Templeman was taken aback by the anger with which Kalyan spoke. His rage expended, Kalyan’s head dropped to his chest once more. Templeman considered the reasons Kalyan might have gained entry to the flat: he ruled out theft, because there was nothing to steal; he ruled out sex, because the man was alone; he ruled out conspiracy, because there were no conspirators; but he could not rule out fear.
“We didn’t see you get in. How did you?”
Kalyan hesitated but sensing that to refuse to answer the question would invite arrest, said: “We do not use the street, we have a key to the back door of the house; there is a shop in the street that runs parallel to this, we come in that way, and through their yard and over the wall.”
“That might be considered criminal trespass,” Templeman said.
“Then arrest me! Or charge me as a vagrant!”
Templeman considered Kalyan’s threadbare, too large suit, and meagre possessions.
“A flat like this, even a dirty, empty dump like this, costs money.”
“We share the cost; it’s five shillings for a night.”
“We?”
“There are several of us, mostly South African, a couple of Algerians, we have our reasons to find a safe haven in this city. Until the police lose interest, go away.”
“How long have BOSS been looking?”
“We got word from someone at the embassy we trust that two BOSS inspectors had come to London last week.”
“And then?”
“Those most in need lie low.”
The entry in the log from the previous day of the unknown man was a credible description of a plain clothes police officer. One thing in particular in the description, that he had cropped blond hair, cut too short to be fashionable, had attracted Templeman’s attention: he was either ex-miliary or police.
“What do you know about the BOSS agents?”
“They had been sent by Pretoria, to intimidate South African exiles and students.”
“Who knows about this house?”
Kalyan looked up, his mouth grew taught.
“Why?”
“I think that one of the South African police may have called here yesterday.”
Templeman was aware as he said this that he was divulging operational information; he could lose his job. However, he had interviewed enough scared men and women during his career, to know when someone was terrified for their life: Kalyan was one such.
“What will you do?” Kalyan asked.
“Nothing.”
“You won’t tell them?”
“I’ve no reason to, you have committed no crime.”
“What now?”
“Get out and don’t come back.”
Kalyan nodded; he rose slowly from the mattress and wiped down his perspiring face with his hands. Then he gathered up his possessions, stuffing them haphazardly into the suitcase, and left.
Templeman checked his watch as he opened the door to the observation flat: he had returned with two minutes to spare. Hill turned around as he entered the lounge.
“Who was he guv?”
“A drunk, he was sleeping it off, he’s gone.”
“You made it back in time.”
“He was no trouble.”
Hill nodded and turned back to the Zeiss binoculars. Templeman took out a pen and proceeded to enter what hadn’t happened in the log.
Copyright © David Alexander 2025