A Great Deliverance - By Elizabeth George Page 0,108

indeed, he could choose to become.

From King's Cross Station, Barbara took the Northern Line to Warren Street. Fitzroy Square was only a few minutes' walk from there. She spent that time meditating on a plan of attack. It was clear that Gillian Teys was involved in this situation up to her neck, but that was going to be extremely difficult to prove. If she was smart enough to disappear from sight for eleven years, certainly she was smart enough to have a cast-iron alibi for the night in question. It seemed to Barbara that the best approach - if indeed Gillian was Nell Graham and if she could be located using the scant information they had - was to give her no choice, arrest her if necessary, in order to get her back to Keldale that night. She thought about everything that had been said about Gillian: about her delinquent behaviour, her sexual licence, and her ability to hide both under an exterior of angelic refinement. There was only one way to deal with someone that clever. Be tough, be aggressive, be absolutely ruthless.

Fitzroy Square - a tidily renovated patch of Camden Town - was an unusual spot to find a home for stray teenagers. Twenty years before, when the square had still been a postwar rectangle of sagging buildings, grubby pavements, and empty windowboxes, a home for the flotsam and jetsam of London life would be what one would expect to find. But now, when the entire face of the square was crisp and new, when the lovely green in the centre was carefully fenced off against vagrants, when every building was freshly painted and every burnished door gleamed in the fading light of the day, it was hard to believe that society's forgotten and unwanted, frightened and pained still lived here.

Number 11 was the home of Testament House, a Georgian building whose front was covered with scaffolding. A rubbish bin overflowing with plaster, empty paint tins, cardboard cartons, and dropcloths gave evidence to the fact that Testament House was joining its neighbours in an architectural renaissance. The front door stood open, and from within came the sound of music, not the rowdy rockand-roll one might have expected from a gathering place for runaway teenagers, but the delicate strains of classical guitar and the kind of quiet that spoke of an audience held spellbound. However, those on this week's kitchen duty were not taking part in the recital above stairs, Barbara guessed, for even outside the air was rich with the aroma of tomato sauce and spices, sure indication of the evening's fare.

She walked up the two steps and entered the building. The long hallway was covered with an old red runner, worn so thin in places that the wood of the floor beneath showed through.

Walls were bare of decoration save bulletin boards that held employment information, messages received, and announcements posted. A schedule of classes at the university of Gower Street was given the most prominent position, with large cardboard arrows pointing to it encouragingly.

Nearby clinics, drug programs, and Planned Parenthood offices were advertised for inhabitants, and the telephone number of a suicide hotline was printed repeatedly on tear-off sheets at the bottom of the board. Most of them, Barbara noted, were gone.

"Hello," a voice called cheerfully. "Need some help?"

Barbara turned to find a plump middle-aged woman leaning over the reception counter, pushing a pair of horn-rimmed spectacles to the top of her clipped grey hair. Her smile was welcoming, but it faded immediately when her eyes fell upon the warrant card that Barbara produced. Above them, the intricate music continued.

"Is there some sort of trouble?" the woman asked. "I suppose you want Mr. Clarence."

"No," Barbara replied. "That may not be necessary. I'm looking for this young woman.

Her name is Gillian Teys, but we think she may be using the name Nell Graham." She handed over the photograph, a gesture she knew would be unnecessary, for the moment she had said the name the other woman's expression had altered and revealed.

Nonetheless, she looked at the photograph cooperatively. "Yes, this is Nell," she said.

In spite of having been so certain, Barbara felt a surge of triumph. "Can you tell me how to locate her? It's quite important that I find her as soon as possible."

"She's not in trouble, is she?"

"It's important that I find her," Barbara said again.

"Oh yes, of course. I suppose you can't tell me. It's only that..." The woman fingered her chin nervously. "Let me get