten minutes anyways."

Lunchtime had seen them trying to crack a particularly hard nut in interrogation room two, throwing out their plans of a visit to Covent Garden and there hadn't been any opportunity for the rest of the afternoon. In fact, food had consisted of a sandwich eaten on the hoof and Dempsey's stomach was starting to get grouchy about it.

"Well at least he's known around here, even if we can't find anyone who's seen him in the last forty-eight hours. Maybe just another half an hour?"

"Fine by me."

But Dempsey didn't really know if he was 'fine' with it or not. If they managed to locate Jonathan Makepeace, what then? Sure, Harry's plan was to loan him a security deposit on a rental property along with the first months' rent but how long would that take to set up? He would be back staying at her place for a few days, a week, maybe even longer.

And if they didn't find him? Then there was a very real possibility that she would just keep on looking for as long as it took.

The truth was, Dempsey didn't want to share. Now he finally had her, he wanted to keep her all to himself. Wasn't that the way it went when you fell in love? His mean and nasty insecurities were rearing their ugly little heads; he knew that but he couldn't shake the idea that maybe Harry didn't feel quite the way he did.

"D'you fancy getting a bite to eat afterwards?" she asked lightly. "There're some nice places around here and it's still warm enough to sit outside."

Her sunny smile cast a sheen over his worries and an inch or two of tension dropped from his shoulders. "Yeah, that sounds good."

Having spent most of their time doing the circuit of Covent Garden Tube Station, trying to engage reluctant street people in conversation, they were now en route to the Marion Stoney Centre.

Down Floral Street, over Garrick Street to Bedfordbury, across Chandos Place and William IV Street and there on Adelaide Street was the homeless shelter. The imposing, if rather dilapidated building was, ironically, a former Victorian work house. Set up in 1977 by businessman Eric Stoney in memory of his daughter Marion who had met her death on the streets two years previously, it stood as bastion against hunger, cold and the dangers faced by the homeless of London.

They walked up the short flight of stone steps and through the heavily battered wooden door. The smell of food cooking wasn't unpleasant exactly but neither was it appealing. The savoury smell was heavy on the onions and the air was overlaid with the stale odour of grimy, unwashed fabrics.

They were standing in a spacious, high ceilinged reception area, a broad staircase to one end, three closed doors and a short hallway which seemed to lead to the centre of activity judging by the sounds that were coming from the open door.

"Shall we?" Dempsey asked with a gesture for Harry to precede him along the hall.

The place was brightly lit, highlighting the chipped paintwork and the grubby marks and fingerprints on the magnolia painted woodchip wallpaper. The original parquet flooring was way past its prime, the elaborate design incorporating mahogany, cherry and oak wood with its chequerboard border having been brutally mopped and scrubbed over the years

Harry tutted unconsciously. Such lack of care and preservation was quite galling to someone who had been around this type of artistry all their lives.

Once over the threshold, the parquet gave way to a deep red patterned carpet which had definitely seen better days. This room appeared to be a sort of communal lounge and several mismatched sofas and easy chairs were grouped about along with a few coffee tables. There were fifteen or so people making use of the facilities, most sitting around in small groups of two or three and their conversations enlivened the stagnant atmosphere.

As they approached, the group nearest to them stopped talking and diverted their attention to the two detectives.

"They don't start servin' 'til six, love," one of the women told Harry sarcastically as she eyed her up and down. Her two companions sniggered.

"I'm looking for a friend, actually," Harry said.

The woman grinned, picking up a packet of cigarettes off the table in front of her. "Awww, that's nice. Alan 'ere'll be your friend, won'tcha, Alan?"

"I'll be anybody's friend, me," an attractive young man confirmed, "for a price." He looked up at Dempsey who stood slightly behind Harry with his hands in his jacket pockets and winked at him.

Dempsey gave a bored, slow shake of his head and Alan shrugged.

"A particular friend," Harry continued. She drew out the photograph from her handbag that she'd been toting around. It was the only one she could find of Jonathan and unfortunately he wasn't alone in it. "This man on the left. It was taken a few years ago but he hasn't changed that much… apart from the fact his hair is longer now… and he may have been unshaven last time you saw him."

She gave the photo a cursory glance before passing it on to her female companion and lighting up.

"Nope. Don't think I've 'ad the pleasure. Pam?" she asked her friend, "you wouldn't forget an 'andsome chappie like that, would you?"

"'is friend looks a bit of alright too," leered the frizzy haired Pam.

"You seen him before or what?" Dempsey asked irritably.

The first woman looked as though she was about to snap back at him but then stopped. "You American then?"

"That a problem?"

She sat back with the cigarette raised in her hand in what she obviously considered to be a provocative pose. "Not for me, darlin'." She smiled to reveal a missing tooth and Dempsey didn't know whether to laugh or run screaming from the building.

