The Disappeared (31 page)

She
was back in her bedroom pulling on a sweater over her blouse when she noticed
the notebook, her journal, lying open on the floor at the foot of the bed where
Ross had been standing. She stooped down and snatched it up, her heart in her
throat. She had written yesterday's date in an erratic hand, and three scrawled
lines:

I
don't know what happened tonight. That man ... he does something to me. I don't
even find him attractive - he's so tired and used up. But when he looks in my
eyes I know he's not afraid of anything. What does it mean? Why him? Why now?
It's as if

The
last 'f' trickled off down the page leaving the thought forever incomplete.

She
stuffed the journal into the drawer at the foot of her wardrobe, her cheeks
flushed with embarrassment and shame.

Ross
called up the stairs. 'What do you want for breakfast?'

'Toast
is fine. I'm coming now.' She took a deep breath and told herself not to panic.
He hadn't seen the journal. He'd been too concerned about her to notice it.
He'd probably spotted the pills, but she could explain those - stress of the
divorce, new career; the medication a temporary help in easing the strain.
Everyone took them at some point in their life. He'd understand.

He'd
made toast and coffee and set out cups and plates on the small fold-out table,
only big enough for two, which took up most of the floor space in the tiny
kitchen. He was showered and shaved and wearing clean clothes - unheard of on a
weekend.

She
put on a bright smile. 'Anything planned for today?' He shook his head.
'Karen's away with her mum.' 'I've got to work tomorrow so I thought maybe we
could go for a walk, drive over to the Beacons as it's sunny.'

Ross
poured her some coffee. 'Don't you think you'd better rest?'

'It
was a long week,' Jenny said, 'that's all. The mother of the boy who
disappeared died on Thursday—'

'I
read about it in the paper.' 'Oh?'

'This
case is a big deal. It's been on the news and everything.'

'I
try not to listen. They never get their facts straight.' She tried to sound
light-hearted and fell short.

'Are
you sure you're up to it?' Ross said, in the scathing way only a teenager can.
'You seem pretty stressed to me, crashing out in your clothes.'

'I
fell asleep reading. Don't you ever do that?'

'God,
do you have to be so touchy all the time?'

'I'm
sorry if I'm not Julie-bloody-Andrews.'

'Why
do you always over-react?'

'Can
we just have breakfast without arguing?' She grabbed a piece of toast and
stabbed her knife into the butter. It slipped out of her fingers. She picked it
up and fumbled it again. She gave up and forced her hands into her lap, tears
pricking the backs of her eyes.

'What's
wrong with you?' Ross said.

'Nothing.'
She sniffed. Damn. Why did she have to fold now?

His
irritation melted into concern.

'What
are all those pills for?'

'They're
just to help me cope . . . It's taken me a while to get over the divorce.'

'But
you were ill before you got divorced.'

'I
wasn't—'

'Then
why were you seeing a psychiatrist?'

'Who
told you that?' she said, as if he'd been fed a lie.

'I
heard you and Dad arguing about it.'

It
took all Jenny's effort not to break down. 'I'm better now. Everything's
changed. I've got a new life. It just takes a while to adjust.'

He
was having none of it. 'Why can't you just tell me the truth for once? Steve
doesn't think you're better. I know he doesn't.'

'What's
he been saying?'

'Nothing
specific. I can just tell from the way he talks about you.'

'Ross,
please, you have to believe me. Yes, I was very unhappy for a time, but I'd
been with your father since I was twenty, barely older than you are now. Being
on your own takes some getting used to.' She forced in a breath, somehow
managing to keep the tears at bay. 'It's all getting better now. I've got a
great job, you . . .' She reached across the table and took his hand. 'You
don't know how much that means to me.'

'No
pressure then,' he said sarcastically.

'No.
There isn't. Honestly.' She let go, realizing how oppressive and guilt-making
she must feel to him, but at the same time filled with the selfish need for his
reassurance. 'All I want is for you to feel free, but cared for. Your father
and I both-'

He
recoiled in embarrassment. 'Yeah, all right.'

Jenny
allowed herself to smile. They'd made connection. 'I was serious about the two
of us going out together. How about it?'

'Whatever
you like,' Ross said, and took a mouthful of toast.

Jenny
knew the expression he was trying to hide from her behind his mask of macho
indifference. In all its essential elements his face hadn't changed since he
was a toddler. He felt reassured, comforted in the way he had when he'd run to
her with scraped knees needing a hug.

'Do
you have to keep looking at me?'

'I'm
not-'

The
phone rang in the sitting room.

'I'll
get it,' Ross said, and went to answer, eager to break the tension.

He
came back with the receiver and handed it to her. 'For you. Andy someone.'

Andy?
She had a mental blank. 'Hello . . . ?'

'Mrs
Cooper. Andy Kerr, sorry to call you on a weekend - your officer gave me your
number.'

'Is
this about the Jane Doe?'

'I'm
not sure ... I came into work this morning to catch up. I still had the dosimeter
kicking around my office. I was playing around with it waiting for my computer
to boot up when I realized it was still picking something up. I took it over to
the fridge thinking there might still be traces from the body when it started
going crazy . . .' He paused, sounding as if he scarcely believed what he was
about to say. 'Mrs Jamal's body is giving off radiation. Whatever the source
is, it's pushing out nearly fifty milliSieverts an hour.'

Jenny
felt as if the room had been suddenly shaken by an unexpected tremor.
Radiation? She was baffled.

'I
don't understand the measurements,' she said, 'What does it mean?'

