The Chosen Dead (Jenny Cooper 5) (29 page)

‘Was he the kind of man who normally shared things?’

‘Yes.’ Jenny saw something stir in her. A twitch in the muscles of her face. ‘There had been outbreaks of meningitis in areas he’d been working.’

‘He told you that?’

‘It came and went most years. I remember him saying there’s no vaccine – you can only treat the disease with drugs, lots of them. They were too expensive for a lot of districts. It was always a source of tension.’

‘You mean political tension?’

‘Medicine’s always political in Africa.’ They seemed to be sharing the same thought. ‘They become a kind of weapon.’ Pieces appeared to be falling into place for her. ‘Perhaps that’s what he witnessed – drugs being withheld? Nothing would have made him more angry.’

‘Where would drugs come from, typically?’ Jenny asked.

‘Charities and governments. Britain spends a lot in East African countries – they’re all our former colonies.’

Seconds passed in silence as they both struggled to form a narrative that would have led to Adam’s death. Jenny realized it was the first time that she had laid out the facts end to end, and it was leading to the most disturbing possible conclusion.

‘Sonia Blake was well connected,’ Jenny said. ‘If something was happening – if drugs were being held up for political reasons – she’s an obvious person to have been told. She might have sought Adam out as her informer in the field. What do you think?’

‘It’s possible. But why wouldn’t he have told me?’

‘Too dangerous?’

‘Oh God.’ The words fell from Karen’s mouth in desperation. ‘What the hell did he do?’ Her eyes travelled the room in incomprehension, as if the answer might lie in the hand-stitched African rug, or the framed photographs of grazing antelope that hung on the wall. ‘The burglars that came here – do you think that’s what they were?’

Jenny said, ‘Did Adam keep papers at home? Has anything belonging to him gone?’

‘Only his computer. They took that, and mine.’

‘Did he back it up?’

‘I doubt it.’ Karen’s eyes flashed with anger. ‘They knocked me out cold. It was clinical. This is government, isn’t it? He didn’t kill himself – they murdered him, didn’t they?’

‘It seems unlikely,’ Jenny said, but without conviction. In Adam’s line of work, it seemed to her anything was possible.

Tears spilled over Karen’s cheeks.

Jenny’s instinct was to try to comfort her, but hard as it was she resisted and checked herself: professional boundaries had to be maintained. She decided instead to give her a moment alone.

‘I’ll be out in the garden,’ Jenny said.

She found her way along the hallway to the back door, leaving Karen sobbing fitfully. The garden extended no more than fifty feet from the house, but had been laid out to create an African oasis. The deep borders that ran around its circumference were densely planted with tall savannah grasses, some over eight feet high, that stirred and crackled with every subtle movement of the air. She took a seat at the rough-hewn wooden table and from it could see only sorghum, pampas and sky.

She weighed the wisdom of tackling Harry Thorn with Karen’s theory and decided it would be a waste of breath. She would leave him to Karen and the courtroom. But she would have to speak to DI Watling, the detective who handed Adam Jordan’s case to her so abruptly after he was found. The speed with which he had discounted the possibility of foul play wasn’t unprecedented, but if the worst of her suspicions proved true, the decision might not have been his. It wouldn’t have surprised her to learn that he had had a call from Ruth Webley. And then there was the issue of Adam’s phone. Had it been crushed under the wheels of a truck and conveniently swept away, or had someone retrieved it? She could only wonder at what secrets it might have held. Then there was the African girl, and the man who came to the filling station – he had already taken on the guise of spy in her imagination – she had to find them. But where to begin?

‘Adam planted all this.’

Jenny turned to see Karen Jordan stepping through the back door.

‘Even when he wasn’t in Africa he was trying to recreate it.’ She limped onto the small patch of lawn and kicked off her sandals. ‘He said going there was like going back to the source, where it all began. Where life and death slug it out most keenly. He liked to say there was an honesty in Africa – no pretence that human beings are above it all.’ The grasses leaned in a gust of wind, their dry, tough stems clicking together like a shower of falling twigs hitting stony ground. Karen pushed stray wisps hair back away from her eyes, and Jenny saw the face that Adam would have fallen in love with: soulful and dignified, but with a longing in her for a purer world than the one in which she found herself. ‘I wish I could just let him go, let him fly away on the breeze.’

