The Redeemed

CHAPTER 4




Ignoring Alison's warnings that anything other than an endorsement of the criminal court's verdict would threaten her already shaky tenure as coroner, Jenny wrote to Eva Donaldson's father informing him that she was ordering a final post-mortem examination of his daughter's body before releasing it for burial. Her next pressing task was to track down Eva's ex-boyfriend, Joseph Cassidy. He wasn't hard to find. An internet search revealed that he had starred alongside Eva in a number of films, all with names as obscene as the images that advertised them, and since leaving that business he had reinvented himself as the managing director of Wild West Productions, a television production company with offices in Bristol and Soho, central London. Not surprisingly, his company website contained no mention of his past in adult movies.

Jenny called him at his office number. Cassidy answered the phone himself, no assistant to protect him from the pestering hordes. When she announced herself and requested a meeting, Cassidy said, 'I've really nothing to say. Eva and I hadn't been seeing each other for more than two years.' He spoke with a Dublin accent that made him sound endearing even when he was being evasive.

'But I understand you had recently got back in touch?'

There was a brief silence.

'Where'd you get that from?' Cassidy asked.

'You're not under suspicion, Mr Cassidy. I'm just trying to find out if there's anything more about Eva's death that ought to be known.'

'It's all been said.'

'You're sure?'

'Honestly, I wish I could help you.'

She sensed him wavering and pounced. 'Why don't I buy you a drink and you can tell me what you do know?'





They met in a waterside bar at the harbour and sat at an outside table overlooking the boats, a warm breeze playing off the water. Joseph, or Joe, as he preferred to be called, resembled an ageing surfer. Suntanned, with tousled blonde hair, he wore an open-necked pink shirt under a black summer- weight suit. He ordered neat vodka with ice and a dash of lemon juice. Jenny settled on neat tonic, her nerves still held in check by the Xanax she had taken before visiting the prison.

Keeping to small talk while they waited for their order to arrive, she asked him about the television business. The small screen was taking care of itself, Cassidy said, but he already had ambitions for feature films; he had just discovered a screenwriter who was going to be hotter than Tarantino. There were plenty doing the rounds who claimed to have mixed with gangsters, but this young man was the real thing - gold dust - a former drug dealer who had served time for shooting a rival through the kneecap.

Jenny listened patiently, but was glad when the waiter arrived with their drinks. Joe waited for Jenny to sip hers before he took a mouthful of the neat vodka, pretending he could take it or leave it.

Jenny said, 'Tell me about your relationship with Eva.'

More confident now he had a glass in his hand, Joe said, 'I'd like to know what you've heard about me first.'

'Just what I told you on the phone - that you and Eva had communicated recently.'

'Yeah, but who told you?'

'Paul Craven's solicitors knew about it,' Jenny lied, instinctively wanting to keep Father Starr's name out of the conversation for now.

'Hmm.' Joe took a big gulp of his vodka. 'I guess they must have talked to her lawyers. Trust those bastards to break their word.'

Jenny waited for him to enlarge.

'Does what I say here go any further?'

'That depends on what it is.'

'And if I don't talk?'

'I'd probably have to summon you to my inquest and make you answer under oath.'

'And this way I don't have to do that?'

'Possibly.'

'The thing is, Jenny—'

'Would you mind if we kept it to Mrs Cooper?'

Cassidy smiled. 'Whatever you like, Mrs Cooper. I did have a couple of meetings with Eva at the beginning of the year, but the matters we discussed were in strictest confidence.'

'Is that still relevant now she's dead?'

'It could be.'

'I don't follow.'

Cassidy pushed his hands through his hair. She noticed it was thinning at the temples. 'Look, I get that you probably know my history, how Eva and I met, but we both felt pretty much the same way about the adult entertainment business. I didn't even make money - girls get five times as much as guys, did you realize that?'

'No, I didn't.' She took a patient sip of her tonic.

'And if there's one good thing that comes out of all this, it's that Eva actually achieved something.'

'You mean Decency?'

'Yes. She wanted the law changed and so do I. In less than two weeks from now the bill gets debated in Parliament. That's what she'd been working for ever since we split up.'

'You're saying that whatever you discussed could jeopardize that in some way?'

'It's certainly possible.'

