Chapter 14

Chapter 14

‘Her name's Naomi Watson and she's been missing since last night …'

The young volunteer looked at the photo of Naomi carefully, then shook her head.

‘I don't recognize her, I'm afraid, but I wasn't on duty last night. You're best off asking the hostel manager, Tara. You'll find her doing the rounds in the accommodation block.'

The woman gestured towards the back of the building. Thanking her, Charlie carried on her way, walking down a narrow corridor, before pushing into the main body of the shelter. This was the council's flagship centre, opened four years ago as the solution to the city's homelessness problems. But the Covid pandemic and subsequent economic downturn had put paid to their best-laid plans and the Lime Street centre now appeared woefully inadequate to deal with an ever-worsening situation.

The accommodation block opened up in front of Charlie, fifty solitary beds that provided warmth, comfort and safety, but nothing in the way of privacy or dignity. Everything was communal here, your troubles included. This was now brought home to Charlie as a teenage mum-to-be brushed past her without seeming to clock the presence of another human being, her hollow eyes signifiers of addiction, perhaps, or some deep-seated psychiatric problem. Saddened, Charlie pressed on, locating the only member of staff in the vicinity and hurrying towards her. Tara Bridges, the centre's manager, turned towards Charlie as she approached.

‘Can I help you?' she asked brightly, clocking that Charlie was here on official business.

Offering her warrant card for inspection, Charlie replied, ‘We've got a general alert out for a fifteen-year-old girl, who was reported missing by her mother this morning.'

Charlie offered Tara the photo, who took it, studying the girl's features.

‘Hasn't been seen since last night and obviously we're very worried about her. I was wondering if maybe she turned up here? Or at one of your other hostels?'

It was said more in hope than expectation, but Tara Bridges' brow now furrowed, as recognition slowly took hold.

‘Yes, she was here last night,' she replied promptly.

‘You're sure it was her?'

‘A hundred per cent. The dyed blue hair is pretty hard to miss, plus she was wearing this same necklace, the one that spells out her name. She's obviously called Naomi, though I didn't get her surname …'

‘Naomi Watson,' Charlie responded, excited. ‘That's our girl.'

‘Right …' the manager replied thoughtfully, her eyes glued to the photo.

‘So she stayed the night, then?' Charlie's tone was bright, but Bridges' face swiftly clouded over.

‘Unfortunately not. We were full, we could barely move in here for clients. I … I told her to try the other hostels, but she said she already had.'

‘So you turned her away?' Charlie asked, realizing too late how accusatory she sounded.

‘I didn't want to,' Bridges replied defensively. ‘But I had no choice. If we exceed capacity here things can become volatile very quickly …'

‘Of course, I totally understand,' Charlie said, backtracking. ‘I know what you're up against. But just to be clear, the two of you spoke?'

‘For a few minutes, yes. It was by the front entrance and we shared a few words, then she went on her way.'

‘And how did she seem?'

‘Well, she was upset of course. A little scared. But she wasn't high or drunk or anything like that and seemed like a sensible girl.'

‘Was anyone with her?'

‘No, she was all alone, which is why she was so agitated. She was really disappointed not to find a place here and the weather was closing in …'

Bridges sounded genuinely tortured by this thought, by this line of questioning, but Charlie had to persist now that she had a sliver of a lead.

‘So you've no idea where she went?'

‘I'm afraid not. I was just glad she decided not to hang around here.'

What do you mean?'

And now Bridges paused once more, looking troubled and uncomfortable.

‘It's well known that … that pimps and paedophiles congregate outside our hostel around closing time. We shut up shop around nine o'clock – no one's allowed in or out after that – and we always have to turn some people away, so …'

She didn't need to spell it out. With each passing second, Charlie felt more uneasy, more sickened by what she was hearing. Had the world really become so cruel, so predatory?

‘And this happens every night?'

More or less. It's got so predictable that we even have nicknames for some of the worst offenders.'

‘Jesus …'

‘I know it sounds awful, but actually it's quite helpful. We can warn the young people we turn away to stay clear of specific characters. That, at least, we've got a handle on. It's not those losers that concern me …'

She looked Charlie straight in the eye, dropping her voice as she concluded:

‘It's the ones we don't know about that worry me.'