‘I don’t think I do – sorry.’
‘And you are sure you didn’t notice anyone behaving strangely last night?’ she asked.
‘Stranger than usual? No. It’s a difficult time for so many people. Lots of people who come in here are damaged. So many rough sleepers have mental-health issues.’ Simon shrugged again, his eyes went from Carter to Willis and he shook his head. ‘Sorry I can’t help. But – I’ll do my best and look into it for you.’
Carter took out his wallet and gave Simon a card.
‘Appreciate a call when you do.’
As they all walked back through the kitchen, Carter stopped to talk to the woman loading the dishwasher.
‘Excuse me, miss. I’m Detective Inspector Carter and this is Detective Constable Willis.’
‘Lyndsey,’ she said, looking at Simon anxiously.
‘Can we have a word, Lyndsey?’
She picked up a towel and dried her hands. She was a woman of mixed British and Asian descent. She had her long black hair tied back in a plait.
‘I’ll finish that’, said the older, auburn-haired woman who’d walked in with a tray of dishes. ‘Breakfast is over so you can sit in the canteen now.’ She was speaking with a Glaswegian accent. ‘I’ve just cleared the last of the tables. I’m Sheila, by the way.’ She set the tray down.
‘Thank you, Sheila. Could we have a chat with you too at the same time?’
‘No problem. Shall I bring out a cup of tea?’
‘Magic.’ Carter turned to Simon, who was still with them in the kitchen. ‘We won’t bother you further. Once we’ve finished talking to Sheila and Lyndsey, we’ll head off.’
‘Of course.’ Simon smiled, a little uneasy. ‘Sorry I couldn’t be more helpful.’ He went back through the double doors, in the direction of his office.
They went into the canteen and found a table, Sheila following with a tray with four teas on it. The PC corner was still busy with people waiting their turn.
‘Sugar’s on the table.’
‘Thanks very much.’ Carter took the teacups from the tray and waited for Sheila to sit down opposite Willis. Willis took out her notebook and pen.
‘Have you two worked here long?’ asked Carter.
‘I have,’ replied Sheila. ‘Lyndsey’s only been here a couple of weeks but she fits right in.’
‘How did you come to work here, Lyndsey?’ asked Carter.
‘I saw their advertisement for “volunteers needed” when I walked by the church one day.’
‘What about you, Sheila?’
‘I used to be homeless. I lived in a hostel at King’s Cross.’
‘So you’ve been through the system – you can advise people?’
‘Yes. I hope so. Everyone needs a helping hand in life, eh?’
‘Yes. Absolutely.’ Carter looked over at the people chatting by the PCs. Their voices were becoming raised.
‘You get to know people well? See the same faces?’
Sheila looked at Lyndsey and they both nodded.
‘This place has its characters,’ said Lyndsey. ‘You see the same people most days; you start to take an interest in what happens to them.’
‘I’m sure. Were you both here yesterday evening?’
‘Yes, we were,’ said Lyndsey.
‘We served Sunday lunch. We were out of here at six,’ Sheila added.
‘So you didn’t see the people who stayed here overnight?’
‘Not last night; Simon deals with things overnight on Sunday. We saw some of them at breakfast this morning.’
‘Can I ask you if you felt there was a strange atmosphere then?’
They looked at one another and nodded. ‘We kept asking, “What’s going on?”’ said Lyndsey.
‘What was it that bothered you?’ asked Carter.
‘The whispering. The worried faces,’ said Lyndsey.
‘The cuts and brusies too,’ Sheila added, shaking her head. ‘But there was so much of that secret stuff going on. No one would talk to us.’
‘What is it? What has happened?’ asked Lyndsey.
‘A woman was killed in the derelict buildings on Parade Street,’ Carter answered.
‘Dear God… was it Martine?’ Sheila gasped, looking at Lyndsey.
Willis shook her head. ‘It was a woman named Olivia. She wasn’t a rough sleeper. We think she was on her way to meet someone. Her car is parked just up the road. We are working on the theory that she was not meant to be in there – either she was forced or she was drugged – we’re waiting for the post-mortem results.’
‘Dear God – she shouldn’t have gone in there. It’s not safe.’
‘Who is Martine?’ asked Carter.
‘She is one of the younger ones,’ answered Sheila. ‘She sleeps on Parade Street sometimes. She sleeps in lots of places.’
‘Have you seen her this morning?’ Both women shook their heads. ‘Have you seen any of those who sleep on Parade Street?’ Willis asked.
‘I saw one of them – Toffee.’ Sheila looked at Lyndsey, who nodded.
‘Yes, I saw him too, as I was coming in this morning. I think he was waiting to speak to Simon.’
‘Toffee?’ Carter sipped his tea as he noticed Willis empty another packet of sugar into hers.
‘He’s like a father figure to Martine and the others,’ Lyndsey answered. ‘To the younger lot.’
‘Is he around now?’
‘No. I didn’t see him after I passed him this morning.’ Lyndsey turned to Sheila. ‘Did he come in for breakfast?’
‘I didn’t see him there either,’ Sheila answered. ‘He was definitely upset about something if he didn’t even stay for breakfast. He likes to line his stomach in the morning.’
Willis looked up from her note-taking.
‘Toffee? Is that his surname?’
‘It’s his nickname because he talks posh,’ said Sheila. ‘I don’t know what his real name is.’ She looked at Lyndsey, who shook her head.
‘So there is a group of people who come here to eat but who sleep on the streets?’ Carter asked.
‘Yes. They prefer it sometimes, or they just can’t give up the substance addiction. Or they have a dog and the dog means too much to them to give up – sometimes it’s the only thing that makes life worth living for them. But having a dog keeps them on the streets.’
‘And Martine?’ Willis looked at Sheila for a reply.
‘Martine is anorexic – an abuse victim. She’ll come here for tea in the morning, soup at lunchtime, but she won’t stay long. She spends a lot of time on her own. The regulars know her at the train station. If the right person’s on duty, they’ll let her sleep in the toilets. When she does pair up, she stays with Mason; he’s about the same age. It’s then that she sleeps on Parade Street. Mason has a dog.’
‘What’s Mason like?’
‘He’s about thirty. He wears a grey hat pulled down over his ears. He’s a quiet lad. His dog is called Sandy. She’s ugly-looking but soft when you know her.’
Willis was still making notes.
Carter was watching a heated discussion that had broken out at the PCs.
‘Is there anyone that comes here you think we should speak to about this incident?’ he asked.
Sheila stood and glared at the group who were arguing over the PCs. She looked down at Carter.
‘You should speak to the lads from the estate, that’s who.’ She leant forward, spoke now in a hissing whisper: ‘They kill someone for nothing. They kill as part of some bloody initiation rite. They’re always making trouble. They have attacked rough sleepers from this area before now.’
Willis was watching Lyndsey stare into her teacup.
‘Is that your judgement too, Lyndsey – that it could be someone from the estate?’
She looked up and shrugged.
‘I don’t know the area like Sheila but I know the people who come here will lie about most things – they’ll tell you anything they think you want to hear but I would not expect any of them to commit murder.’