Jenny put her hands on the table. 'Mr Cassidy, we're talking about a young woman who was murdered. Unfortunately, it seems the police didn't go as far in their inquiry as they might have done - you're one of the people they should have spoken to, but didn't. One way or another you will eventually have to reveal what you know.'

Cassidy emptied his glass and crunched on an ice cube. Jenny tried to banish the image of him she'd seen on her computer: a still from Locker Room Orgy. 'Look,' he said, 'it wasn't that Eva wasn't totally committed to Decency, but she needed to make money. She'd got used to a certain standard of living, and who can blame her? She'd heard I'd gone into straight film-making and she came to me in the hope of lining up some work for later. We talked about using her reputation to pitch a TV series. It was going to be about these women she used to work with who were trying to shake free of their pasts and lead ordinary lives. She had a title: Fallen Angels. But nothing was going to happen until after the campaign was over, OK? Decency came first.'

'Did she tell anyone else about these plans?'

'Not as far as I know.

Jenny studied his face and decided he seemed more or less genuine. He didn't come across as sharp enough to be a good liar. If he were female, you would have called him a bimbo.

'Tell me, what was Eva's state of mind when you met her?'

'To be honest, I thought she was feeling the strain of being on show the whole time. She reminded me a little of how she was after the accident, when she was depressed. She was showing the same signs.'

'Such as?'

'She was jumpy, smoking a lot, and her hand would shake - you know, like an old person's.'

'Did she have any enemies that you knew of?'

Cassidy glanced up and down the boardwalk, then leaned in across the table, lowering his voice to a whisper. 'If you're asking do I think someone other than Paul Craven killed her, I'd say anything's possible. But what I do know is the porno business, and that the people that run it are far too rich and clever to get their own hands dirty - you know what I'm saying? I've thought about it every which way, and if Craven didn't do it, he must have arrived to find her already dead, right? So it could have been a professional hit - why not? You should hear the stories this scriptwriter tells me.'

Jenny said, 'Would you like another drink?'

Cassidy said, 'Only if you're having one.'

The second dose of vodka loosened Cassidy's tongue to the point at which Jenny sensed he was trying to please her. He told her that he'd met Eva when she'd already been in the industry for some time and they were cast in the same movie. They'd bonded over their love of sixties music - a time when pop was a rebellion, not just a business. From the moment he met her, Cassidy said, he knew she was different from the other girls he worked with; there was something behind her eyes, an intelligence, depth. It was what made her so special: her audience wanted to get to know her for more than just her body. And even though she was making big money, she was always planning for the future. Way before she found God, he remembered her saying, 'There's no reason we only have to be one person throughout our lives, we can be as many as we like.'

Thinking Eva would have been an interesting woman to have met, Jenny said, 'How did that happen, her conversion?'

'Just like the story goes. "He caught me just as my fingers were slipping from the edge," is how she described it to me.'

'And you're convinced it was genuine?'

Cassidy grinned, showing off expensive teeth. 'Put it this way, I hadn't been inside a church since my First Communion. When we met that second time, in February, Eva said she'd had a word of knowledge - I think that's what she called it - telling her to tell me to go to Mass. Can you believe it? Me! But just for her I went four times in a row, confessed my many sins, and - guess what? - the first channel I talked to about Fallen Angels virtually bit my hand off. The only problem was they wanted someone else to play Eva's part.'

'How did she react to that?'

'Like you'd imagine - she was disappointed, but I kept telling her she'd have a share of the show and a creator credit. That would have made her a proper player, part of the business. Pretty actresses are ten a penny.'

'But it wasn't going to solve her money problems.'

'I told her she should work in PR, cash in on all the skills she'd learned with Decency.' He stared into his empty glass and shook his head. 'Let me tell you the funny thing about Eva. She could walk naked onto a set and have sex with six guys in front of a full crew, but ask her to make a simple phone call, it'd take her half the day to pluck up the courage.'

Jenny said, 'We all suffer from our contradictions.'

'Yeah,' Cassidy said, 'we certainly do.'





