by Mark A. King
“Can you hack the CCTV footage from the station on the day of the incident?” Iona asked.
“What’s the point? Surely the authorities would have done that already?”
“Listen, Raf, there are lots of things that should have happened. If Greene is right, then we don’t know whom we can trust.”
“Why don’t you do it? You’re just as capable as I am.”
“I’d like to think I still stand a chance of getting my job back, but I won’t if I’m breaking the law while suspended and under observation.”
Raf smiled and adjusted his cap. “Let’s do it. But, not here. There are too many cameras on the streets. How about that park nearby?”
Iona sat on the park bench and watched the world while Raf hacked the feeds and scrolled through the archive footage.
The park was fine in the day and early evening, but as the night progressed, Iona knew it would attract young binge drinkers, doggers, sex workers, and junkies. People the street children should avoid. A chill ran down the back of Iona’s neck. Would Maria know to avoid places like this? Would she have found somewhere safe to shelter?
“Got it!” Raf said. “It’s definitely her.”
“Here, let me see.” Iona snatched the smartphone. Like hers, His phone was custom-built. Iona’s lips started to smile, before she remembered what had happened and what this could mean. “Was this hard to find?”
“The footage? No. Not for me. You’d have found it, too. But for your average person, yes. They probably wouldn’t think to look in the equivalent of the server recycle bin. Looks like someone has tried to delete it, but they didn’t do it properly.”
Iona handed the phone back. “The only footage Danielle could get was from a distant street camera. It showed a blurry shape heading away from the newsagents’.”
“You know what this means?”
Iona nodded. “In all likelihood, someone—with access to the CCTV system—doesn’t want Maria Mathan to be found.”
“Or, someone who can hack just as well as we can.”
Iona thought about Westbourne and what Jimmy Kinsella had told her about the unit. How Danielle Greene had said the same.
Maria Mathan was in even greater danger than Iona had imagined. “Can you trace the other camera feeds nearby?”
“Nearby to what?”
“To Upton Park station, where we just were. It’s where I saw her.” And watched her disappear, frozen by pride, cowardice, and pathetic self-preservation, Iona thought.
“I get that you want to find her. Who wouldn’t? But why is this such a big deal to you?”
“I could have stopped her, Raf. I should have. Operation Scythe almost ...” Iona looked away, eyes waterlogged. The buildings surrounding the park were a mishmash of styles. The metal scaffold skeletal bones of new buildings jutted out as if trying to spear and destroy the old and imperfect ones. “This case is the centre of everything cancerous in the city. I dragged you into it once and it almost killed you. Yet ... yet, here I am doing it again. But this time I can’t afford for someone else to suffer because of my selfishness. That girl witnessed her mum slain, brutally killed in front of her—”
“I’m sorry,” Raf said.
“For what?”
“I should have realised there are similarities between Maria’s circumstances and your own.”
Iona tried to push the memories of her mother away, dampening the daydreams of heat and flames and masking the overwhelming stench of smoke. “It’s true, Raf. I can’t deny it. But this isn’t about my past. It’s about now. She needed my help. I could have stopped it. I stood near the newsagents’. I was so intent on tailing Leo Jeffers, making that breakthrough and staying out of trouble, that I let it happen. I’m responsible. Then ... I watched her walk away from the newsagents’ and didn’t stop her from disappearing into Upton Park station. If by some miracle she’s still okay, God knows how we’ll find her.”
Iona rubbed her eyes with her sleeve and yawned to feign tired and heavy eyes.
Raf linked his arm round hers. The warmth and tenderness of this small gesture was more than she deserved. She gently extracted her arm. “You know I don’t like admitting failure or asking for help, but I’m lost, Raf.”
Iona turned to him. Her heartbeat eased, her breath steadied. He didn’t question or judge her. Raf rarely did.
“We’ll find her. I promise.” He was touch-typing on his phone screen, fingers jabbing and swiping at a speeds that even impressed Iona.
They sat bathed in the faint glow of the screen for a few moments.
“Here, look,” Raf said, zooming into a camera feed. “I’ve had to hack deep into the system to get this.”
“Encrypted?”
“Well, who isn’t these days? But this isn’t normal. These files were not in the live system. They were in the archive logs. I guess someone thought they were being smart.”
“Not smart enough. What can you see?” Iona leaned over, pressing herself gently against the warmth of Raf’s body.
“This is from the camera just inside Upton Park station shortly after you last saw her. It shows her going through the ticket barrier.”
“How?”
“Give me a minute.” Raf pinched-zoomed the camera. “She had a Travelcard.”
“Can you zoom in to see the details?”
Raf tried to adjust the view. “No, it’s blurry. The resolution isn’t high enough, and her body is obscuring much of the information.”
“Can you hack the ticket validation database?”
“Already on it. Give me a minute.” Raf’s fingers danced like those of a pianist. “You want the good news or bad news?”
“Bad, I guess.”
“She wasn’t using an Oyster card. That would have allowed us to track her movements on public transport.”
“What’s the good news?”
“She has a seven-day, all-zones Travelcard. Which means she has access to Tubes and busses for several more days yet.”