‘There’ll be a time for that,’ Jenny said. ‘But it’s not yet.’

Il Carretto hadn’t changed in the dozen years since Jenny had first come here with David. The same dusty gourds hung in bunches from the mock beams and the waiters, though a little older and fatter, still moved between the tables singing along to the same Dean Martin songs that played on a continuous loop. But while the restaurant was just as Jenny expected, Sally was a revelation. She had pictured a dark, delicate, introverted girl looking to her son for solid, masculine reassurance, but the young woman sitting across the table was red-haired, forthright, and had unselfconsciously dominated the conversation. There wasn’t much Jenny didn’t know about her life history by the time they had ordered coffee, or about her wayward father and his twenty-five-year-old male lover.

‘I can understand Dad falling for a
man
,’ she said. ‘Why not? But Franky’s so neurotic and petty – you’ll just have wiped the kitchen counter and he’ll come along and do it
again
– and that’s what he’s always accused Mum of being.’ She spoke as if Jenny were intimately familiar with all the personalities involved. ‘I don’t know why he can’t see it.’ She grinned suggestively. ‘I guess there must be other compensations.’

Ross shot Jenny an apprehensive glance that anticipated her disapproval, but her mind had drifted away from Sally’s story to what awaited her in the morning. She had returned to the office late in the afternoon to learn that Simon Moreton had issued an ultimatum: resume the Sophie Freeman inquest tomorrow, or be removed from the case. He had also ‘strongly requested’ that Elena Lujan’s death be dealt with in the same hearing. The press had started to renege on their promise to keep reporting to a minimum, and the delay was stoking fears of a cover-up. It had been a close decision whether to call Simon’s bluff, but in the end Jenny had agreed to do as he asked. A hurried court hearing would bring her no closer to the truth about Sophie’s death, of course, but it did present the opportunity to pose some difficult questions that might pave the way to a later resolution. But the conundrum, as ever, was how far was it safe to go?

Sally nudged Ross with her elbow. ‘Don’t be so uptight. You told me you were cool with all that. Don’t tell me you’re a secret homophobe.’

‘No,’ Ross said, with an appeasing smile learned from his father.

‘Well, don’t act like you are.’ She leaned forward into Jenny’s space. ‘Has he always behaved like an old man?’

‘Not at all,’ Jenny said, resenting the girl’s attempted put-down of her son. ‘He’s always been very open-minded.’ Unlike his father, she might have added, but if Sally had an ounce of insight, she would soon glean that for herself.

‘Another thing I keep telling him is he’s lucky to have divorced parents who can both look after themselves. My mum can’t handle being on her own at all. She’s at my sister’s house every day. She won’t even begin to think about dating anyone. It’s crazy – she’s really quite good-looking.’

‘Give her time.’

‘It’s been nearly a year. It’s not like he’s in any danger of coming back. How long did it take you to start seeing other men?’

Jenny’s mouthful of coffee lodged part-way down her throat. She swallowed hard. ‘It takes a lot of readjustment when you’ve been married a long time.’

Ross looked away, embarrassed at the turn the conversation had taken.

Sally kept her eyes on Jenny but her hand firmly on top of Ross’s. ‘You see, she doesn’t say that. She claims she’s glad not be fighting with him the whole time. She claims she
prefers
being on her own, but she’s obviously lonely as hell.’

Jenny glanced at Ross, sensing his discomfort. ‘Has she got any close friends?’

‘Not really. You know, I think she might still be trying to compensate for what’s happened. I think she feels she has to keep reassuring my sister that everything’s still all right – even though she’s twenty-six.’

‘It’s always complicated.’ Jenny glanced down into her cup, hoping Sally would take the hint and change the subject.

Sally traced a finger along the back of Ross’s hand. ‘What do you think?’ she asked him.