Unless the whispers Starr had received from Cassidy's priest contained something darkly sinister, Jenny couldn't see that Eva having entertained ambitions to be a straight actress gave her any reason to conduct a full inquest. Of course it was logically possible that Craven hadn't killed Eva; he could have gone to her house and, acting on some strange animal impulse, urinated on her door mat without actually coming into contact with her, but that wasn't what he claimed. He denied having been there at all. Her lawyerly instincts, ingrained over fifteen years of practice, told her it was unethical to explore possibilities that a criminal defendant hadn't suggested in his own defence, but as a coroner she had to force herself to think differently. She wasn't bound by any one version of events; she could investigate and test whatever theory she wished. Her overriding duty was to uncover the truth. She could feel her conscience drawing her towards holding an inquest, but at the same time another voice was warning her to beware.

Wrestling with these conflicting thoughts as she walked back to her car, she passed a fly-poster among the many plastered on the outside wall of the multi-storey. An attractive young black man pointed out of the picture above the caption, I'm on a mission. Are you? Beneath the caption, it said: Come to where the love is. Mission Church of God, 5 Fleetway.





She told herself it was purely idle curiosity that made her drive across town at the end of the day to see for herself. At the south-east edge of the city off a busy road through

Bedminster, she turned into the vast and busy car park for what she had remembered as a multiplex cinema, bowling alley and pizza restaurant. Ross had had his thirteenth birthday party here. She and her ex-husband, David, had celebrated the occasion by yelling at each other in front of all the kids, ensuring Ross never invited any of them home again. The cinema and alley had now been knocked into one vast barn of a building, in front of which stood an illuminated white cross which reached higher than the peak of the roof. The former pizza restaurant, which occupied a separate chalet-style building opposite, had been re-branded 'McG's'. All the parking spaces near the building were already taken and the rest were filling quickly. Slipping into a zone reserved for employees and official visitors, she pulled up next to a sleek maroon-coloured sports car that made her ten-year-old VW look like a wreck.

She joined the horde of casually dressed families and groups of teenagers heading for the main entrance of the Mission Church, unable to stop herself becoming infected by the excitement in the air. Black and white kids, parents and infants, all mingled together, eager to join the same party. Loudspeakers set high up on poles relayed the sound from inside: a big congregation clapping and cheering as a choir and full band belted out a catchy gospel number. Jenny found herself alongside a group of lively teenage girls who swung their bodies in time with the chorus. Straight ahead was the entrance to the main auditorium. Grinning teenage boys wearing MCG T-shirts shook hands with the faithful as they went in, saying, 'God bless you, brother,' and 'Welcome to God's house.' To the left was an open- plan retail area that resembled an airport mini-mall. Jenny's eye was caught by a sign hanging over one of the aisles that said 'Decency'.

Stepping out of the flow of worshippers, she entered the shop. One entire centre shelf was filled with Eva Donaldson's scarred face staring calmly from the cover of Fallen Angel: How God Saved a Porn Star. Jenny picked up a copy and was leafing through the pages of simply written prose when she became aware of a TV screen further along the aisle on which an interview between Eva and a young pastor was playing. Dressed demurely in a dark suit and silk blouse buttoned up to the neck, Eva wore her hair back from her broken face, proud of the scars that gouged vertically through the left side of her face leaving her eye partially closed.

The pastor asked her how it felt to know that her films were still being watched by millions of people on the internet. Eva said, 'Since coming to Christ and being born again in the spirit, I know that the person they are watching isn't me. But aside from that, people should know that a lot of what I did was forced on me by contracts I was too frightened to break. Even in my state of sin, much of the time I wasn't consenting, I was letting myself be abused, and anyone who watches those films is a party to that.' Pausing to wipe away a tear, she collected herself and straightened her shoulders. 'But my real message is that the dividing line is clear - if you're watching pornography you're not with God, and if you're not with God, well, I don't have to tell you whose company you're keeping.'

'Can I help you, madam?'

A slender, red-headed boy of no more than sixteen hovered nearby. His bright yellow T-shirt read: TEAM MCG: on mission for God.

'No thank you,' Jenny said. 'I'm just looking.'

'I can recommend Eva's book. Lots of people say it's changed their lives. She certainly changed mine.'

Jenny placed Fallen Angel back on the shelf. 'Maybe I'll call by on my way out.'

She turned to go.

'Is this your first visit?' the boy asked.

'Yes,' Jenny answered, more abruptly than she had intended.

Unfazed, the boy said, 'My name's Freddy. Pleased to meet you.'

He held out a pale, freckled hand.

'Jenny Cooper.'