Iona’s face dimpled with a small smile. Given Maria Mahan’s restricted mobility, this news gave Iona greater hope. “Can you go back to the original camera feed? Is it possible to see which way she was heading?”
Iona watched Raf switch the view on his customised phone. He allowed the camera to play, then tracked Maria using the next camera in the circuit. “District Line. Westbound. Towards the city.” Raf sprung up. “Let’s go—”
“No. She’s been missing for days, Raf. How will we know how far she went? She could be anywhere by now. What’s the point in aimlessly traveling the Tube?”
“Well, you’re the police officer,” he sarcastically reminded her. “You tell me what we should be doing. At least we’d be doing something.”
He was right. What else did they have? When there was nothing to go on, the only course of action in an investigation was to retrace the known steps. “Okay, Raf. We’ll follow her tracks. It’s all we have. But it would help to know if you can scan the other stations on the same route. At least give us her next movements.”
“It’ll take a while for me to work out the journey times and then hack the relevant cameras in the different stations along the route.”
Iona smiled, knowing it wouldn’t take him long at all.
They rode the twelve stops westbound to Mansion House station. The CCTV feeds showed Maria leaving the platform, but there was nothing they could find after that.
Searching the station proved fruitless. There were innumerable places to hide. A million possibilities and routes she could have taken.
But at least they were closer. They’d followed the initial route she had taken.
They headed out to street level. The dome of St. Paul’s cathedral mushroomed over the buildings, majestically lit and dominating the night sky—a beacon for the tourists rather than the believers.
Raf checked his phone, switching views and angles, searching historical camera records. “Nothing. Where the hell could she be?”
A fe
w streets west, Iona saw a homeless shelter. “Come on, Raf, it’s worth a go, isn’t it?”
He shrugged, but closely followed Iona as she entered the building.
Inside, they were greeted by a matchstick woman with a tall, thin body stretching to a fuzz of yellow cropped hair. “I’m Helena. I’m leading the shift tonight. What can I do for you?” Her smile was welcoming and warm.
Iona fumbled for her badge, hesitated, and then flashed it at Helena. “Detective Stone. I’m investigating the disappearance of a young girl, Maria Mathan.”
Helena rubbed her eyes which were bloodshot and sunk in grey sockets. She looked like she’d had too many late shifts at the shelter. “Yes, I know the one. I’ve not seen her.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure. She’s been on the news. I’d remember her. We would have recognised her and flagged the authorities if she’d been here. She’s on our missing list. We get a lot of people, Detective Stone, but we care for every one of them—regardless of their circumstances. It’s not uncommon for us to deal with street children.”
Iona looked at her questioningly.
“I used to be like most people,” Helena explained. “Kids on the streets was something for third-world countries or Dickensian stories. But it’s a big problem and it’s getting worse each year.”
“You have many of them come here?” Raf asked.
“Only a small number. From the last estimates, there are thousands of homeless children in the city. The ones who are alone—living rough, usually runaways from hard situations—tend not to come to shelters.”
“Do you mind me asking why?” Iona said.
“Fear of what might happen to them. There are generally two types. Those categorised as missing, which are only a small number, and Maria Mathan is in this category. The vast majority have run away. Most are still running from something. Regardless of what has caused them to be homeless, most face the same issues.”
“Such as?” Iona asked.
“In the first few hours and days, the main concern is finding a safe place. Finding water, shelter, food. As time goes on, other factors become an issue. Life on the streets is hard for anyone, particularly children. Many have come from difficult family circumstances, some might have been forced out of home or found themselves in downward spirals following the deaths of parents. Often the circumstances will worsen on the streets—violence, sexual exploitation, substance abuse, and crime are, sadly, major factors we have to deal with when trying to help them. They often feel helpless, guilty, shamed, many feel that they are misunderstood and the only people that they can talk to are others on the streets. Some survive as criminals and continue down this path because prison is better than home and better than the streets.”
Iona felt her throat close. Her head throbbed as she held her breath. How could the plight of these children be in front of her and everyone in the city, and nobody see it?
Iona knew that Raf had spent time on the streets during his teenage years. She looked at him, his eyes were stony, his posture steady. As if he were trying hard to suppress his feelings. He’d only ever mentioned it before in passing, and he always became touchy when Iona asked questions.
“If I leave you my number, will you get in touch if you hear anything?” Iona asked.
Helena handed over a scrap of paper and a pen. “Sure. But I wouldn’t hold my breath.”
“What do you mean?”
Helena looked over her shoulder before saying in a hushed whisper, “If you were running, if you were scared, would you go to a place that you suspected would inform the authorities? We are in constant contact with the police, victim support, housing charities, and social services. Not everyone wants that. Maria’s story is shocking. She was only in the country a few hours and her mum was killed in front of her. Could the police have done more to find her?” She raised an eyebrow at Iona.
“Of course. But that’s why I’m here.”
“You’re the first person I’ve talked to about this, Detective Stone. We’re one of the biggest centres for homelessness in the city, one of the few that specialises in children’s services. Yet, despite the fact that Maria Mathan is a missing, vulnerable girl and the witness to a murder, we’ve not been approached. Maybe she doesn’t trust the authorities after what’s happened. Also, the world she comes from is very different to our own.”
