The Redeemed (40 page)

Jenny sat on the
back seat of Coughlin's convertible. Father Starr didn't say a word as they
drove the short distance across the centre of town to Queen Square, his eyes
unreadable behind the dark glasses. At first she thought he might have been
embarrassed into silence, but then she spotted rosary beads in his fingers and
realized he was praying.

Coughlin cruised
past the rows of parked Mercedes and pulled up on the double-yellow outside
Montego House. He told Father Starr to stay in the car and followed Jenny to
the office's front entrance.

'Let me do the
talking,' Jenny said.

'You're the
boss.'

'Do I use your
real name?'

'Certainly. This
is lawful business, right?'

'Maybe.'

Coughlin smiled
and pressed the buzzer.

The uppity
receptionist looked baffled at the arrival of two unexpected visitors. 'Can I
help you?'

'Jenny Cooper,'
Jenny reminded her. 'And this is Detective Inspector Sean Coughlin of the
Metropolitan Police. We're here to speak to Mr Lynd.'

'Good afternoon,
ma'am,' Coughlin said.

'I'm afraid he's
with clients.'

'Could you
please tell him it's urgent?'

The receptionist
looked from Jenny to Coughlin, then down at the phone, searching for a reason
not to pick it up.

Gently touching
Jenny's arm, Coughlin said, 'Why don't you tell us where we can find him? You
looked as if you were about to go home. We wouldn't want to hold you up.'

Eyeing him
warily, the receptionist got up from her chair and pushed it under the desk. 'I
believe you'll find Mr Lynd in the meeting room at the end of the corridor on
the first floor.'

'You're very
kind,' Coughlin said, and waited for her to start towards the front door.
Quickening her pace, she left the building without a backwards glance.

Jenny glanced up
at the painting above the fancy fireplace: the half-caste man with cold eyes,
rich on slave-grown sugar.

'Are we going to
find him or admire the antiques?' Coughlin said. He headed for the stairs.

They arrived at
a wood-panelled landing on the first floor. The Persian carpet and expensive
fittings gave an impression of old-world opulence.

'You'd never
think they were in the skin business,' Coughlin said.

Jenny stepped
ahead of him and led the way along the passage, passing a number of ornately
carved oak doors and heading for the one at the end with a brass plate that
said Meeting Room.

She knocked
twice and turned the handle, entering to see Damien Lynd starting up from the
conference table. His meeting was with two attractive young women, scarcely
more than girls, and a middle-aged man with a ponytail and a pot-belly that
bulged over the top of his skinny jeans. He looked seedy enough to be their
pimp.

'Sorry to
interrupt, Mr Lynd, but it can't wait. This is Detective Inspector Sean
Coughlin. Could we have a word?'

'My apologies,'
Lynd said to his startled clients, his face colouring. 'I shan't be a moment.'

Lynd followed
them into the corridor and marched several yards from the door before turning
to confront them. 'What do you want?'

'I'm here to
enforce Mr Justice Laithwaite's order,' Jenny said. 'It was served on you
yesterday afternoon. I'd be grateful if you'd hand over Miss Donaldson's
files.'

'Out of the
question,' Lynd said, confident of his ground. 'Your inquest was stayed this
morning. I've seen that order, too.'

'For want of
evidence. More has since come to light. As of this afternoon I've started a
fresh inquiry.'

Lynd said, 'Even
if you're entitled to do so, Mrs Cooper, Mr Justice Laithwaite's order relates
to your previous investigation. I don't think we have anything more to
discuss.'

Jenny stepped in
front of him. 'We can read the words together if you like, Mr Lynd. It says I'm
entitled to disclosure for the purposes of my inquiry into Miss Donaldson's
death. Now you can either assist me, or Mr Coughlin here will have to assist
you in fetching what we've come for.'

'Even if I could
lay my hands on the files, I really can't comply without clarification from the
judge. This will have to wait.' He held up his hands. 'I'm sorry, Mrs Cooper,
that's my final word.'

Lynd turned to
the office door behind him and reached for the handle. Coughlin pushed past
Jenny and clamped a hand on his shoulder.

'I don't think
you understand, Mr Lynd.'

Lynd spun round,
his face twisted in anger. 'You've no right to be here and you know it. Get
out.'

Coughlin said,
'If you'll pardon me, you don't look like a man with the balls to tough this
one out. In fact, I'd say you were as anxious as we are to get this done and
yourself in the clear. You're not the boss here, and I don't suppose it was
your decision to protect Turnbull, even though he'd like most of your clients
out of business - am I right?' He looked Lynd in the eye. 'Think of it as your
one chance to do good, Mr Lynd. Believe me, you'll feel a better man for it.'

The meeting-room
door opened and the pimp looked out. 'What's going on, Damien? I've got to be
somewhere.'

'Five minutes,'
Lynd apologized. 'Help yourself to coffee.'

The man grumbled
and slammed back inside.