Freddy gave her a warm smile. 'Welcome to MCG, Jenny. We're a church, but not as you know it. You'll find everything here's very relaxed. There are no particular rules about how to behave, but if you've got any questions just ask anyone wearing a team shirt. Is there anything you'd like to know?'

Jenny asked, 'Did you say you knew Eva Donaldson?'

'She was one of the first people I met here. She was leader of my study group.' A hint of sadness entered Freddy's bright expression. 'She was a beautiful person. We all miss her very much.'

Freddy's sincerity ignited a feeling of maternal warmth inside her, and Jenny found herself wishing her son could be a little more like him. 'Why don't I take the book now?' she said. 'I don't suppose you'll be able to move in here later.'

'You know how many people we're hoping for tonight? Five thousand.'

'You're kidding. Is it that many every week?'

Lighting up, Freddy said, 'It's usually closer to three but Pastor Bobby's here - he's on a world tour. He's opening new churches in Amsterdam, Hamburg, Moscow and Sydney.'

A roar of applause issued from the auditorium as the choir reached the end of their number. The bookshelves shook with the vibration of stamping feet.

'We'd better hurry,' the boy said. 'You don't want to miss the start.'





The body of the church was the size of a small aircraft hangar and set out like an amphitheatre. Five thousand seats were arranged on a gently sloping floor facing a raised, semi-circular stage, on which stood a choir dressed in shiny purple robes alongside a twelve-piece band. Two big screens suspended on cables from the ceiling announced, 'Bobby DeMont - World Tour'. Jenny found an end-of-row seat as the man himself jogged out of the wings, his startling image filling the big screens. In his late forties, slim, tanned and with thick walnut-coloured hair, Bobby DeMont wore a suit and tie and silver-tipped cowboy boots which glinted under the lights. The preacher soaked up the applause like a movie star, bowing to each section of the auditorium in turn before holding up his outspread hands and closing his eyes.

'Dear Lord, I am truly humbled to be here today.'

'A-men,' the audience thundered in reply.

'Now, as you all know,' Bobby began, strutting to and fro across the stage, his homely southern accent picked up by an invisible microphone and relayed with perfect clarity through a network of speakers, 'it's been a little over fifteen years since a young country pastor from the back hills of West Virginia answered God's call to set up shop in the big city. Bobby, the Lord said to me that evening in my itty- bitty tin-shack church in Oakville, much as you love these good people you grew up with, I'm gonna to take you on a journey. I'm gonna take you on a journey to a city you've never been to before, the seat of your government no less, to fish for souls.' He grinned into the cameras. 'So with nothing more than four hundred dollars and a suitcase full of hick clothes I learned the meaning of what it is to be a fool for Christ. When I stepped off that bus in Washington

DC I literally did not know which way to turn. Everywhere I looked there was traffic and hostile faces, and I thought: man, you've lost your mind, this is crazy; this isn't an act of faith, it's an act of stupidity.' Bobby stopped abruptly and stared out at the sea of admirers. The air crackled with expectation. He continued in hushed, dramatic tones: 'And after I'd walked the streets for an hour or so I wandered into a poor black neighbourhood. There were kids on the corners dealing drugs, prostitutes giving me the eye, guys in bandannas who looked as if they'd shoot you down for a nickel. And I'll be honest, folks, I was afraid - I'd never been to no big city before. I tried to retrace my steps but I just got more and more lost and desperate. I was scurrying along a sidewalk that was all covered with trash and broken needles and I turned a corner and ran slap-bam into a group of bums outside a liquor store smoking what I took to be marijuana. There was four of them, all gang tattoos and gold teeth - you know the kind. Well, they took their time looking me up and down in my western boots and my cowboy hat, and then the biggest of 'em stepped toward me. I was so frightened I couldn't even run; tell the truth, I could hardly breathe. Then this fella says, "Sir, you look like a man who's lost his way. May I be of any assistance?" And in this squeaky little voice I said, "Sure. Can you point me the way to downtown?" And this fella smiled like I'll never forget: a cross between a great white shark and Charles Manson. Then guess what, folks?' Bobby smiled. 'He pulled a gun, robbed my money and took my best hat.'

The crowd roared and, watching Bobby's smiling face on the big screen, Jenny couldn't help sharing their elation.

