The Redeemed (19 page)

Eva Donaldson
had dialled only
six different numbers in the final fortnight of her life.
Ringing each in turn, Alison established that they were Decency's Bristol and
London offices, Michael Turnbull and Lennox Strong's direct lines, the Mission
Church of God's main switchboard and Freddy Reardon's mobile. She had called
Freddy five times in eight days, but she had spoken to Lennox Strong only
twice.

Protocol dictated that Jenny should have sent Alison to
interview a potential witness, but there were occasions, and this was one of
them, in which she couldn't entirely trust her officer to put her prejudice
aside. She told herself it was an exploratory visit, that she was approaching
Freddy merely for background information. It was stretching the rules to their
outer limits, and as she parked beneath the tower blocks of the Langan Estate
she stopped to reconsider. Who was she doing this for? Was it really for Eva?
Did she actually need to be here or was she allowing herself to be bullied by
Starr? She stared through the windscreen at a carrier bag drifting across a
scrubby patch of grass littered with crushed tins and broken glass and hoped
for an answer. None came.

It was an image of McAvoy which formed behind her eyes. She
pictured his face the day she confronted him in the courtroom, at the moment he
confessed his fear of what, or more precisely the one, he had called the
'author of all this sadness'. He had managed at one and the same time to be
both a wicked and a good man who feared for his soul. During the months since
he had gone, Jenny had scarcely dared acknowledge the fact that their coming
together had been something far more than mere sex could consummate. Without
exchanging a word, they had both known that she was offering him a route to
redemption and he was doing the same for her. It might have happened, only in
wringing out the truth he had killed a man, and then thrown himself into
purgatory, leaving her to face the conclusion alone.

The lift that took her to the fifteenth floor of the Molyneux
Tower was plastered with obscene graffiti and smelled so overpoweringly of
ammonia that it burnt her nostrils during its painfully slow ascent. Bursting
out of the doors, Jenny found herself looking down a long, noisy corridor. As
she made her way along its full length to number 28, she was assailed by the
sound of domestic arguments, barking dogs and the heavy thump of bass
permeating the flimsy apartment walls.

The woman who eventually shuffled to the door and half-
opened it looked old enough to be Freddy's grandmother. Eileen Reardon was
heavily overweight with unkempt greying hair that straggled to her shoulders.
A loose, kaftan-style dress did little to disguise her bulk. Around her swollen
neck she wore a pewter Celtic cross.

'Mrs Reardon?'

The woman peered at her suspiciously.

'Jenny Cooper. Severn Vale District Coroner. I called
earlier—'

'Freddy's not back yet.' She looked Jenny up and down. 'I
suppose you want to come in.'

'If you wouldn't mind.'

Mrs Reardon moved back along the small, stuffy hallway. Jenny
followed her into a dingy living room. The only natural light was the little
that leaked around the edges of shabby, tie-dyed drapes tacked permanently over
the windows. Two mismatched sofas smothered in cheap ethnic throws were
arranged on either side of a low table. The air was stale with the smell of
Indian incense and cigarette smoke. Jenny had the feeling that Mrs Reardon
spent most of her waking hours in this room.

'Would you like some coffee?' Mrs Reardon asked.

Jenny eyed a collection of filthy mugs sitting next to a
grubby ashtray. 'No thanks. I'm fine.'

She took a seat and noticed her host's badly swollen ankles
and the wheezing sounds she made as she lowered herself onto the sofa opposite.
A heart condition, Jenny thought, and wondered if Mrs Reardon was even aware
that she was ill.

'You want to talk to him about this girl, do you?' Eileen
Reardon asked in a manner which suggested that she didn't approve of Eva
Donaldson.

'Yes. Did you know her?'

'No,' she said, as if the idea was ridiculous. 'I don't go in
for any of that.'

'Church, you mean?'

'All that puritanical stuff. I ask you, who cares? She
regretted her past - so what? So do lots of us.' She gave a self-conscious
laugh.

'She seemed to have a lot of time for Freddy.'

'He's that sort of boy, friends with everyone.'

Jenny glanced at a rickety set of bamboo bookshelves jumbled
with books on the New Age: titles on crystals, auras and chakra healing.

'I know,' Mrs Reardon said, following her gaze, 'Freddy and I
aren't exactly peas in a pod, are we? I'm afraid I haven't read the Bible since
I was at school, if I ever did then.' She shrugged. 'Whatever works for you, I
suppose.'

'How did Freddy get involved with the Mission Church?' Jenny
asked as innocently as she could. 'I've got a son almost the same age, I can't
imagine how it happens.'

'I don't remember,' Eileen said dismissively, 'probably someone
at school. It seems to be a bit of a craze - a weird one, but I suppose that's
the point. You don't rebel by doing something your parents would like.'

'You don't quite approve.'

'It's not the only way people get better, I know that much.'

'I'll confess, I was there yesterday. I saw him speaking. He
gave the impression that he as good as owed his life to the church.'

'I was helping him, too,' Mrs Reardon said defensively. 'I'd
been giving him healing for three years. They can't take all the credit.'

'He said he'd been suffering from depression.'

Mrs Reardon shifted her large mass uncomfortably beneath her.
'You can give it a label if you like. I don't put much store by doctors,
personally, especially psychiatrists.'

Jenny gave an understanding nod, hoping she would tell her
more. It worked.

'Freddy lost his father when he was younger and didn't get on
with the man I was with,' Mrs Reardon said. 'But once the quacks get their
claws into you it's hard to escape. I never wanted him in hospital but you're
just the parent, you don't count for anything.'

Becoming agitated, she heaved herself to her feet. 'Where is
he? He said he'd be here by now.' She produced a cordless phone from amidst a
heap of clutter on the table and dialled his number.

'Freddy, it's Mum. Where are you? She's here, waiting for
you.' She sighed. 'I don't care, it's up to you. Please yourself. All right, I
will.' She stabbed the off button with a puffy finger.

'Is everything all right?'

'He doesn't want to talk to you in front of me.'

'I don't want to force him.'

Mrs Reardon was quiet for a moment, then suddenly flared.
'How about telling me what the hell it is you want from him?'

'He was one of the people Eva spoke to a lot before she died.
I just want to know what she said.'

'I'm not stupid. He was at church the night she was killed,
we went through all that with the police. He's only a boy - why can't you
people leave him alone?'

'I'm sorry. I didn't mean — '

'He's got nothing to say to you. He's had enough trouble
without you stirring it all up.'

Jenny wondered if it was Freddy or his mother who was the
more fragile. Her face was beetroot; she laboured for every breath.

Deciding there was nothing to be gained by imposing herself,
Jenny said goodbye and let herself out.