Читать книгу The Angel - Katerina Diamond, Katerina Diamond - Страница 13

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?’

‘The only one I can think of is a man called Bricks,’ Claire said slowly. ‘But the last I heard he had been arrested and put in prison. He had some mental health issues – he tried to rob the post office last year. He’s spent his whole life in an out of the system in one way or another.’

‘You don’t happen to have a picture of him, do you?’

Claire frowned and shook her head. ‘No, I’m sorry, I don’t.’

‘OK, Claire, thank you for your time. We’ll see ourselves out,’ Imogen said, not wanting to make the poor woman stand up again.

‘Feel better,’ Miles said as they pulled the door closed.

Imogen was glad to be outside again, out of Claire Morgan’s house which seemed to be an incubator of sorts, the air so hot and thick you could feel yourself getting sicker with every passing moment. She breathed in heartily, ignoring the myriad of smells coming from the industrial wheelie bins in the alley adjacent to the charity.

‘Never thought I would be grateful for the smell of old kebabs.’

‘Come on, a nice doner with a big salad and chilli tomato sauce is one of your five a day!’

‘You disgust me.’ She smiled and walked on ahead.