'You see the moral of the story is, not even Almighty God can protect us from our foolishness.'

Amens and more laughter rang around the auditorium till Bobby raised his hands to call for silence.

'Four years in college and a solid upbringing, I shoulda known better,' he trumpeted, stamping the heel of his boot on the stage. 'I shoulda known that God gives us the tools and it's down to us to use 'em the very best we can. Well, fortunately, he gave me a second chance. When I'd done calling my mama and getting an ear full of I-told-you-sos, I volunteered myself at Mount Zion Church. Three weeks later I was promoted to a salaried position as an outreach worker and street pastor. My job was to pick street drunks and junkies out of the gutter and feed soup to the homeless. I worked hard and lived simple, but I'll be honest with you, my friends, it was tough, thankless toil and my faith was sorely tested. Two unbroken years of service in the Lord later, I was sent out to take over a run-down old church in a neighbourhood so wild even the rats were scared to go out at night. How I longed for green fields the day I set eyes on that place. I swear, if I could've raised the fare I'd have jumped right on the Greyhound back to Oakville. But I didn't have a penny. There was nowhere to run. Well, that beat-up heap of rubble was so filthy and depressing I decided the only thing I could do was to name it in such a way as to give me hope, because to be honest, people, right then I had none in my heart.' Bobby turned his gaze to the floor and lowered his voice to a whisper. 'I named it the Mission Church of God.'

A profound silence descended over the congregation, broken only by a single 'Praise be' from a lone female voice deep in their midst.

'That was exactly twelve years ago next Tuesday. Friends, I'll make a confession. Even a pastor forgets to read his scripture sometimes. There I was in a crime-ridden slum pining for the forests and creeks of my carefree youth when I should've been reading Luke 13:19. The kingdom of God is like a small—'

'Mustard seed!' the audience chanted in unison.

'That's right. And O hallelujah praise God Almighty how that mustard seed has grown. That first Sunday I preached to eight people, and three of them was asleep! Twelve years down the line there's not a stadium been built could hold all the members of this Mission Church of God. Right now, ladies and gentleman, kids, this mighty tree that's spreading across the whole wide world has more than two hundred thousand birds nesting in its branches. If that isn't proof that God holds good to his promises no matter how incredible they seem, then you tell me what is.'

The crowd jumped to their feet, hands raised, hallelujahs ringing out.

'Don't thank me, thank the Lord,' Bobby cried out and turned to the band, who struck up right on cue. The words to the worship song scrolled up the big screens:



Shine Jesus shine,

Fill this land

With the father's glory,

Blaze spirit blaze, set our hearts on fire . . .



The song was hypnotic, rousing, and as it drew to a close Jenny felt the pent-up energy in the auditorium replaced with a strange and powerful sense of collective peace, as if five thousand people were united in love and goodwill.

Suspending judgement, she allowed herself to be carried along with the tide, laughing and applauding with her neighbours as Bobby stepped up again to preach on the subject of a Christian's duty to live in the spirit, no matter where it might lead him. With a string of humorous anecdotes about his dealings with sceptical and corrupt politicians around the globe, Bobby showed his audience that speaking the truth, no matter how challenging, was the only way to walk with God. And the alternative to God, he said, was the devil.

'Any of you going to walk with the devil?' he challenged.

'No!' the audience boomed in reply.

'Well, ain't you lucky people - you've each got four thousand, nine hundred and ninety brothers and sisters here to hold you to your promise. Now I want you to turn to your neighbours, shake them by the hand and wish them strength in Jesus.'

Jenny found herself overwhelmed with outstretched hands, perfect strangers wishing her strength and offering ardent blessings.

'And now,' Bobby said, 'I'm going to introduce you to two men who've been towers of strength to me and have helped build this wonderful church here in Bristol, England - Mike Turnbull and Lennox Strong.'

The two men joined him on stage to a thunder of applause. Michael Turnbull was a similar age to Bobby, casually dressed and with the same glowing countenance that radiated wholesomeness and prosperity. Lennox Strong was an athletic black man in his late twenties. A tight T- shirt hugged his muscled torso.

