The Coroner (14 page)

    At
five-thirty, just when she thought she could turn to planning tomorrow's
inquest, Alison arrived with six more death reports, all of them old people who
had died in nursing homes that day. Alison was puzzled by them. Ninety-nine out
of a hundred such deaths were attributed to natural causes and had certificates
signed by GPs. Mr Marshall had hardly ever got reports like this. Jenny asked
Alison to phone round the coroners in the four districts neighbouring hers and
her suspicions were confirmed: only she had been hit by this new phenomenon.
Further enquiries revealed that an email had been sent to local surgeries from
the Severn Vale Primary Care Trust recommending that all but the most mundane
deaths be referred to the coroner. After only three days in post, her enemies
were organizing to bury her in paperwork.

    Grantham's
visit and subsequent interference had stirred up her anger, the one emotion
powerful enough to displace her anxiety. She responded by firing off an email
to all local doctors, informing them that they would shortly be required to
submit details of all recorded deaths to her office electronically, and to
ignore the trust's recent instruction. She was damned if a puffed-up petty
bureaucrat was going to frustrate her work. Jenny flicked through her copy of
Jervis and read up on the common law offence of obstructing a coroner: if he
tried anything else she could have him arrested.

    It
was gone eight by the time she found a parking space near to Ross's school and
arrived, perspiring, outside the gymnasium where the parents' evening was being
held. The temazepam she had taken mid-afternoon was wearing off and her heart
was galloping. She pushed her way through a stream of parents flowing in the
opposite direction and made it to the doors as her ex-husband came out.
Forty-six now, but still thirty inches around the waist and good-looking, almost
unfairly so, he was wearing one his most expensive bespoke suits, determined,
as always, to let the other parents know that his son wasn't attending a
comprehensive school for want of money.

    David
looked at her in the pitying way he had perfected in the early years of their
marriage. 'Prompt as usual.'

    'It's
only just gone eight.'

    'Our
appointments were at seven-thirty. I emailed you last week.'

    'Oh.
Did you?'

    'You
didn't miss anything. These clowns wouldn't know potential if it ran up and bit
them on the backside.'

    'What
did they say?'

    'Does
it matter? You know my views on this place.'

    'He's
in the middle of exams.'

    'According
to his teachers he'll be lucky to pass any of them.'

    'Why
haven't you told me any of this? You must have known there was a problem.'

    'You
had enough of your own. I didn't want to add to your burden.'

    'Well,
what does Ross say?'

    'Very
little. He usually just grunts and disappears upstairs, plugged into
something.'

    'You live
under the same roof, you must have some idea what's going on.'

    'I'm
afraid I don't have your powers of insight.'

    Jenny
felt her throat tighten. 'Look, I didn't come here for an argument, David. I'm
sorry I was late, but it sounds like it's Ross I should be talking to, not his
teachers.'

    'Then
why don't you come over for lunch on Saturday?'

    'To
your place?'

    'It
is his home. If you can bear it, I thought we might put on a united front, try
to talk to him like responsible parents for once.'

    Resisting
the urge to call him a spiteful prick, Jenny said, 'If you think it'll help.
Will
she
be there?'

    'Deborah
and I are together. If you've got a particular objection — '

    'Whatever.
As long as Ross is all right with her.'

    'They
get on rather well, actually.'

    'Pretty,
is she?'

    David
gave a look that said he wasn't going to dignify that with an answer. 'Shall we
say one o'clock?'

    'Fine.'
She felt a stab of guilt at her cheap shot. 'Sorry.'

    There
was an uncomfortable pause.

    David
said, 'Quite a job you've landed yourself. How did you wangle that?'

    'I'd
like to think I was the best candidate.'

    'Don't
let it get on top of you, will you? Ross is probably going to need you in the
next few years.'

    'I've
every intention of being there for him.'

    'Good.'
He nodded abruptly and strode off. Jenny stood and watched him. Even the way he
walked was arrogant.

    No
wonder she had fallen off the edge.

    Ternbury
was no more than a large cluster of houses set amid fields of rape and barley
seven miles north-east of Bristol. The village hall was a glorified tin shack
that stood at the edge of the green. Decorated with faded bunting and a banner
proclaiming the forthcoming village fete, it was about as far removed from a
seat of justice as any building Jenny could imagine.

    She
arrived early to find Alison, dressed in a black two- piece suit, already
setting out trestle tables and ancient wooden folding chairs to resemble a
court. The hall, not much larger than the average classroom, had a floor of
worn, bare boards; the walls were of dark, nicotine-stained pine cladding. At
one end was a small stage, at the opposite end a shuttered serving hatch. Its
smell - of old timber, mildew and stewed tea - flung Jenny back to the Sunday
school she had been forced to attend, a place she associated with fear and a
vague sense of guilt. Miss Talbot, the acidic spinster who presided, had been
one of those Christians whose life's mission was to stamp out all joy.

    Responding
to Jenny's subdued reaction, Alison said, 'At least it makes people feel at
home.' She straightened the table beneath the stage that would serve as Jenny's
desk. 'Mr Marshall always liked it here, said it reminded him of his
childhood.'

    'I
can see why. Is there anywhere I can put my things?'

    Alison
pointed to a door at the side of the stage. 'There's an office through there.
Shall I bring you a cup of tea? I've got the urn going.'

    'Thanks.'

