The Coroner (45 page)

    It
was a warm enough evening for her to sit at her table on the lawn, which was
fast growing back into a meadow, and try to clear some of the backlog of
routine cases that had built up. More hospital deaths, a confused old woman
who'd been run down by a postal van and a road mender who'd jack- hammered
through the mains cable in the street. There were photographs of the dead
workman, every inch of his skin burnt charcoal black.

    She
was nearing the bottom of the pile and wondering whether she could get away
with half a glass of red wine when she caught a whiff of smoke on the breeze.
She looked up and saw Steve. He was leaning against the corner of the house by
the cart track smoking a fat roll-up. Jenny sniffed again - it wasn't just
tobacco, there was some weed in there too.

    Steve
said, 'Busy?'

    'Depends
what you had in mind.'

    He
wandered over with a lazy gait and sat opposite, a few days' growth on his
face. His face had turned dark tan from working in the sun. He gave her a
wicked smile. 'Guess what I found at the end of my garden?'

    'I
can smell. And one of Her Majesty's Coroners should not be talking to a man
who's smoking it.'

    'I
don't believe in laws. They're made by people who can't trust themselves to be
free.'

    'You
were born thirty years too late, my friend.'

    'Don't
much believe in time, either. You think that tree cares what decade it is?'

    'How
much of that stuff have you had?'

    'Almost
enough. It's my best crop yet.' He offered the joint across the table, the
roach end facing towards her.

    Jenny
was tempted but, managing to resist, said, 'I wondered what had happened to
you.'

    'I
had to wait for the annual harvest to give me the courage to come over.'

    'I'm
that frightening?'

    'It's
not you, it's me. I'm out of practice.'

    'I
wouldn't have noticed, but then so am I.'

    'There
are worse sins. You ever tried this stuff?' 'My son has . . .'

    'It's
better for him than alcohol. No chemicals, no hangover. Grown in good honest
Welsh soil.'

    She
watched him take another draw, a serene look on his face, his limbs loose and
relaxed, the way she longed to feel. And it smelt so good, taking her back to
long-ago parties, the carefree sensation that was close to ecstatic. He gave
her a look, tempting her.

    She
leaned forward and placed her lips around the joint, but as she touched his
fingers with her mouth, she pulled back. 'Scared?'

    'I
smoked some cigarettes the other night. I remembered how sore they make my
lungs.'

    Steve
gave her a look, seeing straight through her evasion. 'You think I'm a bad
influence.'

    'I
think you're getting a kick out of trying to corrupt a public official.'

    'I
guess there could be something in that.' 'In my case I don't think it would be
much of a conquest.' He smiled a touch and dropped the joint on to the ground.
'How's it going? I still can't imagine you as a coroner.' 'I can hardly believe
it myself.' 'Did you find out what happened to that poor girl?' 'I don't want
to talk about it now.' She shuffled her papers into a heap, trying to shut out
images of Katy's body on Professor Lloyd's autopsy bench.

    Steve
reached out a hand and pushed the hair back from her eyes. Then he moved closer
and kissed her gently on the cheek.

    Later,
they lay naked on her bed, laughing like a couple of teenagers, high from the
thrill of an unfamiliar touch. Steve said, 'You know you're the talk of the
valley.'

    'Oh,
yeah?'

    'Beautiful
woman living on her own, it's the stuff of people's fantasies.'

    'I
hope they're filthy.'

    'Obscene.
You should hear what you've been up to with Rhodri Glendower.'

    'I'm
just grateful for the attention.'

    'That
makes me feel very special.'

    She
rolled over and lay on top of him, her elbows either side of his shoulders.
'Don't you dare get needy on me when I'm having such a good time.'

    He
brought a hand up to the small of her back and stroked it, looking into her
eyes. 'I wouldn't dream of it.'

    She
moved her mouth towards his and kissed him, touching him with every part of
her.

    Steve
was upstairs in the shower and she was in the kitchen wearing just her
bathrobe, taking her pills, when the knock at the door came. She glanced at the
clock on the stove: it was only just past seven a.m. The caller knocked again,
louder, as she hurried through the sitting room to the front door. She tied the
robe tight around herself and opened the door a crack.