Bobby invited each of them to give their testimonies for the benefit of all those who still doubted the truth of God's presence. Michael stepped forward first and told his story of being a wealthy, burnt-out ex-businessman who felt as wretched about his life's work and his contribution to the explosion in pornography as that great evangelist John Newton had once done about his role in the slave trade. It was hearing Pastor Bobby DeMont, over three years ago, that had finally opened the doors of his heart and changed him for ever. It was Bobby who had led him to realize that, through the Lord's infinite grace, even the most evil sinner can be made clean. He'd thrown open the doors and God rushed in as fast as daylight flooding a darkened room. But he hadn't let him rest easy. No, he had presented him with the biggest challenge of his life. Not only did he charge him with raising a church in the parched sands of a spiritual desert, he asked him to make war on pornography. It was far more than one human being could achieve alone, but God had filled him with joy and a sense of purpose which carried him from victory to victory. And now the end was in sight - an earthly law to enact the law of God was only days away from coming into existence.

A huge cheer went up like the roar of a football crowd. Michael Turnbull seemed to radiate benevolence as he graciously acknowledged it and stood aside for Lennox Strong.

The young pastor received a welcome that made even that given to Bobby DeMont seem modest. The shrill cries of young women sounded out above the crowd, prompting Bobby DeMont to whisper playfully in his ear. Lennox Strong showed no hint of embarrassment at the rapturous greeting. He clasped his hands in front of his chest and waited for quiet.

He spoke with a pronounced Bristol accent, but with the ease and confidence of a true professional. The son of a single teenage mother, he was a drug abuser, a car thief and a member of a violent gang all by the time he was thirteen. At fourteen, he was sentenced to five months in juvenile detention for robbing a defenceless old woman at knifepoint. Far from reforming him, his spell inside introduced him to seasoned criminals he tried hard to impress and emulate. During the next several years he was in and out of custody as he went on a spree of burglary, car-theft and drug dealing. On his nineteenth birthday the police caught him carrying a gun.

'And every day I thank God that I was arrested before I fired that weapon in anger,' Lennox said. 'Another week and I would have to have proved to my so-called brothers that I wasn't just a boy with a gun, but a man who'd used one. I'll confess it openly, I had only darkness in my soul.'

The Lord found Lennox four months after his release from prison. He was just twenty-two, 'an angry ball of testosterone and muscle spoiling for a fight'. It was late into a wild night when he took some cocaine on top of alcohol and amphetamines. 'I thought I could take anything, but I went down like a felled tree.' Lennox was rushed to hospital suffering a series of cardiac arrests. He was resuscitated five times in the ambulance. He couldn't recall much of the journey, but he did remember suffering the final excruciating arrest which was to stop his heart for a full three minutes.

'My friends, I'd never had a spiritual thought in my life. I believed that when you died the lights went out and that was it. The lights went out all right, but it wasn't an end. I felt myself leaving my physical body and going down ... and down, into a blackness I can't even describe. The further I sank, the hotter and more stifling it became. I could feel my lungs burning.' He paused to take a breath. 'Was I terrified? . . . There are no words to express the fear I felt as I realized I was falling into hell. I may have known nothing about the Bible, but I knew what I was looking at, and it was more real than you are now. And then this scream came from somewhere within me, "Jesus, save me!" There was no answer, and this is God's truth, my friends, I felt my flesh beginning to boil. I cried out again, "Jesus, please . . . save me!" And suddenly there was a rush of wind, and for a moment it was as if two strong men were pulling me in opposite directions, then bam!' He clapped his hands. 'I felt as if I'd split in two, but suddenly I shot upwards like a cork out of a bottle and I found myself standing at the side of the bed where the doctors were shocking my heart, and, very calmly, I lay down . . . The next thing I knew I was waking up in the ward with my mother and little sister looking down at me. And I'm telling you now, I'd never felt so much love in my whole life . . .' Lennox's voice clogged with emotion.

Bobby put an avuncular hand on his shoulder. 'Don't stop short of the punchline, Lennox,' he joked. 'Tell the people what happened next.'

A ripple of nervous laughter travelled through the crowd.

'I said to my mum, "You aren't going to believe this, but I think Jesus just saved me." And she said, "Well, you'd better make sure to pay him back." And as soon as I spoke those words I knew that my life had changed for ever. She called the hospital chaplain and, for the first time since I was a tiny child, I prayed. I prayed that I would give my life to the service of God. And that prayer wasn't answered in months, or weeks or even days - you know how they say the new wine is the strongest? - that prayer was answered the very next day when the chaplain told me about a new church in my neighbourhood that was looking for volunteers.'

