The Disappeared

'Do her parents know?'

A pause. He shook his head.

'Can I have the number?' She rummaged in her bag for her address book. 'Who else has got it?'

'I don't know. It's a phone I gave her on my contract - so we could keep in touch.'

She handed him the pen and watched him print the numbers in an even, meticulous hand. He was dependable, not bad-looking but no prize. She pictured his family as teachers or civil servants, people who lived within tightly drawn, reassuring boundaries. She could understand why Anna Rose might have been attracted to him - he was safe - but the young woman he'd described wouldn't stay for long and he knew it. He'd ridden his luck, even splashed out on an extra phone, but this was the moment at which he was finally being forced to let the fantasy go. Wherever she was, Anna Rose wasn't coming back to him.

Jenny glanced over at a framed photograph hanging on the wall above the television: Mike in lab coat posing with a glass trophy, Graduate Trainee of the Year 2004, written at the bottom in gold type. She noticed a now familiar object clipped to his breast pocket.

Jenny said, 'You wouldn't happen to have a dosimeter in the house?'

He looked up abruptly. She saw the alarm in his eyes and knew that she had assumed correctly: he hadn't been to work today. The fustiness in the room was the smell of prolonged confinement.

'You noticed it before you left this morning?' she said. 'He was contaminated . . . and you couldn't go to work because it would have been detected on you. There are radiation monitors everywhere, right?'

He nodded dumbly.

'How bad is it?' Jenny said, feeling a return of the panic she'd experienced in court earlier that day.

'Two hundred milliSieverts ... it was in his urine.'

Jenny said, 'Should we be here?'

Mike said, 'Downstairs is safe enough. I wouldn't go upstairs ... I don't know what to do.'

'You've no idea what connection this man might have with Anna Rose?' she said. 'No.'

'You'll have to call the police.'

'I should have done it this morning.'

'You've done nothing wrong. You'll be fine.' She attempted a smile. 'Just do one thing for me - leave it an hour before you make the call. I need to go somewhere and I don't want to be snagged up with the police all night.'

His eyes darted to the telephone sitting on the sideboard. 'An hour?'

Jenny said, 'Please, Mike. I'm going to try to find Anna Rose, OK? I'd like to talk to her before they do.'

'How? Where are you going to go?'

'Do you want to come with me?'

He thought about it for a moment, then shook his head.

'If I get anywhere I'll call you.'

He nodded, seeming a little more confident now he'd settled on a course of action. Jenny knew she had half an hour at the most. He'd last ten minutes before picking up the phone and telling the police everything.

Jenny drove in the direction of the Severn Bridge along minor roads, checking her mirror for phantom pursuers. Heavy rain flecked with sleet pounded the windscreen. She dialled McAvoy's number repeatedly without success. He was switched off. Beyond her reach. She toyed with contacting Alison and asking her to take another statement from Sarah Levin, but an instinct told her it would be futile, that whatever story Sarah had yet to tell would remain locked down until something far bigger gave way.

She waited fifteen minutes in the empty reception area of Chepstow police station for Detective Sergeant Owen Williams to make his way from the pub, from where she had dislodged him with her enigmatic call. He greeted her with a fond, resigned smile as he peeled off his wet coat.

'Mrs Cooper. Never a dull moment with you, is there?'

'I'm sorry. It's just one of those I can't trust with the boys across the water.'

'I can only help if it's on my patch.'

'Elements are.'

'Just so long as I can tick the box.' He checked the time. 'Not going to take long, is it? I haven't stood my round yet.'

'I'll talk quickly.'

She followed him through the security door to his office, a ten-by-ten cubicle lined with steel shelves laden with dusty box files. His computer sat on a separate desk protected by a plastic cover. The machine had the feel of an object which was unveiled on special occasions only. While Williams spread his coat carefully along the radiator, Jenny gave him a potted history of recent developments in her investigation. He hadn't heard about Mrs Jamal's death and was shocked, but not surprised, that he hadn't been informed of the presence of a radioactive substance at the scene: his office was only a dozen miles from the centre of Bristol, but as far as the English police were concerned it might as well have been on the far side of the world. They treated their Welsh colleagues with indifference bordering on contempt, and the feeling was mutual.

He listened quietly, stroking his thick, greying moustache as she summarized the evidence which had led to her search for Anna Rose. He was barely aware of her disappearance, let alone her connection with a nuclear-power plant that stood directly across the estuary from his station.

'Two miles from here that bloody place is,' Williams said. 'And you know where the tide brings the crap that comes out of it - right up the mouth of the Wye on the Welsh side, here. They deny it, of course. Lying bastards.'

'Her boyfriend gave me a mobile number she's been using. He thinks she may have been picking up messages.'

'Where from? There's nothing I can do if she's in England.'

'Think of it this way: the last time Nazim and Rafi were seen they were heading over the bridge into Wales. There's already evidence that would justify a criminal investigation into kidnap, and Anna Rose is a potential witness.'

'I see . . .' He was warming to the idea.

'All I need is for you to get onto the phone company and find out the last known location of that number.'

'How soon do you want it?'

'Now?'

'You're joking? You can't just magic this stuff up, Mrs Cooper. You have to pay. These companies make you sell the farm for an expedited search - it'd be five grand if it's a penny. I can't authorize that sort of money.'

'Well, who can?'

'I could try the Super, but I wouldn't hold your breath.'

'Then we'll put it through my office.'

'Can I have that in writing?'

'You can have it in blood, if you like.'

Williams looked at her with avuncular concern. 'Mrs Cooper, you know I don't mind sticking my neck out for you from time to time, but only as long as we're on the right side of the line. This girl's phone number and her whereabouts could be classed as information connected with an act of terrorism, in which case it's a serious offence not to disclose it to the appropriate authorities.'

'You are the appropriate authority.'

'And I have to obey the protocols - refer it up the chain of command. What I'm saying - can I call you Jenny? - is that, no matter how much I'd love to steal a march on those English crooks, this one can't be a secret.'

'Fine. Just give me a few minutes' head start.'

Tracing the last known position of a mobile phone was a new procedure to Williams. He called several colleagues, conversing exclusively in Welsh, and learned that the phone operators only dealt with such requests when they were made by certain designated senior officers. Yet another phone call yielded the name of a friendly detective inspector in Cardiff whom Williams persuaded, by telling more half-truths than he was comfortable with, to broker the request. Then came fifteen minutes of haggling with a surly official at the mobile network who opened with a demand for £10,000. Williams beat him down to £6,000 at which point the official dug in his heels.

What the hell, Jenny said. There was no way her minuscule budget could cover it, whatever he wanted. She produced her office credit card and prayed the payment would clear. It didn't. Only after another fractious call to Visa and with promises of a personal guarantee was the transaction approved.