The Disappeared

them to light would exorcise them. But as she wrote: When I felt his touch on my belly, I closed my eyes and let it be Alec McAvoy, a surge of excitement passed through her.

It was the same sensation she had felt the first time she set eyes on Steve: she had known, profoundly and without question, what would happen next.

Chapter 12

DS Williams had moved quickly. Jenny arrived in the office to find an emailed list of nearly five hundred black Toyota MPVs registered in the UK during 2002 together with their owners' addresses. She passed them on to Alison and asked her to pick out any registered either in the Bristol area or a fifty-mile-wide corridor to the north. It was an arbitrary approach, but they had to start somewhere. Also in her inbox was a message from another detective sergeant, Sean Murphy, to let her know that the inquiries into the missing Jane Doe and the fire at the Meditect lab were now being treated as one and the same investigation. Alison said the word inside the force was that there were no leads as yet, but that the CID was working on the theory that the dead girl had been about to inform on an organized criminal gang, possibly people traffickers.

A further email arrived as she was clicking away from Murphy's. It was from Gillian Golder copying a link to an article on BRISIC's website. She signed off, All best, Gillian. The piece was written anonymously under the headline, 'Coroner Adjourns Inquest into the Disappeared'. The unnamed writer speculated that government agencies had been panicked by the speed at which the inquest had commenced and had stepped in to bring a halt to proceedings before any compromising evidence came to light. The author cited unsourced rumours alleging the existence of shady agents provocateurs who were said to have induced young British Asian men to go abroad, where they were secretly arrested and imprisoned. The final paragraph ended:

Don't expect the coroner's inquest to tell us anything we don't already know. The small window of opportunity has closed. Mrs Cooper has given in to pressure and denied the grieving families and their communities their one chance of discovering the truth.

For a brief moment Jenny toyed with the idea of trusting Gillian Golder, even with asking her to help hunt down the Toyota and its occupants. The familiarity of the brief email had disarmed her into believing they were on the same side, that she wasn't alone after all. She checked herself. Golder was a spy for God's sake, a professional deceiver. Her job was to forge false friendships and make the isolated feel loved.

She replied tersely: Thank you. Contents noted.

Her immediate task was to review the evidence and decide where to put her limited energies. She fetched out the legal pad on which she'd made a note of the testimony she'd heard on the first day of her inquest and read it through. She had an uneasy feeling about Anwar Ali. He was close to BRISIC and something in his demeanour had suggested that, despite appearances, he was still the Islamist he had been eight years before. Until she'd heard Madog's story, she had assumed Ali's role might have been to hook Nazim and Rafi up with a third party who had helped them to leave the country. Several more outlandish possibilities now presented themselves. One was that Ali was working for the government, spotting and informing on potential radicals. It seemed unlikely, but she was aware she was entering a world where the normal rules didn't apply.

Dani James was less mysterious, but her evidence raised troubling questions. The fact that she had slept with Nazim days before his disappearance chimed with Mrs Jamal's account of the change she'd seen in her son. What didn't fit was McAvoy's memory of Mrs Jamal mentioning her suspicion of a previous relationship. Everything Mrs Jamal had told her to date suggested that Nazim had become pious and outwardly observant during his first term at Bristol. Yet his behaviour late the following June seemed to be that of a young man freshly released from doctrinal bonds.

She needed to talk to Mrs Jamal again. Strictly speaking, the proper course would have been to recall her to the witness box to deal with McAvoy's recollection. In reality, Jenny knew that she was far more likely to open up in private. It would be easy to hide behind the rules and let the law take its course, but the same instinct which had prompted her to take the case in the first instance wouldn't let her. This was one occasion on which the law could take second place to what felt right.

Amira Jamal lived in a modern five-storey building on a leafy, comfortable street north of the city centre. She buzzed Jenny through the main door and met her by the lift on the third floor, dressed soberly in a dark suit and long batik scarf. She led her into a small, tidy apartment, where they sat in the living room surrounded by mementos of Nazim's brief life. In her short career as coroner Jenny had already lost track of the number of homes she had visited that were maintained as private shrines to lost loved ones. The only unusual feature was a shelf lined with neatly labelled box files, all of which related in some way to Nazim's disappearance and the long slog of letter writing that had followed in its wake. A small desk was set up beneath it. On it were a laptop, assorted papers and a book entitled A Family's Guide to Coroners' Inquests.

Mrs Jamal had made tea and set out her best china. She poured Jenny a cup with a shaky hand. 'I'm sorry for how I was on the phone, Mrs Cooper. Sometimes I just can't stop myself.'

'I understand.'

'I see his face when he was a little boy. It's as if I'm still holding him . . .'

'You seem better today.'

'I did what you told me, went to the doctor. She gave me some pills.' She shook her head. 'I've never taken drugs in my life.'

Jenny picked up her teacup and placed it down again, finding the situation even more uncomfortable than she'd anticipated. 'Mrs Jamal, there are a couple of questions — '

'I have one first, Mrs Cooper. Why did you stop the inquest - the real reason?'

'It's not stopped, it's adjourned until Monday. Your former solicitor, Mr McAvoy, told me about something I ought to investigate.'

A look of alarm bordering on terror spread across Mrs Jamal's face. 'What?'

'I'm telling you this on the strict understanding that it goes no further than this room. Do I have your word on that?'

'Yes . . .'

'You remember that, before he went to prison, he hired a private investigator who found an old lady who claimed to have seen a black Toyota outside her house along the road from the halaqah?'

'I spoke to that man, Mr Dean - he said she was confused. She might even have got the night wrong.'

'She didn't. Mr Dean was probably trying not to raise your hopes . . . About six months later McAvoy asked him to follow it up. He found a toll collector on the old Severn Bridge. I spoke to him yesterday. A black Toyota came past his booth on the night of 28 June 2002. He remembers two white men in the front, two young Asian men in the back. He said they seemed frightened.'

'Who is this man? Why didn't he say any of this before?' Mrs Jamal asked, breathless with shock.

'It seems he was intimidated. I can't be sure he's telling the truth, but he claims one of the men in the front of the car tracked him down the following week and assaulted his young granddaughter - sprayed her hair with paint.'

Mrs Jamal held her head in her hands. 'I don't understand . . . Why now? Who was driving this car?'

'That's what I'm trying to find out.'

'You say Mr McAvoy knew? I never trusted that man.'

'Only some of it. Mr Dean died when Mr McAvoy was in prison.'

Mrs Jamal reached for a box of tissues.

'I know it's a lot for you to deal with,' Jenny said, 'but Mr McAvoy also remembers you mentioning that Nazim might have had a girlfriend before Dani James.'

'My son never touched her. She's a prostitute. She's staining his memory.'

'Why do you say that?'

'You heard what she said - she had a disease.''

'It could be important. Did you tell Mr McAvoy about another girl?'