'I was there the first night Lennox came in,' Michael Turnbull cut in. 'He had these dreadlocks and jeans with the seat hanging down to his knees. I thought, here comes trouble.' Bobby laughed and patted Lennox on the back. 'But in his two and a half years working for us,' Turnbull continued, 'this man has taken and kept more poor and deprived young people out of trouble than any government initiative ever could.'

The congregation rose to their feet again as Lennox bowed his head and Bobby laid hands on him, saying, 'Lord, we thank you for your servant Lennox and pray that your spirit will continue to guide and strengthen this precious child. In Jesus' name we thank you for his service and pray that this man you have named Strong will continue to bring succour to the weak. A-men.' Bobby turned to face the crowd, and raised his fists in a triumphant salute. 'Now I feel strong, strong in the spirit! I feel invincible, folks, because God is the greatest power there is. And I want all of you who haven't yet given yourselves to Christ to come forward and let him into your life. A few short words and an eternity of salvation. Come on now, this is the moment, this is your moment. If the Lord could reach down into hell to save a sinner like Lennox, how easy it will be for him to reach you.'

Jenny watched as a team of assistants in matching yellow MCG T-shirts received the steady stream of worshippers who started to come forward. The band struck up an upbeat but restrained rendition of 'Amazing Grace'; the choir hummed in gentle harmony.

Some stood, others knelt as Bobby, Michael, Lennox and the team laid hands on them and prayed. The big screen showed close-ups of the newly converted with their tearful expressions of joy and gratitude. In a sea of whispers she overheard snippets of prayer for relief from illness, addiction, jealousy, freedom from debt. Men and women who had arrived as strangers wept in each other's arms.

Bobby's unexpected roar echoed like a thunderclap around the auditorium: 'Ladies and gentleman, the Holy Spirit is truly at work here tonight! We are being visited with the blessing of the Rapture! A-men. A-men.'

A buzz of excitement shot through the crowd as pictures appeared on the big screens of a middle-aged woman and two young men who lay convulsing on the floor at the foot of the stage.

'Praise be. Praise be for your gifts of the spirit. Praise be to Jesus Christ, our Lord and Saviour. Welcome him into your hearts,' Bobby cried out as the slow-moving wave spread upwards through the rows towards Jenny's. A vast ox of a man sitting immediately in front of her sank to his knees, then fell prostrate in the aisle. A teenage girl tumbled out of her seat and collapsed next to him. Jenny heard herself dismissing the spectacle as collective hysteria even as she felt the wave breaking over her; a warm sensation spread downwards from the crown of her head through her shoulders and chest; her hands trembled and the strength bled from her legs.

On the brink of collapse and fighting the heaviness in her limbs, Jenny forced one leg in front of the other and headed towards the exit. Stepping between the fallen, she noticed Freddy among them. Lying perfectly still, his eyes shone like a child's, and for a moment she thought him the closest thing she had ever seen to an angel.





Jenny sat out the rest of the service in MCG's, drinking lukewarm coffee and watching a live feed from inside the auditorium on one of the several screens arranged around the deserted restaurant. Bobby brought worshippers who had just experienced the Rapture up onto the stage and urged them to testify. One after another they all described the same feeling: like swimming in a river of love; an overwhelming sense of happiness followed by peace beyond all description as they felt themselves floating upwards.

A waitress who had been wiping tables said, 'It started in America. First it was only a few people, now it's hundreds and thousands. It's just awesome.'

'What do you think's going on?' Jenny said.

'A new wave of the spirit. What else could it be?'

'People scream and faint at rock concerts.'

'Yes, but do they go out afterwards and change the world?'

Jenny handed the waitress her empty cup. There was no answer to that.





The church offices were situated behind a locked door at the far side of the shop. Jenny pressed the intercom and was answered by a male voice. 'Hello, how can I help you?'

Jenny looked into the lens of the built-in security camera. 'Jenny Cooper. Severn Vale District Coroner. I'd like to talk to the church administrator.'

'That would be me,' the voice replied. 'Come on in.'

She pushed open the door at the sound of the buzzer, and was met in a spacious reception area by a wholesome- looking young man in a neatly pressed shirt and tie.