'Put
it this way,' Andy Kerr said, 'background radiation is two milliSieverts per
year. Five hundred milliSieverts is usually considered very bad for your
health. We're not talking sudden death, but we are talking dangerous levels.'

'Where
could it have come from?'

'No
idea. I've got someone from radiology on the way. I'm hoping she might come up
with some answers. I thought you might want to be here.'

'Have
you told the police?'

'Shouldn't
we get the facts straight first?'

'I'll
be right down.'

Jenny
promised she'd only be an hour or two, but Ross said wearily that he'd learned
to multiply her time estimates by three. Forget going out, he'd rather be
dropped in Bristol, where he could meet up with friends.

He
told her to let him out near Bristol docks. She watched him saunter off towards
the coffee shops and bars where she suspected he and his friends liked to
mingle. Seventy-five weekends until he was gone. How many of those would they
spend together? A handful if she was lucky.

She
tried McAvoy's mobile number twice during the fifteen-minute drive to the Vale
hospital. Each time she reached his answerphone, and each time she froze when
it came to leaving a message. She could no longer deny that in a deeply
confusing and incomplete way she was attracted to him, but it wasn't shyness
that stopped her, it was a vague and unsettling sense that whatever awaited her
would be complicated enough without his unpredictable presence. And, if she
were brutally honest with herself, she remained suspicious. There was still
something about him, the bit that by his own admission remained wholly
unredeemed, that she didn't trust.

A
stiff female figure swaddled in an anorak and gloves was waiting outside the
mortuary entrance. It was Alison. Jenny could sense her mood of martyred
disapproval at twenty yards.

'Good
morning, Alison.'

'On
your own, are you, Mrs Cooper?' she replied sharply.

'Yes.'

'I
was half-expecting you to be with Mr McAvoy - as you and he seem to have become
so friendly.'

'I
know you've got a history, but I think he may have helped me make a
breakthrough. I tracked down the man who was driving the Toyota, the one who
paid Madog a visit. Have you managed to take his statement yet?'

'Yes,'
Alison said curtly. 'But helpful or not, I've known you long enough to say
this, Mrs Cooper - that man's using his charm to get the better of you. He's
got mischief in mind, I know it.'

Jenny
could have pointed out that Alison was hardly objective when it came to her
good-looking former boss or her confidant and baptismal sponsor, DI Dave
Pironi, but her more humane instincts told her to hold back. This was her
officer's way of saying that she was concerned, and Jenny appreciated it. Now
didn't feel like a good time to have to manage without her.

'I'm
under no illusions,' Jenny said. 'The next time I see him will be in court.
That's a promise.' She pushed the buzzer.

Andy
Kerr came along the corridor to meet them, dressed in a radiographer's apron,
surgical mask and cap.

'I
can't let you go any further,' he said, holding up his hands. 'We've found
hazardous levels. Sonia's got some kit up there that should help identify the
source. Undertakers are on the way with a lead-lined coffin.'

Jenny
craned past him to see a young woman dressed in a similar outfit to his. She
was kneeling on the floor tapping on a laptop. It was hooked up to some
equipment housed in boxes that resembled photographer's cases.

'Could
she have been poisoned?' Jenny said.

Andy
said, 'Come through here. It's one room which isn't giving a reading.' He
pushed through the swing doors into the empty autopsy room. Jenny and Alison
followed.

Andy
pulled off his mask and ripped at the Velcro tabs on his apron. The beach club
T-shirt he was wearing underneath was soaked through with sweat. 'Sonia says
she's found radioactive particles on the surface of the skin. They're beta
emitters, which starts to narrow it down. She also found a particle in the nasal
passage. It's early days, but her initial impression was that Mrs Jamal has
been in an environment where she's come into contact with a radioactive
substance.'

'Such
as?' Alison asked.

'There
are some medical and commercial applications for these radionuclides - iodine
129 is used to treat thyroid complaints - but it's more likely she's been
exposed to low- or medium-level nuclear waste.'

Jenny
said, 'How likely is that?'

'Beats
me,' Andy said. He pulled his dosimeter from his pocket - a small yellow gadget
about the size of a pager - and switched it on. He waved it in Jenny and
Alison's direction and checked the digital readout. 'You're both clear.'

Sonia
Cane was a Ghanaian woman who wore a permanent frown. Having finished her work
at the fridge she scrubbed down in the autopsy room while reeling off a list of
urgent tasks. The Health Protection Agency would have to be informed
immediately. Their radiation team would oversee the clean-up of the mortuary
and the storage and eventual disposal of the body. Until the building was clear
of contamination it would be sealed off and no bodies would be allowed to come
or go. The levels of radiation were high enough to make this a significant
incident.

'Do
you have any idea where this came from?' Jenny asked her.

'No,
but I can tell you what the substance is. There'll be more detailed tests, but
I'm pretty certain it's caesium 137. Tiny amounts - no more than specks of dust
- but from a potent source.'

'What's
that when it's at home?' Alison said, saving Jenny from revealing her
ignorance.

'A
by-product of the nuclear industry,' Sonia said. 'It results directly from the
fission of uranium. You'd also find it where there'd been a nuclear explosion —
'

Jenny
interrupted, 'This woman worked in a clothes shop.'

Sonia
said, 'I find it as puzzling as you ... If she worked at a nuclear power plant
you could understand it.' At a loss, she shook her head. 'You read about
terrorists trying to get hold of this stuff to make dirty bombs. It doesn't
make any sense.'

'Do
you know when she was contaminated?' Andy said.

'Very
recently - the particle in the nose can't have been lodged there for more than
a few days, even hours before death. The natural processes would have expelled
it.'