by M. R. Hall
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.
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.
They sat in stationary traffic outside what had once been a cattle market. Their damp coats were steaming up the windows, making Jenny feel increasingly claustrophobic. She wanted to take a pill but didn't dare in front of McAvoy: she already felt as if she had no secrets from him, as if he had an unnatural ability to detect her weaknesses and work his way into them.
He broke the silence which had persisted since they'd left the garage. 'You don't want to pay this man a visit now you're out here?'
'I'm not a detective,' Jenny said flatly.
'But you'll have to ask him to make a statement saying where he was that night.'
'I'll send my officer.'
They crept forward several feet. The lights ahead flicked back to red.
'If you ask me, you should show your face, let him know you mean business. Politely, of course.'
Jenny tapped her thumbs nervously on the wheel, keeping her eyes fixed on the road ahead, fighting the feeling that the sides of the car were closing in on her.
'If you don't,' McAvoy said, 'he might just slip through your fingers. Those Latvian guys have seen him a few times. The boy in the car-rental place will already have called his boss, the mechanic might even have tipped him off, we don't know. If it were any other case, you might say to yourself the police can always help me out, but I doubt that's an option here.'
'What's it to you anyway?' Jenny said. 'Why this case? You're not even getting paid for it.'
He nodded towards the distant tower of the cathedral, poking above the faux city wall surrounding a supermarket on the far side of the lights. 'Same reason they built that - seems like the right thing to do.'
'The spirit moved you, huh?'
'If you like.'
Jenny said, 'Why do I feel cynical?'
'
Why wouldn't you - a man with my history?'
'Well, there you are. You can see why I'm not about to drive you out to say hello to Mr Tathum.'
McAvoy wiped his window with his cuff. 'You know, Jenny, I don't believe it's me you're frightened of, or Tathum - whoever he may be. I think the person who scares the living shit out of you is you.' He looked at her sideways across his shoulder, studying her face with a quizzical frown. 'I followed that case you did last year, the kid who died in custody. That must've taken some guts. And you know what I believe?'
Jenny closed her eyes and shook her head. He'd done it again, cut right through her.
'That we find ourselves in these situations for a reason. I bet you learned something about yourself. Took on those principalities and powers without even thinking. I'll bet it's only afterwards you thought to be scared.'
'Not quite true.'
'What I'm saying is you know as well as I do what it is to be moved. It's not comfortable. The first time you're swept up on the wave. Each time after that you tend to have a choice.'
The address was that of a small stone farmhouse in the shadow of the Black Mountains. From the village of Peter- church they threaded along three miles of narrow lane, which dissolved into a further half mile of rough track. It was fully dark by the time Jenny pulled up at the gate to an untidy yard littered with tools and building materials. The house, which looked like two cottages joined together, was in the process of being renovated. One half looked inhabited and had lights in the downstairs windows, the other was still a roofless shell. She made McAvoy promise, swear on the Holy Mother herself, that he would stay in the car. He told her to please herself and reclined his seat a touch, settling back for a nap.
She lifted the latch on the heavy gate and picked her way across the pot-holed yard by the light of a miniature torch on her key fob, passing the elderly Land Rover with its smart new aluminium hard top. Before raising the heavy iron knocker on the front door she looked back at her Golf to check: in the darkness McAvoy was invisible. He'd better stay that way.
A man dressed in jeans and a paint-spattered sweatshirt answered. Dogs barked excitedly from behind an inner door. He was the right age, but his skull was shaved in a tight crew cut. He looked fit and muscular, an outdoors man. More nervous than she had expected, Jenny asked him if he was Christopher Tathum. He confirmed that he was, with no trace of anxiety or apprehension, she noticed, just a man living out in the country doing up a house.
