The Chosen Dead (Jenny Cooper 5) (41 page)

Step two. She reached for the landline and dialled Kwan’s number, planning to threaten him with immediate arrest for obstructing the course of justice unless he gave her the name of the company Sonia Blake had been pursuing. Kwan was screening his calls. She was starting to leave a message when the phone was answered and a woman’s voice came on the line.

‘Who is this?’

‘I’m a coroner. Jenny Cooper. I need to speak to Dr Kwan immediately.’

‘Coroner?’

‘Please pass me to Dr Kwan if he’s there.’

‘He isn’t. You said you’re a coroner – is he all right?’

‘I assume so.’ Jenny stumbled. ‘When did you last see him?’

‘He went out earlier this evening. He had to fetch something from work. He hasn’t called. I don’t know where he is. You don’t know anything?’

‘No.’ Jenny hesitated, but her conscience pricked. ‘Listen. Call the police and tell them he was recently detained by officers from military intelligence. It was in connection with his work.’

‘His work?’

‘Yes. That’s all I can tell you.’

This time it was Jenny who put down the phone; she had given her all she could.

Step three. Her final option. Jenny took up her phone and keyed in the email address Kwan had given her earlier that evening. What the hell, she had nothing to lose by telling the truth. She gave the full story:

As she sent the message, water dripped on to the screen. Jenny had glanced up at the ceiling, looking for the source, before she realized it was a tear from her own eye. She felt no connection with it; it belonged to someone else.

The landline rang. Jenny stared at the receiver as a player of Russian roulette might at the cocked pistol. Was it the front desk? Did she have visitors waiting for her in reception? She answered, ready to jump from the window if she had to.

‘Are you there, Jenny?’

‘Yes.’ It was David. ‘Sorry—’

‘Sorry? What are you doing in a hotel in fucking Marlborough when our son may be dying, or is the answer too tragically obvious for words?’

‘I’m alone, David! I’m trying to get information.’

‘Jenny, listen to me. I don’t know what the hell it is you’re playing at, but I do know that no one with an ounce of maternal feeling would be sitting where you are with a dangerously ill son only half an hour’s drive away.’

‘If you’d hear me out—’

He wouldn’t. ‘Debbie’s the only mother he’s had today, and frankly, it sickens me.’

‘Go to hell, David.’

She slammed down the receiver and in a fit of fury ripped the cable from the socket. The bare phone wires whipped back and struck her face.
Shit!
She snatched the cheap vase from the desk and flung it at the television mounted on the wall. Glass exploded and scattered to the four corners of the room, leaving the flat screen shattered. Jenny stood barefoot and paralysed, nowhere to tread without cutting her feet on splintered glass.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
It was over. There was nothing more to say or do. She would drive to the hospital, be a mother for the last minutes she had left, give David the satisfaction of seeing her destroyed along with their son, because it was, after all, exactly what she deserved.

Jenny left the door of the room swinging open and headed down to the lobby. She elbowed her way past the group of overweight men in suits all reeking of beer, who grinned and nudged one another as they spilled out of the bar, and pushed out into the night. The car park was at the rear of the rambling Victorian building and largely unlit. She found her hire car squashed in tightly between two others. She had started to edge in to try to open the driver’s door when she heard the sound of tyres crunching over gravel. A car made its way towards her and came to a stop pointing directly at her, blinding her in the full glare of its headlights.

The driver climbed out. Jenny felt her fingers clenching into a fist.

‘Mrs Cooper!’

The voice from behind the lights belonged to a woman.

‘Alison? How did you get here?’

‘Your husband called. He had this number. You have spoken to him?’

‘Yes.’

She was walking towards her, a strange shambolic figure silhouetted against the headlights, wearing an anorak over her cotton pyjamas.

‘I’m glad I wasn’t arrested dressed like this,’ Alison said drily. ‘I was doing over a hundred on the motorway. I’m sure Ross would like to see you. Would you like me to drive?’

‘No.’

‘You really don’t look in any fit state—’

Jenny felt a faint vibration in her pocket.

‘Come on.’ Alison reached out a hand.

Jenny dodged away from her and fetched out the phone. A red dot had appeared on the mail icon. The symbol in the top left corner indicated that she still had a sliver of Wi-Fi signal.

‘Let’s go,’ Alison insisted.

‘Wait.’

It was a reply to the email she had sent to the address Kwan had given her. She opened it.

If you are genuine, I can help. Your number?

‘Do you have a phone? I need your phone,’ Jenny said urgently.

‘Mrs Cooper, we’ve no time for this.’ There was a catch in her voice. ‘He really is very ill—’

‘I’ve got someone who can help. Give me your bloody phone.’

Taken aback, Alison did as she asked.

‘What’s your number?’

‘You know it.’

‘I’ve forgotten.’

Alison recited her number through clenched teeth as Jenny tapped out a reply and marched back towards the building to make sure that the email was sent.

Alison called after her. ‘Are you going to tell me why we’re still standing here while your son—’

‘While he’s dying? Yes, I know that. I’m aware of that.’

‘You can’t let this happen, Mrs Cooper. I promised your husband he wouldn’t be by himself. Now get in the car. We’ll talk on the way.’

Alison grabbed Jenny’s shirt. Jenny twisted away, running between the cars, disappearing into the shadows.

‘Mrs
Cooper
!’ Alison was beside herself. ‘
Please
.’

It came. Alison’s phone lit up and rang.