‘I don’t know. I haven’t met her.’

‘You’ve heard me talk about her enough.’

Jenny suppressed a smile.

‘Mum’s got to be in court tomorrow. I should get the bill.’ He slipped away from her and went in search of Mario, the pot-bellied proprietor.

Sally gazed after him, wearing an expression of concern.

‘I don’t have to go just yet,’ Jenny said. ‘Is he all right, do you think?’

‘I guess,’ she answered, ambiguously.

‘Is there a problem?’

‘He’s really the one who ought to be having this conversation.’

Jenny glanced over to where Ross was waiting patiently for Mario to finish relating a lengthy and dramatic anecdote to customers at the till. ‘What conversation?’

‘I shouldn’t really—’

‘I’d be grateful if you did.’

Sally’s eyes tracked from Ross back to Jenny. ‘Has he told you he’s been seeing a counsellor at college?’

‘No.’ Jenny felt a spasm of anxiety. ‘What about?’

‘I think he might have something he wants to say to you.’

‘Like what?’

Sally tilted her head, indicating that Ross was returning to the table.

‘He said we can pay on the way out. Are we ready?’

Jenny and Sally exchanged a glance.

‘I won’t be a moment,’ Sally said. She slid out of her seat and headed to the Ladies.

‘She seems very nice,’ Jenny said, trying her very best to sound sincere. ‘How long is she staying?’

‘A few days, maybe longer. Depends on Dad and Debbie, I guess.’

‘You’re both welcome at my place.’

‘Thanks,’ Ross said. ‘Maybe at the weekend.’

The conversation lapsed into awkward silence. Jenny let it stretch on as he picked at the drips of candle wax that had fallen onto the tablecloth.

She tried to coax him. ‘Sally mentioned you’ve been seeing a—’

‘How’s Michael?’ Ross said, cutting across her.

‘We haven’t spoken for a couple of days.’

‘Oh. Is everything all right?’

‘We had a few words.’ Jenny downplayed their argument.

‘I liked him. You won’t push him away, will you?’

‘Why would I do that?’ Jenny said, shocked at his sudden directness.

‘I think sometimes you can do it without even realizing.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I don’t know. I just think he’s good news, that’s all.’ Seeing Sally reappear, he stood up from the table, relieved to have avoided the issue, whatever the
issue
was. ‘Can we split the bill?’

‘No. My treat.’

‘If you’re sure. Thanks.’ He slid his arm around Sally’s waist and, using her as a shield, steered her through the tables to the exit.

Jenny made her way to the counter alone to pay the bill, a tremor in her fingers as she slotted her credit card into the machine. Sally’s revelation had shaken her. She had always tried to convince herself that Ross had remained insulated from her problems, but if he had been seeing a counsellor, it could only be her fault. She feared she had shaken his faith in life itself. His comment about her pushing Michael away had tapped into her deepest fears. Ross understood instinctively. He didn’t have to articulate the words, he
felt
it in her: that she was frightened to live, because deep down she didn’t believe she deserved it, didn’t believe that she could love and be loved as other people could. And somehow along the way, she feared she had passed him the same disease.

She folded the receipt into her purse, deliberately delaying the moment of goodbye. If she failed to hold back the onrush of emotions, she feared she might embarrass herself. Be strong, she told herself. For God’s sake.

‘Would you like a lift home?’ Jenny asked pleasantly.

‘No need. We’ll walk. But thanks,’ Ross said. ‘It was a lovely dinner.’ He spoke graciously, but from an unreachable distance.

Jenny said, ‘You’ll think about the weekend?’

‘Sure,’ Ross said. ‘That sounds great. I’ll call.’

‘Bye,’ Sally chimed in, and hand in hand they turned and walked away.

Jenny watched them for a moment, Sally leaning her head into his shoulder, closer to him than she would ever be. Perhaps he’d call, perhaps he wouldn’t. He was getting as hard to read as David. Starting back towards her car, Jenny was seized by a dread that he would only ever drift further away, that he’d shut the door on her for good. She could deal with anything else, but not that. Please not that.