‘I know it wasn’t.’
‘How?’
‘I saw who took it.’
‘Who?’
I don’t know who he was. I saw him as I was coming back from the shops. The man was dressed in a suit.’
‘Did you run after him?’
‘I tried to, but he jumped into a car and drove off.’
‘What else can you tell me?’
‘That’s it. What would a man like that want with an old computer?’ Katrina said.
‘I don’t know, but it seems important. What was on it, apart from details about the hostel?’
‘Nothing much. I didn’t use it apart from surfing a few websites and ordering for the hostel.’
‘What did you surf?’
‘I only repeated what Bob had entered in. Some formulas, that’s all. I’ve no idea what they meant, but they seemed to be important.’
‘How do you know?’
‘They’re in an old notebook.’
‘Do you have it?’
The hostel manager – the title she preferred now, after the local businessmen and the church had endorsed her taking over from Bob Robertson – opened a locked drawer in the desk. She withdrew a notebook and gave it to Isaac.
‘It might be important,’ Isaac said.
‘If you can understand it,’ Katrina Ireland replied. ‘It means nothing to me.’
‘We’ve someone back at the station who’s good with computers. She’ll make some sense of it.’
***
Larry Hill finally returned to Challis Street Police Station, poured himself a coffee, heavy on the sugar, and sat down in Isaac’s office. He had a resigned look on his face.
‘What is it?’ Isaac asked.
‘The man’s not around.’ There was no need to elaborate on who Larry was referring to.
‘I’m told he was always down at the hostel, but I can’t remember ever seeing him,’ Isaac said.
‘Big Greg is a mystery,’ Larry said. ‘Everyone I met, and they all knew him, admitted that he was a strange character, and judging by the people I’ve met over the last few days, he’d not only be strange, he’d be off the planet.’
‘That bad?’
‘There are some sad cases out there, but Big Greg doesn’t seem to be one of them. For one thing, the man never drank or smoked, and he’d sit quietly by himself, reciting poetry.’
‘What sort of poetry?’ Isaac asked.
‘None that any of those I spoke to know.’
‘Important?’
‘It depends on what it was, I suppose. One of the men recited a few lines of one, “half a league, half a league, half a league onward, all in the valley of death rode the six hundred”. I remember it vaguely from school,’ Larry said.
Bridget poked her head around the door. ‘“Forward, the Light Brigade! Charge for the guns! he said: Into the valley of Death rode the six hundred.” Alfred, Lord Tennyson, it’s the opening verse from his poem, “The Charge of the Light Brigade.” Surely, you must know it,’ she said smugly before retiring to her desk, a smile on her face.
‘I knew it,’ Isaac said.
‘I’ll defer to your seniority,’ Larry replied, knowing full well that his DCI did not know it either.
‘What does it tell us about the man?’ Isaac said. ‘I’ve heard it mentioned before that he would recite poetry, and that he was highly educated.’
‘It doesn’t tell us much, other than his reasons to be out on the street must be severe. No one else out there could recite poetry to me, although one told me that he had been a schoolteacher until the alcohol had destroyed him.’
‘Bitter about it, was he?’
‘Too far gone to care. He’ll be another one they’ll pick up stiff as a board before too long.’
‘Anything else you can tell us about Big Greg, a name possibly?’ Isaac asked.
‘I checked with the job centre, some of the other welfare organisations.’
‘And?’
‘Nothing. Some of them knew of the man, unmistakable according to those who’d seen him, but none could ever remember him crossing their threshold, hands out at the ready.’
‘Is that how they see those seeking assistance?’
‘Some do. One of the women at a welfare centre down in Holland Park was quite vocal on the subject, saw most of them as a waste of space.’
‘It’s hardly the appropriate attitude of someone in welfare,’ Isaac said.
‘That’s what I thought, but then she’d probably had a rough day. Apparently, some of them can become belligerent, demanding their rights, unwilling to do anything in return, and, as she said, once they’ve got the money, they’re out buying drugs or drink, but no food or medicine.’
‘What did she say about Big Greg?’
‘She’d spoken to him once, when he came in with another homeless man; helped him with the paperwork, dealt with the questions that she had asked of him.’
‘Did she get a name for Big Greg?’
‘She said he wouldn’t give it, and there was no way she could force it. He wasn’t looking for a handout.’
‘The other man was, I assume.’
‘Precisely. His paperwork was in order, even if the man wasn’t. Big Greg dealt with the objections, clarified his friend’s position and walked out of there with the additional assistance.’
‘Big Greg take anything?’
‘According to the lady, he asked for nothing, took nothing, and shook her hand at the conclusion, not that she appreciated it.’
‘Why?’
‘You’ve heard the stories. The man’s hygiene was questionable.’
‘Okay, no name, but what could she tell you?’
‘She had to admit that he was a cultured man and that he spoke well.’
‘Polite?’
‘Exceedingly, according to the woman, and that he had studied the requirements, understood the responsibility of his friend if the money was to be given, explained it to him, even if he did not understand it.’
‘This man’s disappearance is suspicious,’ Isaac said.
‘Are you sure?’
‘What do you think?’
‘The man does
