‘Yes, sir, please take a seat.’ The woman picked up a brown-coloured phone off her desk, pressed four numbers and relayed Vicary’s request, and then said, ‘Yes, alright. I will.’ She smiled another broad ‘I’m only doing this job for the money’ smile at Vicary and said, ‘Mr Perkins will see you directly, sir.’
Vicary, his hat resting upon his crossed knees, inclined his head in thanks. He and the woman then proceeded to sit in an awkward silence, and Vicary sensed from the young woman’s embarrassment that it was clear she had nothing to do all day but receive visitors and answer the telephone, with not even a colleague or two to talk with. Being photogenically attractive clearly had its downside. Moments of awkward silence elapsed and then the door at the side of the reception area was opened, and a short man in a sports jacket and cavalry twill trousers stood in the doorway. Vicary thought him to be mid-thirties. He had a businesslike manner about him, and upon his entrance the receptionist lowered her head slightly as if making a careful study of her desktop. She was evidently intimidated by him and perhaps, Vicary pondered, the reception area, being out of the way, was the safest place for her.
‘Police?’ The man was clean-shaven with piercing eyes.
Vicary stood, ‘Yes, Detective Inspector Vicary, New Scotland Yard.’
‘Scotland Yard? Must be serious.’
‘Murder and Serious Crime Squad.’ Vicary showed Perkins his ID. ‘Doesn’t get more serious.’
‘How can we help you, sir?’
‘I need information about your staff.’
‘Anyone in particular?’
‘Rosemary Halkier.’
‘Halkier. . Halkier. . I confess that name doesn’t ring any bells but I have only been here for six weeks; I was headhunted from Thames Bridges.’
‘Thames Bridges?’
‘Oh. . a rival company.’
‘I see, well you won’t know her, she used to work here but that was about ten years ago.’
‘Ten years!’ Perkins gasped. ‘We might have some documentation. We have a few long-staying staff but most go after a few months. The only person who is likely to be able to help you is Mrs Maas, she deals with our personnel, and she’s been here for a long time.’
‘She sounds ideal. Mrs Mars, like the planet?’
‘Pronounced the same but not spelled the same.’ Perkins corrected Vicary on the spelling of the lady’s name. ‘I’ll take you to her.’
Perkins led Vicary up a narrow stairway of unsurfaced breeze-block walls. On the first floor the workers sat in small cubicles, each isolated from the other, each with a headset rather than a hand-held phone, each in front of a computer screen and keyboard. Perkins walked quietly by. With working conditions like this, Vicary thought, the call centre could aptly be described as a modern day sweatshop. Perkins led Vicary across the open-plan area of the call centre operations room, humming with voices, and opened a door at the far end, which led on to an area of individual offices. He walked to an office on the left-hand side, tapped once on the door and opened it. ‘Mrs Maas, this is a Mr Vicary. .’
‘Pleased to meet you.’ Mrs Maas was middle-aged, portly and with a ready smile, which, unlike the isolated receptionist’s, Vicary thought, was a genuine smile.
‘Mr Vicary is with the police.’
‘Oh. .’ Mrs Maas looked worried.
‘I will leave you,’ Perkins said to Vicary, ‘I have work to address. If anyone can help you, it’s Mrs Maas.’ And with that, in a brisk about-turn, he left the office, pulling the door shut behind him.
Mrs Maas indicated a vacant seat in her office. ‘He’s new,’ she explained. ‘He’s very efficient. He was headhunted and is anxious to prove the great and good made the right choice, bless him.’
‘So he told me.’
‘So. . police?’
‘Yes, Scotland Yard, Murder and Serious Crime Squad.’ Vicary read the room — neat, efficient, no natural light, very sweatshop-like.
‘Murder!’
‘Well, yes. . but as I said to Mr Perkins, ten years on, and so this is a bit of a long shot, in fact it’s one hell of a long shot, but they’ve paid off before. We are interested in finding out as much as we can about a lady who used to work here, a lady employee by the name of Halkier, Rosemary Halkier. . home address in Palmers Green.’
‘Ten years. .’ Mrs Maas relaxed. ‘You know there might be one or two still here who were here ten years ago; seems that you move on quickly or you work your way into the bricks.’ She swivelled on her chair and slowly tapped at her computer keyboard. ‘If we search for all current employees with more than ten years’ service, and there won’t be many. . and the not many is. . five. I count five names, all women, who do tend to stay longer than men.’
‘Oh?’
‘Flexible hours — they can work round school commitments and work on weekends, leaving hubby to watch the baby. Not a few say that working here keeps them sane, gives them the break they need from demanding children and demanding spouses, and we pay quite well for a call centre. The work is tedious but not demanding. Mr Perkins is keeping them well at it but it’s still easier than unskilled work, and it’s better than the dole. We pay basic plus commission. The harder you work, the more you earn, and we tell them, you don’t just work for yourself or your family, you work for the person next to you; if this company sinks the work could be relocated overseas.’
‘I know what you mean,’ Vicary replied drily. ‘Telephone directory enquiries is now located in the Philippines.’
‘Exactly.’ Mrs Maas raised her eyebrows. ‘And national rail enquiries are in India. So if the crew want to keep the jobs in the UK, they work for each other.’ She stood. ‘I’ll go and chat to the five names, see if any remember. Sorry, who are you enquiring about? My memory. .’
‘Oh, yes, Rosemary Halkier, lived with her parents in Palmers Green, had two children, short girl, just five foot tall with dark hair.’
‘Rosemary Halkier. . Rosemary Halkier.’ Mrs Maas left the office repeating the name to herself, trailing a heavy cloud of perfume behind her. She turned and pointed to a white coffee machine which stood on a table in the corner of her room. ‘Do help yourself to coffee.’ She smiled. ‘It doesn’t taste anything like coffee but it’s hot and fluid.’ She turned again and was gone.
‘No thanks,’ Vicary replied to an empty room.
Mrs Maas returned some five minutes later in the company of a woman in her forties, who seemed curious and also pleased for the break in her day that Vicary’s visit had caused. ‘This is Sandra Winthrop. Do take a seat, Sandra.’ Mrs Maas sat behind her desk, as Sandra Winthrop sat in a chair adjacent to Vicary. They smiled and nodded at each other.
Mrs Maas opened the discussion. ‘Well, it seems you have good fortune and also bad fortune, Mr Vicary. Mrs Winthrop here tells me that while she remembers Rosemary Halkier, perhaps the person you really need to talk to is on sick leave, so she is accessible but not at this location. I took the liberty of phoning her and she says she would be pleased to receive you, but you will have to visit her.’
‘Not a problem,’ Vicary replied, ‘but if she is unwell. .’
Mrs Mass smiled ‘Broken arm, so not unwell as such.’
‘Ah. . I see.’ Vicary turned to Mrs Winthrop. ‘You knew Rosemary Halkier?’
‘Yes.’ Sandra Winthrop was a warm-faced woman with short black hair. She wore a blue blouse and a long blue skirt.
‘Well?’
‘No, sir, not very well at all. The person whom you need to talk to more than I is Rachel Pontefract, as Mrs Maas has just indicated.’
‘The lady with the broken arm?’
‘Yes, she was Rachel Graff in those days but she knew Rosemary very well. They were very good friends. They were known as the “Rolls-Royce Crew”, double “R”, you see. . Rachel and Rosemary.’
‘Got you.’
‘I was a sort of hanger-on. The three of us went for a drink after work each Friday. We called it the “Friday Club”.’
‘Alright, I am particularly interested in her life outside her employment. Any male friend you know of?’