The Disappeared (28 page)

'Last
time I checked we were no more behind than normal.'

'Then
is there something I've overlooked?'

'I
don't think so.'

'Anything
I've done?'

Alison's
frown hardened.

Jenny
said, 'I sense I'm getting warmer.'

Alison
sighed. 'It's not for me to tell you how to do your job, Mrs Cooper, but I do
sometimes get a little tired of being piggy in the middle.'

'Between
whom, exactly?' Jenny said.

'I
had Dave Pironi calling me at home last night asking what a coroner was doing
interfering with a police investigation.'

'Mrs
Jamal's death impacts on my inquest.'

'It's
not just him. Gillian Golder has phoned more than once this week demanding to
know what on earth is going on during this adjournment.'

'It's
none of her business . . . Why didn't you just put her through to me?'

Alison
gave her a look which said: isn't it obvious?

'She's
asking you to spy on me for her?'

'It
wasn't expressed in quite those terms.'

'I'll
deal with her,' Jenny said.

'That
puts me in a rather awkward situation.'

'I
won't mention your name.'

Alison
looked doubtful.

'Honestly.
Trust me. Anything else?'

Alison
sucked in her cheeks and agitatedly flicked some imaginary fluff from her
lapel. 'You know I wouldn't normally say anything like this . . .'

'Hello?
Anybody home?' an unmistakable voice - McAvoy's - called through from the outer
office.

Alison
flashed Jenny an accusing look. 'What's he doing here?'

Jenny
shrugged. 'I've no idea.' She got up from her desk.

Alison
stepped between her and the door. 'Please, Mrs Cooper - let me see to this. I
told you you shouldn't have anything to do with that man.'

'He's
come up with the only new lead we've got.'

'You
can't trust him. He's poison. I sat in on his interviews.'

There
was a knock on the office door.

'Mrs
Cooper?'

Jenny
said, 'Hold on a moment.' She turned to Alison. 'At least let me see what he
wants.'

She
stepped past and out into reception. McAvoy was standing in the waiting area
idly leafing through Alison's church newsletter.

'Mr
McAvoy—'

'Sorry
to arrive unannounced,' he said, with a mock formality imitating hers. 'I
wonder if we might have a quick word about Mrs Jamal.'

Alison
came to Jenny's shoulder. 'I really wouldn't advise it, Mrs Cooper. Mr McAvoy
is a witness. You don't want to run the risk of tainting your inquest.'

'Good
to see you again, Mrs Trent,' McAvoy said, with more than a hint of irony.
'It's been a fair wee while.'

Alison
took a step forward, squaring up like the detective she had once been. 'You
should know that Mr McAvoy was imprisoned for perverting the course of justice.
He arranged a false alibi in a violent armed-robbery case - and that was just
the time he got caught.'

McAvoy
smiled and tossed the newsletter back on the table. 'I've heard that your old
boss Dave Pironi claims to have found Jesus. In my humble opinion it may be a
little too late. He was one of the dirtiest, most corrupt policemen I ever met.
He sent that wee lassie to me, and I think you know that.'

Alison
said, 'See what you're dealing with?'

McAvoy
said, 'Did you ever ask yourself why my office happened to be bugged on that
day? Or why, when any sane person wouldn't touch CID with a shitty stick, that
witness couldn't do enough to help them?'

Jenny
said, 'Can we stop this now, please?' She turned to McAvoy. 'Should you really
be here?'

McAvoy
said, 'This case has already cost me my liberty and career—'

Alison
gave a dismissive grunt.

He
ignored her and continued. 'And if you remember, it was immediately I got on
the trail of that Toyota eight years ago that your officer and her colleagues
fingered me.'

'That
was nothing to do with it,' Alison said.

'With
respect,' McAvoy replied, raising his voice, 'as a DS you wouldn't have had a
fucking clue, Mrs Trent. Pironi and whoever was working him put me away to stop
that car ever being identified. And then this call the other day - the guy
asking what did I know, and threatening to put me in a
casket
. And the
call before I went down, the American with the same question:
what did I
know
?' He looked at Alison. 'He makes this crap up for a living, that's
what you're thinking. But what about Mrs Jamal? And look who's in charge
again.'

'Her
flat's on his patch,' Alison said.

'And
how long's he been there? Three months I heard. Transferred about the same time
she lodged her application to have her son declared dead. Now I don't like to
accuse a fellow believer of a mortal sin, but it does start to make you
wonder.'

'He
had nothing to do with Mrs Jamal's death,' Alison snapped.

'I'm
sure you're an intelligent woman, Mrs Trent, but even an ex-copper should have
learned that evil bastards don't always go around in black hats.' He nodded to
the newsletter he'd dropped on the table. 'I couldn't help noticing that you
and he get a mention in the church news there —’

Alison
marched across the room, snatched her coat from the peg and thumped out of the
office.

McAvoy
picked up the newsletter, turned to an inside page and handed it to Jenny.
'Adult baptism's a wonderful thing, but it kind of takes the shine off . . .'

He
pointed to the notices section. Mrs Alison Trent was listed as one of five new
members of the Body of Christ baptized the previous Sunday. She had two
sponsors - the adult equivalent of godparents - one of whom was named as Mr
David Pironi.

McAvoy
said, 'It's pretty low, even by his standards. How'd he pull that off? She
hasn't got a terminal illness or something, has she?'

'No,'
Jenny said, 'just some family troubles.'

They
talked in Jenny's office. McAvoy said a long-running trial he was involved with
had been adjourned for the day because the judge had to conduct an all-day
sentencing hearing: eight members of a paedophile ring each claiming they were
tricked into it by the others. Thinking about Mrs Jamal had kept him awake most
of the night. It was deep in the small hours, when he was running low on
cigarettes, that he had started to put the pieces together. He'd called an old
contact inside the police who'd told him about Pironi's recent transfer to New
Bridewell. The same detective had also tipped him off about Pironi's
church-going - he'd been at it since his wife died, apparently, still fitting
up and whoring on weekdays like he always had, but born again afresh every
Sunday.