“How do you mean?”
“We’re a global charity, Detective Stone. In many places and cultures, young woman don’t have the freedoms and rights we take for granted. There are so many reports I see of violence, rape, shaming, and blackmail that it breaks my heart. These are situations where young woman find it almost impossible to seek help. Of course, I know no more about how Maria Mathan is feeling than you do. But I doubt it would be easy for her to just walk into a place like this. Many children, regardless of culture, or pain, or fear, simply find it hard to seek help. They often fear that they are at fault, or won’t be believed or helped. They mistrust the authorities or those who represent them.”
Iona thought about Maria’s angry words to her. Why did you let it happen? Why aren’t you with Am’ma? Why don’t you chase the man who did this.
Iona glanced at Raf. He shook his head, urging her to abandon the questioning. It was clear that Helena couldn’t help them. But Iona needed to find Maria, and Helena’s words had only increased the level or urgency. “So if she is not in a place like this, where could she be?”
Helena’s smile dropped and her hands swung loosely at her sides like they were trying to drag her body to the ground. “There are the normal places. Parks, alleyways, and abandoned buildings. But they’re not the safest. If I were you, I’d find other street children. They tend to trust others in similar situations rather than adults. I’d look in the car parks. More recently big industrial wheelie-bins have become popular. Sometimes they use the public transport system, if they can find money.”
Iona looked at Raf, knowing that Maria had access to the network. “We know she had a Travelcard,” Iona said. “But wouldn’t the Tube be dangerous at night?”
“That’s reassuring. It’s a misconception that the Tube is dangerous. It largely depends on the station. Maybe in the tunnels, or outside, but you can normally see trouble before it happens and there are alarms and cameras everywhere. If she’s there, she’ll be riding the network. Moving between trains doesn’t require a new ticket. The carriages are warm and mostly safe. People are trying not to notice other people. If she moves around, keeps a low profile, and doesn’t stick to a routine—that could be a way of surviving. If she’s already used the network then it will be familiar to her, so she might use similar lines and stations. The streets are likely to seem far more frightening.”
Despite the fact that Helena had given her greater cause for concern, Iona found hope in the fact Maria had access to a reasonably safe place. “Thank you, Helena. We’ll do everything we can to find her.”
“No problem. We’re on the list of people to contact for missing children. Should you find her, we have everything here to help her, and we’ll arrange for local social services intervention.”
Iona shook Helena’s hand and promised to return.
They left the centre and started to walk back to the station.
“What do you think?” Raf asked.
Iona frowned. “Everything Helena said made sense. I feel sick just thinking about the normal risks of street life for Maria, and we have the additional threats that Jimmy mentioned—the criminal gang behind the robbery will be searching for her, too.”
Iona tried to push her concerns to the back of her mind. The archived and encrypted CCTV feeds, the information from Jimmy Kinsella, the fact that Danielle Green was obsessed with police corruption in her own unit, and the feeling gnawing away inside her own chest that all of these factors meant Maria Mathan was in extreme and immediate danger.
She and Raf returned to Mansion House station.
Perhaps it was fate,
perhaps it was the fact that Helena had opened their eyes and they were now looking for signs of street children, that they saw a young teenage boy, alone, no school uniform, moving between the platforms.
Robbie
A few streets away from the factory where he had just been sacked, Robbie couldn’t help but think about Leo Jeffers.
He’d been getting texts from Leo Jeffers for months. The sort of texts that told him about Leo’s new high life, full of carefree lawlessness and big rewards. Be part of it, the messages said, while hinting at robberies, crimes, and lucrative exchanges, and at the same time calling Robbie a tosser for being weak, for trying to be a family man to another loser’s kid.
Then there was:
i need help bro have no 1 else 2 ask meet me at the bus stop near ur work
Leo Jeffers, the twitchy junkie, looked like a man made of twigs wearing a bird’s nest as a wig—any more skinny and he’d be invisible. Leo’s jittery frame spasmed in and out of the gap between the bus stop and the hedge. Leo had once faked bravado and confidence in the way he held himself, but looking at him closely, Robbie could see nothing but nervousness and panic. That, or the guy was desperate for another fix.
The street was empty but for the odd passing car.
Robbie approached cautiously. “I’m here. What the fuck do you want?”
Leo stood halfway out of the gap. “That’s no way to treat an old school friend.” His voice trembled, as if he were standing in ice-water.
Old school friend? You mean back when you were still called Theo and the kids beat seven shades of shit out of you? When I used to save your scrawny arse? “You’re no friend, Leo.”
“Don’t say that, Rob. We go way back. Friend are friends forever, isn’t that what they say?”
Robbie’s jaw tightened. “Only on TV, Leo.”
“I need your help. I’m in deep shit. I have nobody else to go to.”
“I don’t really give a toss, Leo.” Robbie grabbed Leo by his mop of hair, yanking him out of the shadows and into the sickly pool of the amber streetlights. Robbie punched him in the stomach—with an intensity he immediately regretted. Leo collapsed like a rotten tree in a fierce gale. “Get up, Leo, I’m not done with you.”