Peter Ackroyd - Hawksmoor

The nearest one to the City is in the Commercial Road, it's that old building '

The one between Limehouse and Wapping?'

As they drove across London to the Commercial Road, Hawksmoor felt quite calm and allowed his fingers lightly to touch the letter placed in the inside pocket of his jacket. But as soon as they arrived he left the car hurriedly and dashed up the steps of a grimy brick building: Walter looked at him running ahead, beneath the grey London sky, and pitied him. Following Hawksmoor, he opened the wooden doors of the hostel, saw the faded green paint of its interior and the linoleum floors stained with grease or dirt, smelt the mixture of disinfectant and stale food, heard the faint calls and sounds from within the building.

And by this time Hawksmoor was knocking on a glass partition, behind which sat an elderly man eating a sandwich: 'Excuse me,' he was saying, 'Excuse me' as the man slowly put down his food and, apparently with reluctance, slid back the glass partition and murmured 'Oh yes?'

'You work here, I take it?'

'What does it look like to you?'

Hawksmoor cleared his throat. 'I am a police officer.' He handed him the letter. 'Do you recognise this piece of paper?'

The man pretended to study it. 'Yes, I've seen this kind of paper.

The staff use it. Don't ask me why.' He took out of a drawer a memorandum pad with the same words printed across it. 'What can you forget in a place like this?'

'And do you recognise the handwriting?' Walter noticed that Hawksmoor had become very still.

'Well, it's not mine.'

'I know it's not yours. But do you recognise it?'

'Not as far as I know.'

And Walter saw Hawksmoor nod, as if this was exactly what he had expected. Tell me this, then. Have you come across a tramp called the Architect, or anything like that?'

He blinked and put his finger in the air. 'We have the Preacher, the Flying Dutchman, the Pilgrim. But I don't know of any Architect. He'll be a new one on me.'

Hawksmoor stared at him. 'Do you mind if we have a look around?'

'Be my guest. ' His eyes briefly met those of Hawksmoor. 'You'll find just two of them there. They're supposed to be sick.'

Walter followed Hawksmoor down a corridor and into a large room which contained some formica tables and metal chairs: a large television set, placed upon a high shelf, had been turned on and the sounds of a children's programme chimed as emptily as an ice-cream van in a deserted street. Hawksmoor glanced up at it before walking through into another room where a number of mattresses, wrapped in plastic, had been arranged in two rows. On one of them a tramp lay upon his stomach, while a second man was crouched in a corner smoking. 'Hello,' Walter called out, 'And what do they call you, then?'

Neither of the men looked up. 'We are police officers. Do you know what I mean?' And then, in the silence, Walter added loudly: 'They're not very friendly, sir, are they?'

The tramp in the corner turned his head: 'I know what you mean. I know full well what you mean.'

Hawksmoor stepped up to him, without coming too close: 'Oh do you? And I suppose you know someone called the Architect?'

There was a pause. 'I don't know anyone by that name. No one at all by that name.' He wrapped his arms about his body as he crouched there: 'You don't enquire about people. You don't ask questions'. It was not clear whether he was addressing these remarks to himself, or to Hawksmoor who was now surveying the dilapidated room.

The Architect!' The tramp on the bed had propped himself on one elbow and was calling out to them. The Architect! God bless us all and every one!'

Hawksmoor moved up to the end of the bed, and stood with his hands clasped as if in prayer. 'Do you know him?'

'Do I know him? Do I know him? Yes, I know him.'

'And do you know his name? I mean, his real name.'

'His name is Legion.' When the tramp laughed it was obvious to Hawksmoor that he was lying on the bed because he was drunk, perhaps still drunk from the night before.

'And where can I find him?'

'Do you have a little cigarette on you, officer?'

'I don't have one now, but I will give you some later. Where did you say I could find him?'

'I don't find him. He finds me. Now you see him and now you don't.'

Everyone remained silent and, as Hawksmoor sat down on the side of this bed, he heard the noise of a plane travelling somewhere overhead. 'And when did you see him last?'

'I saw him in Hell. He was roasting nicely.'

'No, you weren't in Hell were you? Tell me again.'

Then the man's mood changed as he curled up on the bed and faced the wall. 'I was with him,' he said and the whole sad weight of the drink seemed to hit him so that he could barely speak.

Hawksmoor gently touched his filthy overcoat. 'You were with him, were you? You look like a man who could deal a powerful blow.'

'Hop it. Fuck it. I'm saying no more.'

Walter came up to stand beside him as Hawksmoor whispered, 'Now don't be frightened. I'm not going to frighten anybody.' There was a sound of weeping in the corridor.

'I'm not frightened. I've done nothing.' Then he pretended to sleep, or perhaps did sleep; Hawksmoor pointed to the tramp's arm which lay stretched out, and Walter gave it a jerk so that the man rolled off his bed.

'You're wanted,' Hawksmoor told him, loudly now, as Walter dragged him to his feet. 'I'm not arresting you. I'm asking you nicely to come with me.' The tramp stared at him. There will be something in it for you, you'll see. We're just taking you for a little ride.'

They dragged him outside, passing the receptionist who kept on chewing his sandwich as he watched them, and as they came out into the air the tramp stared across at the church of St Anne's, Limehouse, and then looked up at its tower which loomed over the three of them in the dark street. Then he closed his eyes, as if he was about to faint.

'Help him, Walter,' Hawksmoor murmured as they bundled him into the back of their car. But the tramp neither knew nor cared what was happening to him, since there would be other times when he would have no memory of this. And now he was in a small white room, with the same man facing him across a table, while behind a two-way mirror Walter took notes and watched this scene: hawksmoor. How are you feeling now? tramp. Feeling? Oh not so bad. Not so bad, you know. Do you happen to have a fag on you? hawksmoor. Not so bad? That is good news. (He takes off his glasses)

Can I talk to you then? tramp. Yes. Yes, I hope to talk to you soon. Do you have a fag on you?

By any chance?

Pause. Hawksmoor lights a cigarette and hands it to him. hawksmoor. I am having a nice time. Are you? (Silence) You were telling me about the Architect? Am I right in thinking that? tramp. (Genuinely puzzled) Yes, that is possibly true. I think I was.

Yes.

HAWKSMOOR. Yes? tramp. (Nervously) Yes, I said that. Yes. hawksmoor. And so you know him? Am I right to say that you know him? tramp. I think I do. You can say that. I think I do. hawksmoor. Can you give me his name at all? tramp. Oh, I wouldn't know about that. Not his name. hawksmoor. But you saw him?

Silence. tramp. When? hawksmoor. I'm asking you the very same question. When did you see him? tramp. I saw him that night. hawksmoor. (Eagerly) What night? tramp. That night.

Silence. hawksmoor. Well, what time was it? tramp. Oh good God, now you're asking me something. hawksmoor. (Softly) Was it very dark? tramp. Pitch black. hawksmoor. I'm not going to hurt you. I would like you to remember. tramp. Next thing there was police and so forth. I won't say I was genuinely sober. Next thing the police was in. hawksmoor. In where? tramp. I've seen you before, haven't I? hawksmoor. In where? tramp. In that church. hawksmoor. This is a coincidence, isn't it? tramp. I remember nothing more than that. I'm not joking you.