The Disappeared

'I didn't mean to scare you. I'll go if you want me to . . . It's just. . .' He looked down, ran his hands distractedly through his hair. She heard him exhale wearily. 'The truth? These are dark waters, Jenny. I'm not sure how deep in you want to get. I thought it better to tell you here, away from everything. You can make your own decision. No public pressure.'

She slowly lowered the beam away from his face, responding to the sincerity in his voice. If he had wanted to hurt her, he could have run straight over or jumped out of the shadows. He wouldn't have sent her a text, left a trail.

'All right,' she said. 'I'd better hear it.'

She unlocked the front door and led him into the sitting room. Straight to business, she sat at the small dining table and motioned to the chair opposite. No offer of drinks. Even in forgiving light McAvoy looked tired. Dark shadows haunted his eyes. His face was drawn, his thick stubble grey in patches. He knotted his fingers and leaned forward in a way which suggested he had agonized long and hard, and arrived at a painful decision.

'Remember Billy Dean, the private investigator?' McAvoy said. 'His son took over the business. I gave him a call after our visit to Mr Tathum last week, asked him what he could dig up. He got back to me first thing this morning, just before you turned up.' He gave a strained smile. 'In Z002 Tathum was registered self-employed. He declared an income of sixty- five thousand pounds and his bank records show it came in the form of three payments from the same account. That account was in the name of Maitland Ltd, a private security contractor with a registered office in Broad Street, Hereford.'

'Where did he get hold of that?'

'He's got someone in the tax office, I expect. His dad always made most of his money from divorce. Anyway, until the year before Tathum was receiving his pay cheque from the army. Mid-thirties - I guess he must have done his time.'

'What do you know about Maitland?'

'According to their website they're close-protection specialists. Hereford's the home town for the SAS, so I'd guess that's where they draw their personnel from. I gather it's something of a local tradition: the ex-special servicemen cross the road and make their fortunes in the private sector.'

'What would Maitland want with Nazim and Rafi?'

'They're just being paid to perform a service. If you're asking me to speculate, I'd say they provided a snatch squad. But for whom . . . who knows? Could be the kids were terrorist suspects who were spirited away to God knows where. Or they could have been agents whose cover was blown, in which case they'll be living happily in condos in Australia.'

Jenny said, 'Why tell me now? Why not save it for the inquest? You know how risky it is for me to talk to a witness. Anyone could turn around and say my inquiry was tainted and have it overturned.'

'Well, there's the thing, Jenny - neither of us knows where each other stands, not truly.' He fixed her with a sad, searching look. 'I've seen and done enough wicked things in my span to know not to lead you to this lightly. British citizens disappeared by their own state - is that ever going to be allowed to be exposed? Call me a hoary old cynic, but I'd say another life or two would weigh lightly in the balance.'

'But?' She knew there was a but, that the flame that still burned in his eyes wouldn't be extinguished that easily.

'You're not cut from the regular cloth, are you?' McAvoy's worn-out face creased into a smile. 'I've got a shoulder so sore I've hardly been able to lift a drink all day.'

Unrepentant, Jenny said, 'That was for lying to me. And for what it's worth, I think you still are.'

There was a pause. McAvoy lowered his head. 'It's a funny thing, Jenny: I made a fine career out of telling other people's lies for them. The other side were always the bigger sinners. Even when I was caught out and put away, all the virtue was with me. But this case . . . I've fixed trials, I've bought and sold witnesses, I've helped murderers walk free and drunk their good health with a clear conscience, but this one fucking case.' He shook his head and turned his gaze away from her. 'And then you turned up like the Angel of Desire . . . like a sorceress . . . what's a spent force like me meant to do with that?'

Jenny inwardly reeled. The breath left her lungs. The visceral part of her willed him to touch her, to make the slightest contact so he could feel his charge and let it happen.

She knew he could feel the change in her, read what was written in her face.

'You're a temptation, that's what you are,' McAvoy said. 'A sweet and beautiful temptation as dark and damned as I am. I can't even touch your hand for fear—'

'Of what?' Jenny said.

He shook his head again. 'Let's talk about something else.' He swallowed and pushed himself on. 'Dr Sarah Levin - she's a beautiful girl, I understand. She was eighteen years old at the time. She would have been spoken to, I'm sure of that. Wherever Nazim and Rafi went they would have been interrogated, questioned within an inch of their lives. It's no coincidence she was the one who spoke to the police - she wouldn't have had any choice. I guessed as much eight years ago. Should it be dragged out of her now? Does she have to be destroyed too? How much damage is enough?'

'Why would she be on your conscience?'

'She was a blameless child. Why wouldn't she be?'

'Don't you think you're idealizing her?'

'Compared with me, she's the Blessed Virgin herself.'

Jenny said, 'What about the man who telephoned you, the American?'

'I’ve no idea, except that whoever took those boys hounded Mrs Jamal to death, even if they didn't physically kill her.'

'You don't even know the whole story,' Jenny said, feeling an irrational compulsion to share her burden. 'There were traces of radiation in her flat and on her body. Caesium 137.' As soon as she'd said it, she knew it was too much. She stopped herself from mentioning Anna Rose.

'To make it look like terrorists,' McAvoy said. 'Dirty bastards. At least regular criminals only kill their own. You wouldn't find a man above the gutter to hurt an old woman. Only godless government and mad mothers can tar a man's soul that black.'

Jenny made a faint noise that was almost a laugh.

'What?' McAvoy said.

'The way you talk.'

'How do you make sense of things?'

'I don't.'

'You should try poetry, or scripture, both preferably. You seem like you could do with it.'

'When I came to court, I didn't mean to hurt you ... I don't know what possessed me.'

'There's a question . . .'

The faint smile, the longing behind the eyes. The grizzled face masking a spirit that was already inside her, touching her, knowing things about her she didn't know herself.

'Tell me you're for real, Alec,' Jenny said. 'Swear that you're not using me or being paid.'

'What words can I say that are worth their weight? I came here to tell you that you're not alone, that's all. . .' He held her gaze. It seemed to take every ounce of strength. 'And that I know I scare the hell out of you, but if it's any comfort the feeling's mutual.'

He pushed up from his chair and made for the door.

'You're not going?' Jenny said.

'I better had, don't you think?'

'Can I drive you?'

'I'll be just fine.' He lifted the latch, then paused. For a moment Jenny thought he might turn back, sweep round and break the unbearable tension between them, let their bottled-up forces explode.

Without allowing himself to look at her, he said, 'When this case is over, can I see you again?'

'Yes . , . yes, we must.'

'Goodnight, Jenny.' Then, with a hint of a smile, 'I'll see you in court.'

McAvoy let himself out, closing the door gently behind him.

She tugged back the corner of the curtain and watched him walk down the path. She remained at the window until long after he had gone, willing him to come back, even though she knew he wouldn't.