Speaking
with McAvoy like this, businesslike, across a desk, Jenny's doubts about him
began to recede. He was measured, logical and always gave a self-aware smile
after he'd lapsed into hyperbole. She didn't feel he was pulling conspiracies
from the air: like her, he was simply trying to arrange the pieces into an
order that made sense. After she had gone with him to see Madog, Jenny had been
almost convinced by Alison's insistence that he was inventing evidence to
further his own agenda and prise his way back into the solicitors' profession.
Looking him in the eye, she couldn't believe it. How did Alison's theory fit
with Mrs Jamal's death? Would she argue that McAvoy was involved, that he'd
persecuted her with late-night phone calls? And for what - merely to discredit
Pironi?

No.
The man now leaning towards her open window smoking a cigarette was no monster.
He was too edgy, too weathered and grooved by life, too obviously worn down by
conscience to be a psychopath of the kind Alison imagined. Ruthless people had
charm; McAvoy had warmth. It was of an erratic and slightly hazardous kind, a
naked flame which guttered then flared, but she could feel it burning in him
nonetheless. She was convinced that his passion for justice, or his brand of it
at least, was real and heartfelt.

Jenny
showed him the list of Toyotas Alison had produced and the ones she had
circled. He ran through them with the criminal lawyer's eye. If you were going
to spirit someone away, you wouldn't do it in a privately registered car, he
said. You'd most likely hire a vehicle using false documents, a trail you could
cover. On the list there were only two cars registered to hire companies. One
was in Cwmbran, south Wales, the other was thirty miles to the north in the
small city of Hereford on the English side of the border.

Jenny
reached for the phone, intending to call them.

McAvoy
said, 'Do you think that's a good idea? You never know who's listening.'

Jenny
said, 'You're right. I'll pay them a visit.'

It
was time to draw the meeting to a close. McAvoy met her gaze as she tried to
find a tactful way of saying so.

Before
she spoke, he said, 'If I didn't want to upset your officer any more I'd ask if
I could come along for the ride.'

'You
think I need my hand held?'

'Mrs
Jamal could have done with it.'

Jenny
tried not to let the shudder she felt pass through her show on her face.

McAvoy
smoked and dozed during the hour-long journey to the former coal-mining town of
Cwmbran. Once or twice Jenny tried to make conversation, but he barely
responded. With eyes half-closed, he stared out at the grey landscape, the
ever-present drizzle turning to sleet as they headed deeper into south Wales.

She
asked if there was something on his mind. He responded with a moody and
disconcerting 'Mmm.' His mood was impenetrable.

The
car-rental franchise was on the edge of town, on an industrial estate in sight
of evenly sloped hills which had been fashioned from the slag heaps formed when
the former mines turned the earth inside out. McAvoy woke as she pulled up, and
followed her inside. There were no customers, only a fleshy desk clerk chewing
a sandwich. He wiped crumbs from his mouth as they came through the door.
McAvoy ignored his corporate hello and fetched himself a free cup of coffee
from the machine while Jenny dealt with business.

She
produced one of her calling cards and told the clerk she needed to know who, if
anyone, was renting the Toyota on the night of 28 June 2002. The clerk said he
didn't have access to those kind of records. It was a matter for head office in
Cardiff. He searched his computer for the right number to call and said he
didn't hold out much hope - the company only kept their vehicles for a year,
two at the most.

From
behind her, Jenny heard McAvoy say, 'The fuck's that got to do with it?'

'I
beg your pardon, sir?'

'What's
how long you keep the cars got to do with your records? You keep them for the
tax man. Where are they?'

Jenny
saw the clerk waver as he measured McAvoy up.

'There's
no need to swear.'

McAvoy
strolled over to the counter, set down his coffee and glanced at him with red,
puffy eyes. Jenny felt her stomach turn over.

'I
do apologize,' McAvoy said. 'The company I keep in my profession sometimes
causes me to use inappropriate and intemperate language. Please ignore my
earlier outburst.'

Cringing,
Jenny lowered her eyes in embarrassment. The clerk turned warily back to his
screen. McAvoy sipped his coffee, throwing him a malevolent glance.

'Here's
the number, ma'am,' the clerk said, warily. 'Oh- one-two-nine-oh—'

McAvoy
interrupted. 'The paper records, the forms you sign when you hire a car - where
do you store those?'

The
clerk glanced at Jenny, who said, 'It's OK, I'll call the number.'

'What's
through there?' McAvoy said, pointing to the door at the back of the office.
'It's where you keep the files, right? VAT man comes, that's where he goes to
check you're being straight with your paperwork.'

'I'm
not authorized to release those documents, sir.'

'What
you said was, you don't have access,' McAvoy said quietly, but with a
murderer's menace. 'That's not quite true, is it, son?'

The
clerk wiped a bead of sweat from his upper lip, his eyes flicking to the phone
on the counter.

McAvoy
said to Jenny, 'There you go. No need to go round the houses,' picked up his
coffee and strolled outside.

Jenny
and the clerk looked at each other. He was waiting for her lead now.

Jenny
said, 'I think it might be easier if you just fetched me the records for those
dates.'

He
snatched a key from a drawer and disappeared into the back office. While he
rummaged in filing cabinets she looked over her shoulder and saw McAvoy
strolling over to the pond and aquatic supplies outlet opposite. He stopped to
help a young woman who was struggling through the door with a baby in a buggy
and unwieldy shopping bags. He said something that made her laugh, then bent
down and tickled the child's cheek.