"So… the guy… you recognise him?" he asked pleasantly.

"Ooooh, don't you 'ave a lovely speakin' voice? Don't 'e, Pam?"

"Don't 'e though. Fair does things to me, nah what I mean?" She crossed her ample thighs and wriggled in her seat before she and her friend fell against each other, cackling.

Reaching across, Alan snatched the photo from Pam's hand. "Ignore 'em – pair of dirty bitches," he said contemptuously. He frowned as he studied the images of Jonathan and Robert. "Dunno. Maybe I've seen him around. What's his name?"

"Jonathan," put in Harry. "Jonathan Makepeace."

She stepped closer so that she could point him out again.

Alan cocked his head to the side. "Maybe," he repeated. "Yeah, I think I might've seen 'im. Posh geezer, right?" He handed her the photograph back.

"You've seen him in here?"

"Nah, just around."

"You don't remember where?" asked Dempsey.

"Sorry," Alan said. "I'm sure it was recent though, like the last few days an' I've been around this manor the last couple o' months so pretty certain it must've been local like."

"'e a misper then, love?" the woman smoking the cigarette asked.

"A what, sorry?" Harry got the distinct impression they were being sounded out. That abbreviation of 'missing person' was one generally only used within police departments and not widely known by the general public. Were they really that obvious in their method of questioning? Did they give off official vibes? Or was it that she and Dempsey were acting as colleagues rather than as a couple?

But then Dempsey chipped in, "It's lingo, babe – missing persons."

"Oh, I see. Of course." She glanced in Dempsey's direction, acknowledging the message before telling her, "Yes, he's been missing for six weeks now… well, that isn't true, strictly speaking. He turned up at my place on Saturday night but he disappeared again on Sunday. I'm worried about his state of mind quite frankly."

The last part had just slipped out and felt like a betrayal which was silly really given that she hadn't even been in contact with Jonathan for quite a number of years. But seeing him again had brought back some nice memories. He'd been a good friend; at the end finding himself in an impossible position, caught in the crossfire of his brother and sister-in-law's disintegrating marriage. And it had been Harry who had turned her back on the friendship by shutting everything connected to Robert out of her life. She had been so stupid; Jonathan would have been her rock, a true confidante. At the time, running away to Winfield Hall had seemed the obvious thing to do, cutting herself off like that. Freddy had been there for her, of course he had but he was her father – an old man who was out of touch with the ways of the world. It had been the emotional interaction she had missed out on. Her father wasn't one to pry, he hadn't pressed her for details, hadn't asked for more than his sense of propriety deemed reasonable. Freddy had always respected Harry's privacy, probably more than was strictly necessary did he but know it, a by-product of losing her mother when Harry was still so young. He had always been there for her, always loved her unconditionally but the fact she was of the fairer sex had caused him to draw a respectful line where his daughter's love life was concerned.

Pam laughed sharply, her mop of bleached, coppery blonde frizz bobbing about her head.

"Half that lot out there livin' on the street are fucked in the 'ead! Comes with the territory. If you ain't a mental case when you start off, a few months of sleepin' rough'll soon knock the reason out of yer."

"I know he must've been struggling," Harry agreed, miserably.

This all felt so wrong. In an effort to cover the tracks made by their P.C Plod air, she was letting her guard down and now it was just a bit uncomfortable. And Dempsey was uncharacteristically quiet; he'd barely said a word, letting her do most of the talking. But then, they weren't working so maybe he was deliberately taking a back seat whilst she sorted out her 'personal stuff'.

She thanked the three of them, Dempsey nodding briefly before they moved on to an old man sitting by himself nursing a cup of tea in front of the television set in the corner.

Sadly, he seemed to be one of the unfortunates who had 'had the reason knocked out of him', cheerful enough but only concerned with showing them the roll of spanners and wrenches he had in a canvas shopping bag.

They circulated the room, showing the photograph to anyone willing to listen. Although they appeared incongruous in these surroundings, their presence seemed to arouse little curiosity. These people were, for the most part, transients; they'd seen it all before. They were used to seeing loved ones in their various stages of hope and despair, hearing of last known sightings and descriptions of clothing, seeing worn and creased photographs in nervous fingers and fuzzy black and white photocopied flyers handed out like prayer books.

Harry adopted a weaker attitude in a bid to lose the cop persona, hanging onto Dempsey's arm and looking to him for guidance at the appropriate moments. They were just more 'people' now, maybe good for a couple of quid or a cigarette. But their search meant little more than that to those with no one looking for them.

Only one person in that room had been interested in Harry's presence although he had deliberately stayed on the fringes to avoid her questions. He was so interested in fact that when the pair left the Marion Stoney Centre to return to the shops and restaurants of Covent Garden, he discreetly followed along behind.