'They're in the
storeroom,' Lynd said. 'There's a copier you can use.'

Jenny said, 'If
it's all the same, I think we'll make do with the originals.'

Lynd thought
about arguing, but instead pushed his designer glasses up his nose and took off
towards the stairs.

Coughlin said,
'Looks like you've got the place to yourself, Mr Lynd, or are your colleagues
just keeping their heads down?'

The lawyer
didn't answer.

They followed
him across the reception area and through a door into a short, windowless
passage that led to a secure storage room protected by a heavy steel door. Lynd
typed in the access code, then heaved it open. They entered a large,
low-ceilinged vault with a bare concrete floor. Archive boxes were stacked on
rows of industrial shelving separated by narrow aisles.

Jenny and
Coughlin followed Lynd to end of a row. He pulled a box off the shelf. 'This is
hers.'

Jenny said,
'You're sure that's everything you've got?'

'Film contracts,
house conveyance, terms of employment. The lot.' He set it on the floor and
took off the lid, revealing ten or more files stacked on their sides. 'Do I get
a receipt or something?'

'I'll fax one
over.'

Lynd glanced up
at Coughlin. 'Is this all you want from me?'

Coughlin said,
'Hand me one of those files.'

Lynd stalled for
a moment, puzzled. Coughlin leaned down and took one from the box. Lynd stayed
crouched on the floor, staring at the concrete as Coughlin opened it.

'What's this, Mr
Lynd? I don't see Miss Donaldson's name.'

He showed it to
Jenny. It looked like an old set of company accounts for a restaurant
business. Coughlin pulled out another file and wrenched it open: a bunch of
letters in a tenancy dispute. 'Did Miss Donaldson own a fish restaurant? Or
have you got her mixed up with another one of your whores?'

Lynd pushed up
to his feet and took a step back. 'I want a guarantee ... I was just one of her
lawyers. I want to know I'm not going to be implicated in whatever it is you're
investigating.'

'You're not
helping yourself, Mr Lynd.' Coughlin said. Jenny flinched, as, without warning,
he threw the file in Lynd's face, the pages fluttering to the floor at his
feet. 'Now get the right fucking box before I rip your balls off, you piece of
shite.'

Jenny gave
Coughlin a look, but his eyes were locked on Lynd, who was slowly shuffling
backwards, shaking his head. 'I
can't...
I can't do it.'

Coughlin kicked
the box aside, shot out a fist and drove it hard into Lynd's stomach. As the
lawyer slumped forward, the detective grabbed his shirt with a powerful left
hand, hit him hard across the face with his right, then reached down and
grabbed his crotch.

Lynd made a
pathetic croaking sound. His broken glasses dropped to the floor.

Jenny was
appalled. 'What the hell are you doing?'

'Do you think I
was kidding you, Mr Lynd?' Coughlin said, ignoring her. He tightened his grip.
Lynd's face twisted in agony.

Jenny started at
a splintering crash that echoed down the hallway and through the open door.

'You devious wee
bastard!' He slammed his fist into Lynd's temple. Jenny saw the lights go out
even before his neck had snapped back onto his shoulders and his legs folded
beneath him. 'Turn this shit-hole over,' Coughlin shouted at her, shoving past
and heading for the door.

Jenny looked
down at Lynd, who was now slowly stirring and groaning. Thank God he was
moving. She glanced up at the shelves, the hundreds of identical boxes. Where
would she start? From out in the hall she heard sounds of a struggle, furniture
being thrown, Coughlin yelling. She ran out into the short passageway. The door
to the reception area was wide open. Next to an upturned sofa, a thug in a
camouflage jacket was holding Coughlin from behind, while a shorter man in a
business suit drove the butt of a night stick into his stomach.

Jenny had no
control over the scream that came out of her. The two men dropped Coughlin to
the floor and started towards her.

'Hey!'

They spun round
at the sound of another male voice. Walking towards them was a priest holding a
spray can at arm's length as if it might explode in his hand. The one with the
night stick was raising it over his shoulder as the dirt- brown jet of pepper
spray snaked out of the nozzle and hit his face. Starr switched aim to his
friend and caught him while he was still off-guard.

Jenny had never
heard grown men howl. Their eyes on fire, they floundered like pole-axed
drunks, the thug dropping to his knees, the suit collapsing against the
reception desk,

Father Starr was
as surprised as she was, and crossed himself twice. Coughlin was on his feet
now, but with a hand clamped across his middle. He hobbled towards Jenny.

'Did you find
them?'

She shook her
head.

Coughlin pulled
her out of the doorway and went back down the passage to the storeroom. There
was a brief, pitiful cry from Lynd and a few moments later the detective
returned with a box under his arm.

He placed a hand
in the small of Jenny's back and steered her around the two blinded men.

As the three of
them left the building Starr said, 'I found it in the glove box. Did I do the
right thing?'

Couglin replied,
'God was with you, Father.'