dislocated, as if an actor had taken over his part and he was watching from afar. Little more than sixteen hours before he'd been sitting on a tube rattling across rush-hour London. Now here he was six time zones west, breakfast time in America, in a city about which he knew nothing, other than its importance as the centre of the Mormon Church.
Heather emerged from the crisp, cold air where she'd been making a call back to the UK. Her hair was still wet from the shower she'd grabbed at the unspectacular business hotel where they'd dropped their bags.
'I need more of that fresh air,' she said. 'It's a balm to the lungs compared to London. It's like breathing for the first time.' She checked her watch. 'The fax has been sent.
What time are we meeting your girlfriend?'
Nigel had suggested Donna Faugenot meet them. She was well connected and knew the source material better than he did. She might come in handy. He ignored the teasing.
'Ten. In the snack area.' He pulled a map from his pocket. 'It's on this floor. Somewhere.'
Five floors, almost 2,000 visitors daily, more than 600 million names on its database, and 2.5 million rolls of microfilm -- Nigel had to admit the LDS library dwarfed the National Archives in Kew. It was Tuesday -- it took both of them a while to remember that through the fog of travel -- and so the library was open until nine in the evening, but even that early in the morning it was crammed full. They headed through the throng to the snack area, a small airless cubby hole that made the old canteen at the Family Records Centre look like the dining room of the Dorchester.
There was only one person there, sipping bottled water, reading a newspaper. A blonde woman in jeans, trainers and a black zip-up jacket, heavily made up, boldly attractive.
'Donna?'
Nigel asked tentatively.
The woman looked up, then flashed a broad smile of perfect white teeth. She stood up. She was tall, maybe the same height as him. 'Nigel!' she exclaimed. 'Nigel Barnes!'
He smiled and was about to hold out his hand when she embraced him, planting a kiss on his right cheek. 'It's good to meet you.' She looked him up and down. 'I love the jacket. Very professorial,' she added, nodding.
'Thanks,' Nigel said. 'Pleasure to meet you, too.'
'It's great to put a face to the voice.' She flashed her full beam grin. You're as cute as your accent. How was the flight?'
'Er, long.' He turned to Heather, who was standing a few feet behind him, the curious smile back on her lips.
'This is Detective Inspector Heather Jenkins.'
They shook hands, agreeing it was good to meet each other.
'Thanks for helping,' Nigel added. You really didn't need to . . .'
What the hell,' she said, waving away his protest. She leaned forward conspiratorially. Always glad to be a guide through the evil empire,' she whispered.
Nigel smiled. The Mormon Church's tentacles extended into every nook and cranny of genealogy - libraries, websites, publications. No other group was anywhere near as powerful. But no other group made the pursuit of family history a cornerstone of their religion.
'Keep that one quiet, honey. The walls have ears,' she said and winked. 'Anyway, what's your plan?'
We're going to check if they've got the request and see if they'll hand the material over. Shall we meet you back here later?' Heather said.
Donna shrugged. 'Sounds good. If I'm not here, I'll be on this floor. Just holler -- quietly, of course.'
They turned to go.
'Fascinating woman,' Heather said, as they made their way to the special collections desk. Wonder how early she has to get up in the morning to put that lot on her face?'
They reached the second floor, much less crowded than the one they'd left. The special collections desk was in the far corner of the room. It was manned by a nervous, balding man in his mid-forties, wearing a pair of thick dark glasses. 'Edward,' his name badge said. Heather performed the introductions. A fax has been sent ahead of us about our request for information?' she added.
The man look nonplussed. 'Hold with me just a second,'
he said, and disappeared behind a door. A minute or so later he returned, brandishing a piece of paper. 'I have the request here.'
'Excellent,' Heather said.
He furrowed his brow. 'There's just one problem.
Actually, make that two problems. You can't access the information as it stands.'
Nigel sensed Heather bristle.
'As what stands?'
'To enter the special collections to access this information, you need a valid LDS temple recommend.'
'How do we get one of those?'
Are either of you a member of the LDS Church?'
'No,' Heather said, trying to suppress a snort of laughter.
'Then, broadly speaking, you won't be able to get a temple recommend and enter the special collections.'
'Can't you just bring it out here?' Nigel could see Heather's patience, frayed by missing a night's sleep, was about to break.
Edward shook his head slowly. 'No. You need to enter the special collections.'
Heather leaned forward against the desk. 'Can I just clear something up? The material we want to see could be of great help in an ongoing murder investigation. We have flown all the way from the United Kingdom because we were told the material would be handed to us on special request. We have made that request. Now you're telling us, after we've flown all this way, that the material we need, that could help us find a killer, is actually unavailable because we're not members of the LDS Church?'
'I see your predicament, ma'am, and I sympathize. It is not my decision but --'
'Let me guess,' Heather snapped. You're just following orders?'
Well, yes . . .'
'Look, I appreciate all that. Can I speak to someone in a position of authority? I've flown all the way from England and I'm not going anywhere until I get to see that material.'
Edward nodded. 'I'll go and see if anyone's available.
Hold right there.' He disappeared behind his door.
Heather turned round, seething. 'Can you fucking believe this?' she said, shaking her head. Nigel didn't know what to say. Already his mind was listing other ways they might be able to get hold of those newspapers. He came up blank.
'Blousey Brown downstairs, can she help?'
Who?'
Who do you think? Avon calling. Your friend, Donna.'
'I don't know,' he said. 'I very much doubt it.'
'Go and metaphorically holler for her, see if she's a member. See if she knows anyone who is and has one of these recommend things.'
Nigel trudged back downstairs to the main floor, and immediately ran into Donna speaking to someone next to a vast bank of microfilm readers. She saw him approaching, patted her fellow conversationalist on the shoulder and switched her smile to full dazzle. She radiated health.
Next to her, crumpled after a day of travel, still wearing the same clothes he had left London in, Nigel felt grotty and unkempt.
'Couldn't keep away, huh?'
'No, we actually need your help right now. They won't give us access without something called a temple recommend.'
'Special
collections? It's in there, is it? I didn't know that. I thought they'd bring it to the front desk for collection.'
