claiming they were tricked into it by the others. Thinking about Mrs Jamal had kept him awake most of the night. It was deep in the small hours, when he was running low on cigarettes, that he had started to put the pieces together. He'd called an old contact inside the police who'd told him about Pironi's recent transfer to New Bridewell. The same detective had also tipped him off about Pironi's church-going - he'd been at it since his wife died, apparently, still fitting up and whoring on weekdays like he always had, but born again afresh every Sunday.
Speaking with McAvoy like this, businesslike, across a desk, Jenny's doubts about him began to recede. He was measured, logical and always gave a self-aware smile after he'd lapsed into hyperbole. She didn't feel he was pulling conspiracies from the air: like her, he was simply trying to arrange the pieces into an order that made sense. After she had gone with him to see Madog, Jenny had been almost convinced by Alison's insistence that he was inventing evidence to further his own agenda and prise his way back into the solicitors' profession. Looking him in the eye, she couldn't believe it. How did Alison's theory fit with Mrs Jamal's death? Would she argue that McAvoy was involved, that he'd persecuted her with late-night phone calls? And for what - merely to discredit Pironi?
No. The man now leaning towards her open window smoking a cigarette was no monster. He was too edgy, too weathered and grooved by life, too obviously worn down by conscience to be a psychopath of the kind Alison imagined. Ruthless people had charm; McAvoy had warmth. It was of an erratic and slightly hazardous kind, a naked flame which guttered then flared, but she could feel it burning in him nonetheless. She was convinced that his passion for justice, or his brand of it at least, was real and heartfelt.
Jenny showed him the list of Toyotas Alison had produced and the ones she had circled. He ran through them with the criminal lawyer's eye. If you were going to spirit someone away, you wouldn't do it in a privately registered car, he said. You'd most likely hire a vehicle using false documents, a trail you could cover. On the list there were only two cars registered to hire companies. One was in Cwmbran, south Wales, the other was thirty miles to the north in the small city of Hereford on the English side of the border.
Jenny reached for the phone, intending to call them.
McAvoy said, 'Do you think that's a good idea? You never know who's listening.'
Jenny said, 'You're right. I'll pay them a visit.'
It was time to draw the meeting to a close. McAvoy met her gaze as she tried to find a tactful way of saying so.
Before she spoke, he said, 'If I didn't want to upset your officer any more I'd ask if I could come along for the ride.'
'You think I need my hand held?'
'Mrs Jamal could have done with it.'
Jenny tried not to let the shudder she felt pass through her show on her face.
Chapter 16
McAvoy smoked and dozed during the hour-long journey to the former coal-mining town of Cwmbran. Once or twice Jenny tried to make conversation, but he barely responded. With eyes half-closed, he stared out at the grey landscape, the ever-present drizzle turning to sleet as they headed deeper into south Wales.
She asked if there was something on his mind. He responded with a moody and disconcerting 'Mmm.' His mood was impenetrable.
The car-rental franchise was on the edge of town, on an industrial estate in sight of evenly sloped hills which had been fashioned from the slag heaps formed when the former mines turned the earth inside out. McAvoy woke as she pulled up, and followed her inside. There were no customers, only a fleshy desk clerk chewing a sandwich. He wiped crumbs from his mouth as they came through the door. McAvoy ignored his corporate hello and fetched himself a free cup of coffee from the machine while Jenny dealt with business.
She produced one of her calling cards and told the clerk she needed to know who, if anyone, was renting the Toyota on the night of 28 June 2002. The clerk said he didn't have access to those kind of records. It was a matter for head office in Cardiff. He searched his computer for the right number to call and said he didn't hold out much hope - the company only kept their vehicles for a year, two at the most.
From behind her, Jenny heard McAvoy say, 'The fuck's that got to do with it?'
'I beg your pardon, sir?'
'What's how long you keep the cars got to do with your records? You keep them for the tax man. Where are they?'
Jenny saw the clerk waver as he measured McAvoy up.
'There's no need to swear.'
McAvoy strolled over to the counter, set down his coffee and glanced at him with red, puffy eyes. Jenny felt her stomach turn over.
'I do apologize,' McAvoy said. 'The company I keep in my profession sometimes causes me to use inappropriate and intemperate language. Please ignore my earlier outburst.'
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
'You think he's never heard the f word?'
'For God's sake - you were intimidating him. And undermining me.'