Jenny fumbled with unfamiliar controls. ‘Jenny Cooper. Hello?’

‘Hello.’ The voice was male, thirties, quiet, ordinary. He made no attempt to introduce himself.

It was left to Jenny to make the running. ‘Did you know Sonia Blake?’ The question seemed the only one to ask.

‘Not personally. But yes, we had contact.’

‘About your work? You were at Diamond, weren’t you? You’re working for a company—’

‘Please be careful.’

Jenny couldn’t help herself. ‘You were the man who met with Adam Jordan at the filling station. That was you, wasn’t it?’

‘Do you want me to end this call, Mrs Cooper? It would be very easy for me.’

Jenny glanced left at the sound of Alison’s approaching footsteps.

‘My son – I think he’s got Q fever.’

‘You said.’ He fell silent, as if reaching a momentous decision.

Alison was standing right behind her now. Jenny could hear her angry breath.

‘Four people dead,’ Jenny said, gently coaxing him. ‘Ayen Deng is missing, so are Adam Jordan’s colleagues, and now Jason Kwan. And that’s all on top of what happened in Africa. This has to end. I think you know that. I think that’s why you’ve called me.’

Still he didn’t answer.

‘You’ve something to say, I know you have. You can trust me. I can protect you.’ It was only a half-truth, and he sensed it.

‘We have to meet – face to face.’

‘But my son—’

‘I might be able to help. How sick is he?’

Jenny turned to Alison, asked the question she hadn’t dared ask before. ‘How long do they say he’s got?’

‘He needs you tonight.’

‘I heard,’ the caller said. ‘You’ve given me a big problem.’

‘No,’ Jenny said, ‘I didn’t start this. Now how are you going to end it?’

Seconds passed. Jenny let him think, weigh the odds. She offered a silent prayer.

‘Make a note of this postcode.’ He spelled it out. ‘You’ll see the forest entrance. Turn in and go along the track to the right. There’s a pull-in on the left after a hundred yards. I’ll try to be there in fifty minutes.’

‘Where is this place? You don’t know where I’m starting from.’

‘The Cottesloe Hotel, Marlborough – I traced your IP address. There are very few secrets in this world, but I do have some of them. Now hurry.’

A
LISON HAD PLEADED WITH
J
ENNY
to go to Ross and leave it to her to meet with the caller, but Jenny knew it couldn’t have worked. He would already have looked her up, memorized her face, taken pains to decide whether she was a woman he could trust, possibly with his life. She couldn’t have lived with herself if he’d seen Alison and turned tail. She had made one concession and had phoned the hospital. The nurse in the isolation unit handed her to the registrar who had care of Ross during the night, and just to make him feel better, Jenny told him that she was on her way. He confirmed to her that Ross had become infected with Q fever and tried his best to reassure her, promising that a new combination of drugs would reverse the pneumonia that had set in. Jenny hadn’t the heart to tell him his efforts would more than likely be in vain.

As she drove the hire car out of the hotel with Alison following, she had asked herself again whether, if she arrived too late to see her son alive, she would be able to live with her decision. The answer was no. But nor could she live with not having done all in her power to save him. She had no choice: her life – or all that she counted as her life – ended with his. And having accepted the fact, she felt as eerily peaceful as the night.

The satnav led her fifteen meandering miles along country roads and single-track lanes that twisted along ancient boundaries and over chalk downs before descending into the ink-black Savernake Forest. Centuries-old oaks and spreading beeches reached out to each other from opposite sides of the road, forming a shadowy tunnel that seemed to close in more tightly with every passing yard. The road dipped and the canopy grew denser, blocking out every speck of sky. The outer darkness was complete.

A disembodied voice quietly instructed her that she had arrived at her destination. Jenny slowed, searching the unbroken line of trees at the roadside in search of the forest entrance the caller had described. She caught sight of it up ahead – a rough forest track wide enough only for a single vehicle. She slowed and turned in, Alison’s Ford tailing her all the way. The VW’s underside scraped noisily over the thick ridge of grass growing down the track’s middle, forcing her to creep along at walking pace. She followed a slow right-hand bend and arrived at a fork. To the left she could make out the outline of a stationary trailer partially loaded with timber. She followed the instruction to continue round to the right, following the track through several more steep bends until she arrived at what he had described as a pull-in: a semi-circle gouged out of the bank big enough only for a forestry tractor to make a three-point turn.

Jenny pulled over and drew to a halt. Alison came alongside and wound down her window.

She pointed to the track up ahead. ‘I’m going to turn around and reverse up there. You should turn around, too – best to face him head-on. Sound the horn if you need help. And don’t whatever you do get out. Let him come to you.’

‘Fine.’ Jenny let Alison feel she was in control, a detective again.

Alison shifted into reverse, turned her car in the tight space and reversed twenty yards further up the narrow track. When she killed her lights she became invisible. Jenny followed suit, jerkily turning the VW around so it pointed back the way she had come. She dipped her lights, let the engine idle, and waited.

Only a few minutes had passed when the first flickers of light probed through the trees, rising and dipping as the approaching vehicle bounced through the deep ruts. Jenny readied herself, feeling her fingers tighten around the rim of the steering wheel. The lights drew closer and finally appeared around the nearest bend. The oncoming car, a silver saloon, slowed and came to a stop some twenty feet ahead of her. After a few seconds’ pause, the phone on her passenger seat rang.

It was him, the voice she had heard less than an hour earlier. ‘I presume that’s you, Mrs Cooper.’

‘It is.’