He shook her hand. 'Good evening. Joel Nelson. What can I do for you?'

'I'm conducting an inquiry into the death of Eva Donaldson,' Jenny said, almost without realizing that she had just made her decision. 'I'll need statements from anyone here who had dealings with her. I thought you'd be the best person to ask who they might be.'

'Right,' Nelson said, his face devoid of any trace of alarm. 'The first thing you should know is that Miss Donaldson didn't actually work for the church. She was retained by the Decency campaign, which is an entirely separate body.'

'But she spent a lot of time here.'

'That's true, but she wasn't part of the management, so to speak.'

'A boy in the shop told me she was the leader of his study group.'

'That's a purely voluntary role.'

'I see.' Jenny cast her eyes around the comfortably decorated room. There were pastel-coloured sofas, two top-of- the-range plasma screens, and several modern private offices separated from the reception area by plate-glass walls screened with sleek Venetian blinds. The largest office was signed 'Boardroom'. 'I'd be grateful if you could at least give me a list of your employed staff so I can contact them.'

'Certainly,' Nelson said, and moved over to a computer sitting on the receptionist's desk.

'Were you friendly with Miss Donaldson?' Jenny asked.

'In as much as we all try to be friends here,' Nelson said. 'I wouldn't say we were close.' He tapped on the keyboard and strolled over to a printer, which was already whirring into life.

Jenny ran her eyes over the polished solid-wood shelving that lined the wall behind him and noticed a section of box files marked 'Decency'.

'Does Decency have separate offices,' Jenny asked, 'or does it operate from here?'

Nelson glanced back at her, then at the shelves, working out how she'd made the connection. 'They have a small part-time staff here,' he said, 'but the main office is in London.'

Jenny was about to ask if he could provide a list of their employees too when Bobby DeMont, Michael Turnbull and Lennox Strong came through the door, buzzing with excitement. Wiping his perspiring neck with a towel, Bobby was saying, 'You think we couldn't be any more blessed, then we have a night like tonight.'

'You were great,' Lennox said. 'The energy, man.'

It was Turnbull who noticed Jenny first, catching Nelson's glance before turning to greet her with a warm hello.

'This is Mrs Jenny Cooper,' Nelson said. 'She's the coroner looking into Eva Donaldson's death.'

'Ah, yes. I'd forgotten about that part of the procedure.' Turnbull reached out a hand. 'Michael Turnbull.'

Bobby stepped forward unprompted. 'Bobby DeMont. Pleased to meet you, ma'am.' He enclosed her palm with a hot, strong handshake. 'What a terrible tragedy. Each time I met that woman I came away in awe. One of life's fighters. A real inspiration.'

'Mrs Cooper would like to take statements from people who knew her,' Nelson said.

'Didn't we already do that with the police?' Turnbull asked.

Jenny said, 'Don't worry, there's no fanfare or publicity. I just have to make sure that cause of death is ascertained correctly.'

'I don't understand,' Lennox said. 'We've just had the court case. There's more?'

'An inquest may only be a formality,' Jenny said, 'but there's always the chance there were areas the police didn't look at too closely.'

'Oh. Such as?' Lennox asked.

Bobby pressed a hand to Lennox's back. 'You're guaranteed our full cooperation, ma'am. The church will help in whatever way it can.'

'Of course,' Turnbull said. 'When can we expect this to happen?'

Jenny said, 'I appreciate the timing isn't great for you—'

'Can't it at least wait until the Decency Bill has had its first reading?'

Reacting to Turnbull's anxiety, Bobby interjected, 'Hey, you don't have to worry about that, Mike. A man's been convicted. This is just a technicality.'

With a forced smile, Turnbull said, 'I do hope so.'

'There's really nothing to worry about,' Jenny replied. 'This is perfectly standard procedure.'

'You'll forgive my concern when a bill threatening a multi-billion-pound industry is about to be debated.'

'Calm down, buddy,' Bobby said, throwing Jenny a tense smile. 'It'll be fine.'

'Who knows, if everybody's helpful we might get it done before then,' she replied.

Nelson took two sheets from the printer and handed them to her. Jenny said a polite goodbye and promised to be in touch. As the reception door closed shut behind her, she could have sworn she heard Bobby DeMont mutter, 'Sonofabitch!'