The Disappeared

'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.

She felt guilty saying it, her heart in her throat, but regretfully told him that his name had arisen as a possible witness in a case she was investigating.

'Really? What case is that?' he said. 'I don't think I know anyone who's died recently.' His voice was educated but not overly so. It had a quality Jenny found familiar but couldn't place. His eyes were intelligent, his expression patient but questioning.

The words tripped out of her mouth without conscious thought. 'Two young Asian men went missing from Bristol in late June 2002. We have a sighting of them in the back seat of a vehicle we believe you may have been renting at the time.'

Tathum smiled, nonplussed. 'Where did you get that from?'

'I'm afraid I can't tell you at the moment. What I need is for you to give a statement saying where you were at the time, 28 June to be precise.'

He seemed amused. 'And if I can't remember?'

'Have a think. See what comes back to you.' She offered him the last business card in her wallet. 'Maybe you could set it down in the form of a signed letter and fax it through to my office over the weekend? Or I can send my officer over to take a statement if you'd prefer.'

He peered at the card by the light of the dim bulb in the open porch in which they were standing. 'I don't know anything about any Asians. I'm a builder.'

'Was that your job at the time, sir?'

'I thought you wanted me to write a letter.' There was a hint of threat in his expression now, his facial muscles tightening into a defensive mask.

Jenny said, 'If you could. Thank you.' She stepped away from the door and started across the yard.

Tathum said, 'Hold on a minute. What is it I'm being accused of here?'

She stopped and glanced back. 'You're not being accused of anything. A coroner's inquest merely pieces together facts and events surrounding a death, or in this case a presumed death.'

'I know nothing about your case. You're wasting your time.'

'Then that's what you should write. Set down where you were working, who you were with, and I can discount you from my inquiries. Goodnight, Mr Tathum.'

She turned back towards the gate.

'You come all the way out here and won't even tell me what I'm meant to have done?'

An instinct told her not to stop.

'Hey, lady. I'm talking to you.' She heard his footsteps coming after her.

She wheeled round to face him. Away from the lights of the house, he was nothing more than an angry shadow.

'It's very simple, Mr Tathum, I'm just asking you to account for your whereabouts on a particular night: 28 June 2002.'

'You know what?' He stepped closer. Jenny moved back and found herself pressed against the gate.

'Mr Tathum —’