The Disappeared (29 page)

The
clerk reappeared with several sheets of paper. He said, 'If you want I can copy
them for you. It went out on the 24th for a two-week hire to the Fairleas
Nursing Home - signed contract and credit-card slip. Anything else you want to
see?'

Jenny
flicked through the faded documents. 'No. That's fine.'

She
swung out of the estate with a screech of tyres and headed out of town. McAvoy
sat impassively in the passenger seat, taking in the view. Gaps had appeared in
the clouds and beyond the rows of identical modern houses there was a pretty
dusting of snow on the hilltops.

Jenny
accelerated angrily out of a roundabout, pushed the Golf up to seventy in third
and slammed straight across into fifth. The car lurched as she mistimed the
clutch. McAvoy rocked forward in his seat but said nothing.

'Is
that how you always behave?' Jenny said.

'You
were going to let him fob you off to some hopeless shite in customer services.'

'How
did this happen? You shouldn't even be here.'

'What's
more important?' McAvoy said. 'Getting to the truth of this thing or upsetting
some guy who couldn't care less?'

'I'm
a
coroner
, I can't behave like that.'

'You
think he's never heard the f word?'

'For
God's sake - you were intimidating him. And undermining me.'

'You
were doing pretty well at that yourself.'

'You've
got no business interfering with my investigation. If you can't understand
that, you can get out of the car now.'

'You're
going to make me walk home?'

'You
can freeze to death for all I care.'

McAvoy
shrugged, then peered sideways at her as if he were arriving at a judgement.

'What?'
she barked.

'You
need to calm down, Jenny. You're a bag of nerves.'

'Oh,
really?'

'I
saw that when you were sitting outside that hall, all huddled up like the whole
thing was nothing to do with you . . . I thought, there's someone who's had the
confidence knocked out of her.'

Jenny
said, 'If I want your opinion, I'll ask for it.'

McAvoy
said, 'Why don't you get the tears out now? Clear the air between us.'

'Fuck
you.'

Anger
was one emotion that kept tears at bay. She held onto it throughout the drive
across country to Hereford. McAvoy sat silent and unnervingly still, squinting
out at the patchwork fields. His shifting moods frightened her. He reminded
her of some of the more sinister wife-batterers she had confronted across
courtrooms in her former career: men who flipped from charm to violence and
back again without warning. Their hapless partners always said the same thing:
when
he's in a good mood he's the nicest man in the world
. She cursed herself
for ever having let him come with her.

Hereford
was a city, more of a market town, that she'd visited occasionally over the
years and seen degenerate from charming and unspoiled to paved-over,
litter-strewn and leached of its character by chain stores in its historic centre
and US-style retail barns on its margins. It was yet another casualty of the
same small minds that had systematically wrecked most British towns. Only the
thousand-year-old cathedral and handful of surrounding streets had maintained
their character, but the philistines were slowly claiming them too: a pizza
chain had taken over the Victorian post office and tacky shops with cheap
plastic signs had replaced once dignified family-run businesses.

The
car-hire firm was an ageing cabin and area of hard- standing in a former
railway goods yard, hidden behind a row of electrical and home-improvement
warehouses. It was a rare survivor in this barren landscape: St Owen's Vehicle
Hire established 1962, the sign announced. Opposite was a noisy backstreet
mechanic's cluttered with dismantled vehicles and stacks of spent tyres. To
the right was a carpentry shop. A handful of workers on their break stood
outside it, gathered around a fire they'd lit in an oil drum and stamping
their feet against the piercing cold. It reminded Jenny of places from her own
small-town childhood: the smell of damp bricks, engine grease and wood smoke.

'I
suppose you won't be wanting me,' McAvoy said.

'What
do you think?' She climbed out of the car and walked over to the office.

A
young man of no more than twenty, dressed in a cheap suit and tie, was tapping
on a grubby computer keyboard behind the counter. The air was heavy with the
smell of ageing lino and fumes from an elderly gas heater.