    Jenny
went through the door and into a little room boasting an old desk and chair and
a number of tea chests containing what looked like the costumes for the annual
pantomime. A small window looked out across a large, flat field and in the near
distance the Severn and the Gloucestershire hills beyond. Despite the rural
setting and the quaintness of the hall she felt a rising sense of
claustrophobia. She had avoided sleeping pills and slept badly; she'd been
awake since five a.m. Her chest felt constricted and she hadn't managed any
breakfast. The pill she had taken an hour ago had barely touched her anxiety and
had left her feeling sluggish. An uneasy sensation: on the edge of her nerves
but at the same time physically exhausted.

    She
took a deep breath, repeating a mantra Dr Travis had taught her:
my right
arm is heavy.
She let it hang loose, felt its weight, then moved her focus
to her other arm, trying to breathe deeply down into her stomach. After a
minute or so she felt her heart begin to slow. Relief. She opened her eyes and,
taking care to move in an unhurried fashion, unloaded the papers, textbooks and
legal pads from her briefcase.

    She
sat at the desk and turned through the pages of cross- examination notes she
had carefully prepared. Unlike a regular criminal or civil court, a coroner's
inquest was not a competition between competing cases. It was an inquiry, led
by the coroner, into the circumstances surrounding a death. The coroner
questioned all witnesses personally before allowing other interested parties to
cross-examine. The rules of evidence were very relaxed. Leading questions and
hearsay were perfectly permissible. The single objective was to unearth the
truth.

    Jenny
found herself staring at the pages of neat handwriting, seeing the words but
unable to take them in. Last night in her study she had been clear-headed and
confident. Now her mind crowded with unwanted thoughts and concerns. Her
attempts to focus were thwarted by humiliating and doom-laden scenarios. She
tried Dr Travis's routine again, but her arm refused to relax and her heart
began to pick up speed. Sweat trickled down her back and from under her arms.

    There
was nothing for it: she grabbed her handbag and brought out the temazepam. With
shaking hands, she pushed down the lid and twisted, but with too much force. Pills
tumbled out across the desk and scattered across the floor. Damn. She grabbed
two off her notebook, swallowed them dry, then tried to scoop the others back
in the jar. The door swung open. Alison entered carrying a mug of tea. Jenny
looked up with a start.

    Alison
trod on one of the pills, then saw others strewn across the floor.

    'I
spilled some aspirin—' Her words came out in a panicky burst.

    Alison
set the mug on a clear patch of table. 'Are you sure you're all right, Mrs
Cooper?'

    'Headache.
I was up late working.'

    Alison
glanced at the little white pills, 'T-30' stamped clearly on the front of each
of them. It wouldn't take an ex- policewoman to work out they weren't
painkillers. 'We've got a good hour before we get under way,' she said with
almost maternal reassurance. 'The police are sending a Mr Hartley QC to ask
questions on their behalf, but the family have chosen not to be represented.
The young man from the Youth Offending Team called to say he's on his way, but
I've heard nothing from any of the police officers or Dr Peterson. I assume
they'll be along.'

    Jenny
took a gulp of the hot tea. 'They'd better be. I'll be issuing warrants for
their arrest if they're not.'

    'At
least I've got a full complement of eight jurors, and the landlord of the local
pub's been put on notice to be ready with sandwiches.'

    'It's
like organizing a village social club.' Jenny collected the last of the pills
from the desk and dropped them in the container, beyond caring what Alison
thought of her taking tranquillizers - half the population had been on them at
one time or another.

    'Do
you mind if I offer you a little advice, Mrs Cooper?'

    'Fire
away.'

    'In
my experience of inquests it always seems to work best when the coroner keeps
things low key. Witnesses are much more forthcoming when everyone's relaxed.'

    'I'll
do my best.'

    A
pause, then Alison said, 'And I'm sorry about the other day. I shouldn't have
got emotional. It wasn't very professional of me.'

    'It's
been a difficult time.'

    'Yes.'
Alison stood in silent reflection for a brief moment, turned to the door,
reached for the handle, then glanced back over her shoulder. 'Do be careful,
Mrs Cooper.'

    At
nine-thirty Jenny emerged from her office feeling back in control - the two
pills seemed to have settled her, but she wasn't prepared for the sight
outside: the hall was full to bursting and already stuffy. Wearing an usher's
gown over her suit, Alison called out, 'All rise,' and the room stood in unison.
Four rows of chairs at the back of the hall were occupied by journalists,
members of the public and the pool of jurors. Among them she spotted Mr and Mrs
Taylor, Andy, dressed in a suit, clutching Claire's hand; Mrs Taylor was even
whiter than Jenny remembered her. Set slightly apart from her desk and at
forty-five degrees to it was a trestle table at which sat two lawyers, one a
young man in his early thirties Jenny took to be a solicitor, the other a
dapper man in his fifties wearing a dark navy chalk-stripe suit and the
starched shirt collar of a barrister. Opposite the lawyers' desk was a smaller
table which would serve as the witness box, on which stood a tape recorder, the
coroner's budget not stretching to a stenographer. Alison occupied a chair by
the stage to Jenny's right, a position which gave her a clear view of the
entire hall.

    Jenny
gave a brief, formal nod and took her seat. As the assembled company followed
her lead, she noticed another suited figure darting through the door and
finding a place at the very back: Grantham.