to Mrs Jamal's, but in this moment of stillness she felt almost a selfish sense of relief. It was as if everything that had been ominous and unseen had briefly surfaced and shown itself. Mrs Jamal's killer - Jenny had convinced herself that was who the spectre in the baseball cap had been - was one and the same demon who had visited on the night of Nazim and Rafi's vanishing. Eight years ago he had left only scratch marks on the door frames; this time he'd left a smear of hell itself.
Evil now had a form if not a face.
There was no time to reflect or elaborate on her theories; the phone calls came relentlessly for the rest of the afternoon. Andy Kerr, the undertakers, various functionaries from the Health Protection Agency, DI Pironi and even Gillian Golder managed to obtain her supposedly ex-directory number. All wanted information she didn't have and none of them believed her when she claimed ignorance. Both Pironi and Golder sounded close to desperate for any lead to the source of the radiation; both seemed convinced she was keeping critical evidence to herself. She told them about Mrs Aldis and the man in the baseball cap, rationalizing that in doing so she had fulfilled her duty, but made no mention of either Madog or Tathum. They belonged to the past and that, she told herself, was still her exclusive territory.
Between calls Jenny sat at her desk, trying to work out her next moves. She had already gone far beyond the accepted bounds of coronial practice by behaving like a detective, but her gut told her there were questions that would never be answered merely by examining witnesses in court. The stolen Jane Doe had an early-stage thyroid tumour possibly caused by exposure to low-level radiation; the missing Anna Rose worked in the nuclear industry; Nazim Jamal had been a physicist. It was more than just wishful thinking, there had to be a connection.
The phone interrupted her thoughts for what felt like the fiftieth time. Jenny answered with a weary hello.
Steve said, 'That good, hey? Busy?'
Jenny's mood lifted. 'What did you have in mind?'
Steve said, 'I'd like to talk.'
The Apple Tree was quiet for a Saturday. Steve was a lone figure sitting next to the iron brazier on the flagstone patio. The snap of the fire and the rush of the nearby stream making its final descent to the Wye were the only sounds in the damp, chilly night.
'Can you stand it out here?' Steve said as she climbed the uneven steps.
'I like it,' Jenny said and took a seat next to him on one of the three rustic benches arranged around the fire. It was throwing out a good heat, but she was glad of her thick wool sweater and the waxed jacket which made her look like a farmer's wife.
Steve touched his roll-up cigarette to a lick of flame and took a draw. 'Got you a Virgin Mary.' He handed her a glass.
'Thanks.' She took an alcohol-free sip. 'God, it's boring being virtuous.' She reached for his tobacco tin. 'Am I allowed one sin?'
'As many as you like.' He gazed into the flames.
Clumsily rolling a cigarette she said, 'I'd tell you what kind of week I've had, but I'm not sure I'd believe it myself.'
'Ross told me some of it,' he said, as if from a far distance.
'You've been talking to him a lot. . .' Jenny replied, fishing.
'Here and there.' He blew out a thin trail of smoke. 'He worries about you.'
She licked the paper and performed the final roll. Not bad. She poked it though the iron slats of the brazier to catch a light.
'He really does,' Steve said.
'What can I say? I do my best ... Is this what you wanted to talk about?'
'No. You mostly.'
'What about me?'
He held his cigarette hesitantly in front of his lips.
'What?' she insisted.
'The other night when we were in bed ... it was as if you weren't there. And it's not the first time.' He turned and held her gaze. 'You don't feel the same way any more.'
'That's not true.'
'You hardly call me.'
'I'm a working mother.'
'And I go to an office, too . . . I'm not the same, am I?'
'The same what?'
'The fantasy. The guy with no chains.'
Wounded, Jenny said, 'I think you're confusing me with your ex-girlfriend. If you remember, I encouraged you to go back and qualify.'
'I really didn't want to argue, Jenny.' His head sank towards his knees. 'I just want to know what's going on with us, what you're expecting.'
She drew hard on her cigarette until the hot smoke scorched her mouth. 'I'm sorry if I seem that way. It's probably the pills my shrink put me on. I'll be off them soon.'
'Didn't I used to make you happy?'
She felt her legs twitching nervously. A shiver passed through her, physical sensations taking the place of thoughts. 'You know what I am, Steve. I try to keep the parts of me I'm trying to deal with separate, but sometimes they escape from the box.'
'You know you can talk to me all you like. I wish you would.'
'It doesn't work like that. That's not what I need from you.'
'Can you tell me what you do need?'
Steve said, 'Do you love me? Or just the idea of me.'
'You're not leaving?'
'I need to know what the future is, I need to know how you feel. A girl at work asked me if I was with anyone the other day. For a moment I didn't know what to say.'
'Was she pretty?'
'For God's sake, Jenny.' For once he was closer to tears than she was. 'You've got to stop being afraid. Letting yourself feel loved is a gamble, don't I know it, but you won't even try.'
'I ... I do ... I try all time.' The words sounded empty even to her.
Steve said, 'I've been thinking more about your dream - the part of you that died. Why would you have it again now? When we got together I watched you come alive. You smiled and laughed and lost yourself. And then it was as if you felt too guilty to let yourself be free again.' He tossed his cigarette end onto the fire and drew his palms back across his face. 'What I'm trying to say is, sometimes being faced with a choice is the best way to get bounced out of a rut.'
He stood then leaned down and kissed her lightly on the forehead. 'Think about it. Give me a call.'
He disappeared down the steps and into the night.
Chapter 18
Jenny had suffered many insults from many men over the years, but no one had accused her of being lifeless in bed. True, she'd allowed herself to think about someone else during sex, but she'd done that many times with her ex-husband and even in the midst of their acrimonious split David had had the good grace to say that he had few complaints about the physical side of their marriage.
Studying her face in the mirror she did detect a certain absence, a dullness in her eyes, a lack of vitality in her
