He needed to know more.
Foster was stiff from another night on guard on the sofa, sleeping there to prevent Gary from leaving and anyone from coming in. He made Gary and himself a bacon sandwich each; then, while he drank some tea and came round, the kid stared slackjawed at more television. While he was enthralled by some junkie cartoon, Foster slipped out into the back garden and placed some Sellotape on the join of the kitchen window and its frame, then did the same with the back door and the battered old French windows at the back of the sitting room. Before leaving for Kensington and the Mormon Temple, after getting Gary into his car, he pretended to have left something behind, and when he returned to the house he stuck another band of translucent tape across the frame at the foot of the front door.
Sunday wasn't a bad day to be hunting Mormons. Outside the chapel in South Kensington, scores of them milled around in their Sunday best waiting for their services to start. Foster did not know what to expect -- all he knew about Mormonism was that the Osmonds were members, and that it practised questionable marital practices, or used to. He was pleasantly surprised to see so many normal-looking people and not chanting weirdos in robes.
He told Gary to keep quiet and behave, and the pair followed the congregation into the chapel. He sat at the back, trying not to look too conspicuous even if all the men, and some of the boys, were in suits, and he was in a pair of chinos and a battered jumper riddled with bobbles.
Gary, in scruffy jeans and puffer jacket, looked even more incongruous, drawing more than a few concerned looks.
The ceremony lasted a long time but to Foster it felt like an eternity. Hymns, invocations, a bewildering litany of assignments and callings, blessings, namings and confirmations.
Finally,
it ended. Foster told Gary, bored to catatonia, to stay seated while he headed to the front, to the rotund, rather self-important man who had opened the service. He stood to one side as he shared a few words with the congregation, before closing in during a lull. He introduced himself as quietly as he could. The man did not respond, merely frowned and pursed his lips. 'You could have chosen a better time to barge in here than a Sunday,' he said crossly.
Barge in, Foster thought indignantly. I've just spent well over an hour of my life listening to the platitudinous bilge of you and your congregation -- time I'll never get back - but he resisted the urge.
'It's very urgent that I speak to you, Mr, er . . . ?'
'Brewster. Roger D. Brewster. I'm the Branch President.'
I'm
inquiring about a loan, Foster was tempted to say in response. 'Mr Brewster, I can't divulge why. I just need some information that may help us regarding an ongoing murder investigation.'
His ears pricked up at the word 'murder'. He appeared instantly less hostile. 'Goodness me,' he murmured. 'Let me just see these good people off, then we can talk.'
He went back to smiling, shaking hands and nodding earnestly for a few minutes until the hall emptied and the two of them, plus Gary, were the only ones remaining.
'How can I help?'
'I'm looking for some background information that might be able to help us,' Foster explained.
Well, you've got the right man,' Brewster added. 'I also happen to be the Director of Public Affairs for the Church in this country.'
'You're the PR man?'
He smiled. 'I prefer my job title but, yes, more or less.
What is it you want to know?'
Foster wondered whether it was wise to let anything slip to a man that dealt with the press. 'Anything I tell you is in the strictest confidence, you understand that?'
'Of course.'
'Am I right in believing that it's usual for young Mormon men to spend time on missions?'
'That's right. And not just men. Many young women are assigned to missions, too. Usually aged between nineteen and twenty-five.'
'How long do they do it for?'
'Two years. Eighteen months for the women.'
That doesn't fit, Foster thought. There was a three-year gap between Leonie Stamey going missing and Naomi Buckingham. 'Do they occasionally last longer than two years?'
'Rarely. We have some retired couples who perform missionary work and they can last anything between three months and three years, depending on their circumstances and their means.'
What happens on these missions?'
Brewster laughed mirthlessly. 'Many things happen.
Typically the missionaries are assigned to places far away from their own homes. They'll be sent to a missionary training centre. In this country that's in Preston. If they're going to a country that speaks their native language, they'll spend three weeks being briefed about their mission, taught how to conduct themselves, study the scriptures.
If they need to learn a foreign language then they'll spend much longer, up to three months.'
'So a missionary working in this country wouldn't necessarily be English?'
'No, it's almost certain they wouldn't. It's more likely they would come from abroad, primarily the United States.'
'And what sort of work would they do? House-to house calls?'
Well, to describe it as work is slightly inaccurate, although they could be said to be doing God's work. The missionaries pay to do it -- or their families do, at least. But to answer your question, yes, the missionary companionship does undertake some door-to-door proselytizing.
Preaching the Gospel can also involve speaking to people on the streets, or taking part in community activities.'
'Missionary companionship? They don't do it on their own?'
'Never. Let me explain. Most missions are divided into geographical areas that we call zones, and those zones are divided into districts. There are between four and eight missionaries in each district. These are split into companionships of two, sometimes three, missionaries who go out together. Each is instructed never to let the other out of their sight unless they're using the lavatory or taking a shower.
These are young people we're talking about. To abandon them to the streets of an unknown country without guidance and friendship would be a gross dereliction of duty'
Gary only mentioned one man who had visited their flat. Foster was starting to think he was wasting his time.
'Do you have a record of missionaries that were active in certain areas?'
'Obviously I don't have access to that information personally but, yes, there is a record. But we'd need to have a good reason to divulge it. Perhaps if you were to submit a request in writing . . . ?'
'I could pass it on, yes.'
"I'll get something to you.' He took out a notebook from his jacket pocket. There was no need. Brewster had already produced a card from his wallet. Foster thanked him and slipped it into his pocket.
'If someone spoke about the end days, would you assume they were a Mormon?'
He shook his head. 'Not really. Almost every religion in the world has their own concept of the end times, the second coming of the Lord and the beginning of the Kingdom of God. The specific details depend upon the faith itself. Each has its own signs, traditions and beliefs about the last days. Some believe that a series of natural disasters will herald the Second Coming. Others that it will steal upon us like a thief in the night. We believe the last days are already upon us, hence the name Latter-day Saints, though that doesn't necessarily mean the end is nigh. Just that we're nearer the end of the book than the start, if you like. But we're always prepared.'
Foster wondered how someone might prepare for the end of the world. 'How about if the same person also mentioned the celestial kingdom?' he asked.