There was only one chair, but a couple of removal crates were lying in the corner. He dragged the crates across towards me.
‘And sorry about the seat too. You’re our first visitor in here.’
I sat down. ‘This place looks new.’
‘Yeah, it is,’ he said. ‘We finished it in October. It’s a temporary home for my youth pastor while we raise some money to build an extension on the church.’
He sat down at his desk and glanced at his laptop. On-screen, I could see a password prompt.
‘Well, I won’t take up too much of your day, Reverend Tilton,’ I said, and got out the photograph of Alex.
‘Call me Michael, please.’
I nodded, placing the picture down on the desk in front of him. ‘I’m looking into the disappearance of someone who might have visited you here at one time.’
‘Okay. This is him?’
‘His name was Alex Towne.’
Michael picked up the photograph and studied it. ‘I’m trying to think,’ he said. ‘I’m sure I haven’t seen him around — not in the last couple of months, anyway.’
‘It won’t have been in the last few months.’
‘Oh?’
‘Here’s the real killer: it would be more like six years ago.’
Michael looked up to see if I was being serious. ‘Really?’
‘Unfortunately, yes.’
He looked at the photograph again. ‘How old is he?’
‘He’d be about twenty-eight now.’
‘So, would he have been part of our Twenties group?’
‘I’m not sure he came to this church regularly. It could have been just once, it could have been a few times. He had some connection with your church — but I haven’t been able to figure out what yet.’
He gritted his teeth. ‘I remember most of the youth quite clearly — I used to be the youth pastor here myself — but…’
As he continued looking at it, I took out the birthday card.
‘This is the connection,’ I said, flipping it over so he could see the sticker on the back. ‘It was a card he bought here, and it says it was made by a woman called Angela Routledge. Is she still around?’
His expression dropped. ‘Angela died a couple of years ago.’
‘Anyone else who might remember selling these cards?’
Michael thought about it — but not for long.
‘Angela ran the card stall on her own. She did it all on her own. Got the materials, made the cards, did everything herself. She was an extraordinary woman. She raised a lot of money for us. It’s because of people like her that we have blessings like this.’
He meant the annexe.
‘Wait a minute,’ he said, picking up the photograph again. ‘Can I borrow this photograph for a couple of minutes?’
‘Sure.’
‘I used to draft in a friend of mine for the youth meetings. Let me go and call him and see if he remembers your guy.’
‘You can borrow my phone if you like.’
‘No, it’s fine. I left my mobile inside, and I should probably lock up the church if I’m going to be out here.’ He pointed at the picture. ‘What did you say his name was?’
‘Alex Towne.’
He nodded. ‘I won’t be long.’
He stepped past me and headed towards the church.
I sat for a while on the edge of the crates, looking out through the door. Snow slid down the roof of the main church and spilled out over the drainpipe.
My phone started ringing.
‘David Raker.’
‘David, it’s Spike.’
‘Spike — what you got for me?’
I could hear him using a keyboard. ‘Okay, so the mobile phone was bought in a place called Mobile Network, three weeks ago. It’s on an industrial estate in Bow. I’m guessing it’s some kind of wholesaler, working out of a warehouse.’
‘Okay.’
‘You got a pen?’
I looked around. There was one on Michael’s desk.
‘Yeah — shoot.’
‘The phone’s registered to a Gary Hooper.’
‘Hooper?’
‘Yeah.’
I wrote Gary Hooper on the back of my hand.
‘I don’t know whether that’s any help.’
‘That’s great.’
‘I’ve got a statement here too.’
‘Perfect.’
‘Looks like the phone’s hardly been used. There have only been three calls on it in the past three weeks. Do you want me to read the numbers out?’
‘Yeah.’
He read them out, and I wrote them under Gary Hooper.
The first two numbers I didn’t recognize. The third I definitely did. It was the number for Angel’s.
‘Spike, you’re the magic man. I’ll get you the money later.’
‘You got it.’
I killed the call, and immediately tried the numbers I didn’t recognize.
On the first, an answerphone kicked in after three rings. ‘Hi, this is Gerald. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you.’ I hung up and wrote the name Gerald down.
As I was putting in the second number, Michael returned. He placed his phone down on the desk and turned to me. His expression said everything.
‘Sorry,’ he said, handing me the photograph of Alex. ‘My friend doesn’t know him either. It’s hard to describe how your guy looks over the phone, but I could probably list every member of our youth group over the past seven years, and Alex… well, he isn’t one of them. I’m really sorry. I hope I haven’t spoiled your day.’
‘No, don’t worry. I appreciate your efforts.’
I glanced down at his phone. On the display it said: LAST CALL: LAZARUS — LANDLINE. He smiled at me again, then scooped up the phone.
‘Is there anything else?’
‘No, that’s fine,’ I replied. I shook his hand and stepped out into the snow. ‘Thanks for your help.’ And then I headed back to the car, letting the cold bite at my skin.
The traffic was terrible as I made my way back into the centre of London. The deeper I got into the city, the slower things became, until finally everything ground to a halt. I watched the snow continue to fall, settling in thick mounds on chimneys and street lights, road signs and rooftops.
Nothing moved but the weather.
After a while, I popped my phone in the hands-free cradle and punched in the second number. It clicked and connected, but no one picked up. I left it for about a minute and, when it was obvious no one was home, reached over to end the call.
Then someone answered.
A voice I recognized.
‘St John the Baptist.’
It was Michael Tilton.
18
I posted the Polaroid of Alex to Cary, and then made my way back towards Soho. By the time I was parked, it was almost seven o’clock — and the end of Jade’s shift. After buying myself a coffee I found a spot in the shadows, across the street from Angel’s. I didn’t want to scare her, but if she saw me straight away, she’d probably disappear back inside. That was her safety net.
Laughter sounded nearby.
A couple, dressed in business suits, stumbled into a nearby restaurant. Opposite, a group of teenaged girls giggled and stopped outside the pub. They looked at each other. One played with her hair; another adjusted her skirt. Then they all reached into their bags for fake ID.
From inside, probably fresh on the evening shift, came one of the barmen, emptying an ice bucket into the gutter. I backed up, further into the shadows. He registered the movement and glanced across the street, eyes narrowing, head tilting. He lingered for a second more, as if trying to satisfy his curiosity, before disappearing back inside.
The street quietened. More snow started to fall.
I sipped at the coffee.