Katerina Diamond - The Angel

‘I’ll be in touch. I’d like to follow the investigation. I don’t suppose there’s any chance I can get a copy of those pictures, is there?’

‘I’ll see what I can do. I’ll have to clear it with the DCI.’ Adrian said.

‘Thank you. Good seeing you again, Adrian.’ She was being sarcastic. Adrian’s face felt hot.

Adrian and Imogen watched her leave.

‘Do you know her?’ Imogen turned to him and asked, her eyebrows knotted in confusion.

‘I think I probably do.’ Adrian cringed. He changed the subject before she pushed any further. ‘Where have you been? You’re normally here first.’

‘I was talking to my mother. They’re in Crete at the moment.’

‘Is she well enough for that?’ Adrian sounded concerned.

Imogen sighed. ‘The doctor says rest is what she needs, it’s probably good that she’s in a different setting, having people wait on her hand and foot.’

‘Did you speak to Elias? Did he say how your mother was doing?’

Her parents were together in Crete; it was a strange thought. She had never known her father and suddenly almost thirty years later they were back together, a man whose name she hadn’t even known growing up. Her mother had always kept him a secret and she had accepted it, but because of his apparent involvement in a case she was working on, it had all come out earlier this year and now here he was. She hadn’t gotten used to the idea of having a father yet. Imogen had asked him if they could get to know each other slowly, but the truth was she didn’t want any part of it. She had managed this long without him. Her mother was finally reunited with the man she’d lost, but as far as Imogen was concerned, he was a stranger. Finally learning his identity had been a huge shock that she just wasn’t prepared for.

‘He’s making sure she’s taking all her medicine, their cabin is top of the line so she’s really comfortable.’ She paused and took a deep breath before speaking again. ‘When he comes back he wants me to meet his children, and grandchildren. They don’t know about me yet, he said he wanted to talk to me about it first but he doesn’t want any more secrets.’

‘Are you going to meet them?’

‘I’ve been an only child to a single parent my whole life, I’ve never known anything different. To go from that to having three younger brothers and a bunch of nieces and nephews … I don’t know if I’m ready for all that just yet.’

‘Then tell him to wait.’

She shook off some imaginary burden, jingled her car keys and started towards the exit. ‘Enough about my crap anyway, Miley. We should go see if there are any more cameras around the nightclub after we speak to this charity lady, see if we can work out who Gabriel Webb was with that night. The only camera they had in the club was pointed at the till and he always went to the bar alone.’

‘I don’t know why he just won’t tell us. Who is he protecting?’

‘A girlfriend of course.’

‘You sound very sure about that. Did his parents say anything? Do they know who he was going out with?’

‘No, they don’t really seem to know much about him at all. They don’t seem to care either,’ she said as she opened the door for Adrian. She had spoken to his father on the phone and his reaction to the arrest was almost a gloat, followed by a comment on how it might make him grow up eventually.

‘Well I know how that goes. My dad was only ever interested in drink and women. At least for the first half of my life, before he got into the harder stuff.’

‘I don’t think that’s Mr Webb’s problem.’

‘It’s all the same though, isn’t it? Selfishness. Since having Tom I can’t imagine it, I can’t imagine putting myself or my pride before him, ever. I don’t understand it.’

‘How does that poem go? “They fuck you up, your mum and dad …”’

‘Poetry was never really my thing.’

‘You surprise me.’ She raised her eyebrows before getting in the car. She thought about her own parents in relation to the poem, how all of their choices had impacted her life, made her who she was. Another line sprang to mind: Man hands on misery to man. Never a truer word was spoken.

Imogen rang the doorbell to the STREETWIZE charity HQ, a disused clothing shop in Exeter’s Sidwell Street, next to a kebab shop Adrian had visited many times before after a drink in town. Adrian walked around the building and found a side door. He banged on it. They heard some movement, followed by the sight of a woman in a dressing gown opening the door. Her face was flushed red and her eyes were swollen and puffy. She coughed uncontrollably the moment she started to speak.

‘Hi, I’m DS Grey and this is DS Miles. Are you the lady that runs the STREETWIZE charity?’ Imogen asked when the woman had stopped.

‘I am. My name is Claire Morgan. Sorry, I’m just getting over the flu. Come in, but I’d keep my distance if I were you.’

They went inside, to a small living room with a two-seater sofa and a coffee table strewn with little balls of screwed-up tissues. There was a palpable taste of eucalyptus in the air where copious amounts of Vicks had obviously been applied. Imogen was hit by the sheer heat of the room. The lady pulled her dressing gown around her tighter, oblivious to the heat.

‘We’re investigating the fire in the signal box up at Central Station,’ Adrian said.

‘I saw that on the news. What’s it got to do with me?’

‘Well I don’t know if you saw, but we found the remains of a male in the room; we think he was seeking shelter from the rain in there. It seems quite probable that he was homeless,’ Imogen said.

Claire Morgan’s hand went up to her mouth and Imogen saw the clear look of distress in her eyes.

‘Do you know how many homeless there are in the city?’ Adrian asked.

‘I used to but the numbers are always growing. It’s getting a lot less … personal.’

‘Is anyone missing, to your knowledge?’

‘It’s hard to know when someone is missing,’ Claire said. ‘Sometimes people just want to be alone. Sometimes people move on, sometimes they get moved on. There can be a variety of factors why they wouldn’t be around anymore. Over the last few months I would say there’s a couple of people I haven’t seen in a long time. But there are new faces too. As you can imagine, it’s a very transient community.’

‘Do you keep records of the people who pass through your charity?’ Imogen asked.

‘No, I don’t. Some people are homeless by choice, and I think it’s only fair to respect that choice and respect their privacy.’

‘And what is it you do here exactly?’

‘People donate money and the money buys supplies for the homeless. So, if you wanted to donate thirty pounds, I would put together a pack of a sleeping bag, a thermal blanket and some protein bars or something like that. Then when people come in and ask for help, I can give that to them. It’s not much, but it’s all I can do.’

‘It’s a lot more than most people do.’ Imogen smiled at her, feeling guilty that she didn’t do more.

‘I was homeless myself once,’ Claire said. ‘Not through choice. I was lucky that people helped me and eventually I got myself back on track. Most people genuinely try not to think about it. It’s as if they think about it, it might happen to them – as if it’s somehow contagious. So they actively choose to ignore it.’

Imogen pulled out a card and handed it to the woman. ‘Please call us if you hear anything.’

‘I will.’ She smiled and paused as though she was thinking for a moment. ‘It’s good to see you’re taking it seriously.’

‘One more thing, if you don’t mind.’ Adrian stepped in. ‘Do you know of anyone who used to sleep in that signal box? Or have you heard of anyone who maybe hung out there?’