Jenny
showed him her card and politely explained the nature of her inquiry. He wasn't
the quickest, and she doubted he'd ever heard of a coroner, but he was eager to
help.

'I've
only been here since Christmas,' he said, 'so I don't remember that particular
car. I could call the boss on his mobile.'

Jenny
said, 'Don't you have the records here?'

'Not
the paper ones. The boss takes them home with him.'

'What
about your computer - you log everything on there, right?'

'Yeah
. . .'

'Let's
have a look, shall we?' She smiled in a way that she hoped might encourage him
to cooperate. He started to hit the filthy keys. A column of data appeared on
the screen of the old-fashioned monitor.

'OK
. . . here's the Toyota. We got rid of it in '05.' Jenny turned and glanced
apprehensively out of the window. McAvoy was no longer in the passenger seat.
Feeling a stab of alarm, she glanced left and right, then saw him strolling
towards the carpenters' brazier, raising a hand in greeting to the two men
still standing there.

'It's
June '02 you're after, isn't it?'

'That's
right.' She turned back to the young man, who was dragging his finger down the
screen making a line in the dust. 'It was out from the 20th to the 23rd, and
didn't go out again until 6 July.'

'You're
sure?'

'That's
what it says. Look . . .' He swivelled the screen towards her.

He
was right. There was no record of the car being hired on that date.

'Oh
well,' she said, disappointed. 'Thanks for trying. Maybe you can give me your
boss's number anyway.'

McAvoy
was strolling back towards her as she stepped out of the office. It was only
three p.m. and already the light was fading. Sparks jumped out of the oil drum
and carried past him on the sharp breeze.

'All
right?' he said, suppressing a smile.

Jenny
headed for the car. 'It wasn't hired out on those dates. We checked the
computer records.'

'D'you
ask him if they do deals for cash?'

'He's
just a kid. I've got the boss's number.' She climbed into the driver's seat.

McAvoy
caught hold of the door as she went to close it. 'If you were going to hire a
car to snatch someone, would you want to leave a paper trail? Look at this
place. A few hundred quid in notes - are you telling me they'd say no?'

'I'll
speak to the owner. Can you let go? I'm getting cold.'

He
jammed his knee against the door, wedging it open. 'And say what - do you
remember a cash job eight years ago?'

'What
do you suggest?'

'That
you try a bit harder, Mrs Cooper. Jesus.'

Exasperated,
Jenny said, 'I think we've had this conversation already.'

'Listen
- those boys over there are Latvians. They've seen a guy with a ponytail come
to rent a car once or twice. Mid- forties or thereabouts. Comes over in an old
Mark i Land Rover and has it seen to in that garage. Had an aluminium hard top
made for it last autumn - one of the Lats is an arc welder by trade, helped the
mechanic get it done.'

Jenny
sighed. 'Do they know the man's name?'

'Not
a clue.' McAvoy gave an innocent smile. 'All I'm suggesting is a polite
inquiry.'

'Fine.
But I'll be the one making it.' She climbed out of the car. 'Don't you dare
follow me.'

She
returned to the office to find the young man coming off a call. He looked
surprised and slightly disconcerted by her reappearance.

Jenny
said, 'Help me out here - you have a customer, a man in his forties with a
ponytail. Drives an old Land Rover. Do you know who I mean?'

He
shook his head. 'No . . .'

She
came up close to the counter, giving him the smile. 'This is just between you
and me, all right - do some customers pay in cash to hire a vehicle, no
records, no paperwork?'

'Not
from me,' he said with a shrug. 'Can't speak for the boss.'

She
tried again, 'I really need to know about this man with the ponytail. Are you
certain you haven't seen him?'

'I've
only been working here six weeks.'

'I'll
believe you,' Jenny said. 'You'd better give me the boss's address.'

McAvoy
was sitting on the bonnet, blowing into his hands and looking across the yard
through the open front of the mechanic's workshop.

Jenny
said, 'He's new here. I'll have to talk to the owner.'

McAvoy
said, 'Why don't you try over there? That guy'll know him - spent a week
working on his vehicle. Makes more sense than approaching a man you're asking
to incriminate himself.'

She
glanced over at the garage. The mechanic, a big man with heavily muscled arms,
was working on the exhaust of a vehicle sitting up on an overhead ramp. 'Stay
here.'

She
stepped between puddles on the rough gravel, water seeping through the soles of
her shoes. She made it to the concrete forecourt and approached the doorway.
She'd never been sure of the etiquette in these places - should she wait for
him to come to her or call out?

She
knew from the glance he'd cast as she headed over that he'd seen her, but he
let her stand there getting colder while he continued to wind off another bolt.

'Hello,'
she called out, competing with a radio that was pumping out non-stop nineties
techno.

Only
when he was good and ready did he turn slightly and look her over. 'What can I
do for you?'

'My
name's Jenny Cooper. I'm the Severn Vale District Coroner. I'm trying to locate
one of your customers. Have you got a moment?'

The
mechanic slotted the spanner into a long pocket on the leg of his overalls and
ducked out from under the ramp, wiping oil-stained hands on the backs of his
thighs. He was tall, six-three at least, and broad as a bull across the
shoulders.

Jenny
told him politely about the man with the ponytail who owned a Mark i Land
Rover.

The
mechanic's eyes flicked towards the carpentry shop as he worked out who had
sent her here.

'I
would appreciate your assistance. He could be an important witness.'

He
slowly shook his massive head. 'Don't know who you mean.'

'You
made something for him last autumn ... a cover . . .' Jenny said, out of her
depth talking to mechanics. 'One of the Latvian guys over there helped you.'

'Not
me,' he said, and turned back towards the ramp.

Jenny
said, 'Excuse me. I'm not sure you realize how serious this is. I could call
you as a witness.'

'Go
ahead.' He fetched out his spanner and went back to work.

'Then
you can expect a summons. I'll see you in court on Monday morning,' she
threatened feebly and to no effect.

'Hey,
big fella.' She turned to see McAvoy coming across the gravel at a jog. 'You
ought to know who it is you're protecting.'

Jenny
gave him a look that pleaded for him to stay away.

He
held up his hands, 'Relax.' He called out to the mechanic, 'This ponytail guy's
a nonce. Likes to spray paint on little kiddies.'

The
big man turned round.

'That's
right. I don't know about you, but I wouldn't want to have people like that
known to be my friends. The way people talk—'

Jenny
said, 'Please, Alec, for Christ's sake.'

Ignoring
her, McAvoy stepped over to the ramp and pressed the button that released the
hydraulics. The mechanic darted out from underneath as it started down, the
spanner in his hand, 'The fuck are you doing?'

'Getting
your attention.' McAvoy took a step forward. 'Forget about a pick-up truck -
hell will rain down on you, my friend, if you don't try to be a little more
helpful. . .'

The
mechanic tightened his grip on the spanner. Jenny watched, open-mouthed. The
muscles in her throat contracted in panic.

'A
little girl of six years old, that's who he preyed on. You want someone like
that going about?' McAvoy moved forward another half step, inches away from
the taller, much heftier man, 'Or do you want to do the decent thing?'

Jenny
watched, disbelieving, as the mechanic met McAvoy's eyes, raised the spanner a
fraction ready to strike, weighed the odds, then slowly lowered it, lifting his
chin defiantly as he took a step back. Without saying a word he crossed to the
messy shelf - a plank laid across stacks of tyres - that served as his office,
tore off a scrap of paper and scratched on it with a stub of pencil. He handed
the note to Jenny then disappeared into the back of the building. He'd written:
Chris Tathum, Capel Farm, Peterchurch
.