    A
stocky middle-aged man in a grey suit and Hush Puppies held up an
identification badge. 'Good morning, ma'am, Detective Sergeant Owen Williams
from Chepstow. Are you Mrs Cooper?'

    'Yes.'
She saw two young female constables in uniform standing on the path behind him,
two squad cars parked out on the lane. Her first thought was of Ross.

    'You
wouldn't happen to have a Mr Stephen Painter on the premises, would you?'

    'What's
the matter?'

    Sounding
almost apologetic, he said, 'I'm afraid I'm going to have to have a word with
him and search the house, ma'am.

    I've
had information that leads me to believe that arrestable offences have taken
place here.' 'Information from where?'

    'I'm
afraid I'm not at liberty to disclose my source at the present moment. Would
you let us in, please?' 'He's in the shower.' 'We'll go up together, then,
shall we?'

    They
kept Jenny and Steve separate while they searched the house, she in the
kitchen, he in the sitting room. Through the door she could hear him saying
that she had no idea he'd been smoking some home-grown with his tobacco, it was
nothing to do with her. Williams said not to worry, they'd go into all that
later, at the station.

    They
found the dead roaches in the bin and Steve's baggie in his jeans pocket. While
the constables wrote out evidence labels and filled in exhibit forms Jenny was
allowed to get dressed and make a phone call. She caught Alison before she left
home, meaning to tell her the truth, but found herself saying that she had to
wait in for an emergency plumber and would come to the office in a while.

    She
rode in the back of Williams's car to Chepstow. Steve went with the two
constables, Williams careful to keep them apart before the interviews, showing
the uniforms how a real detective handled suspects: firmly but respectfully.
Winding along the valley from Tintern to St Arvans, Jenny was surprised at how
relaxed she felt. She couldn't make up her mind if it was the new pills or that
the situation was so fantastic she couldn't take it seriously. Williams
listened to a Welsh- language radio station: bad pop music and singsong
chatter, an English word popping out every now and then. He asked Jenny if she
spoke Welsh. She said no, her family were from across the estuary in Somerset,
but since she'd moved she'd thought about taking an evening class. Williams
said she should, the only downside was that after you'd been speaking Welsh for
a while, English sounded as harsh as German, no music in it.

    Jenny
said she'd never thought of it that way, and, feeling that they were building a
rapport, asked, 'Who told you Steve was at my place?'

    Williams
said, 'You know we can't reveal the identities of our informers, Mrs Cooper.'

    'It
was that girl who works at the Apple Tree, wasn't it - Annie?'

    He
glanced at her in the mirror, a wise little smile under his greying moustache.

    Jenny
and Steve were kept in adjacent interview rooms while Williams went through the
laborious process of interview, a female constable at his side for the sake of
propriety. Steve was first. Jenny could hear only muffled conversation through
the thin walls but the fact he was talking at all made her guess that he was
repeating what he had told them at the house. When her turn came she took a
chance and said she had no idea what he was smoking; it would never have
occurred to her that anyone would smoke drugs in her presence. Williams
listened politely, but let her know with his eyes what he thought.

    It
was past eleven a.m. when he came back into the room and said that the evidence
was sufficient for him to be obliged to press charges. Due to the amount of
marijuana he had on him, Steve was being charged with possession with intent to
supply; Jenny with allowing her premises to be used. He'd bail them both and
hand the file to the local CPS. Give it a week or two and there'd be a letter
in the post with a court date.

    Jenny
said, 'How can you prove I
knew or believed
he was smoking marijuana?'

    'That's
the CPS's problem, Mrs Cooper.'

    'Are
they going to make these charges public?'

    'I've
no idea.'

    She
caught his eye as he shuffled his papers on the table, the morning's business
at an end. 'Can I ask you something? Do you really want to do this to me or has
someone told you to?'

    'I
don't know what you mean, ma'am.'

    'You've
read the papers. I'm in the middle of two inquests which aren't exactly
covering our police and prison service in glory.'

    He
slotted his statements into a file. 'That's news to me.'

    'I
can tell - you're finding this as weird as I am.'

    Williams
turned to the constable. 'Show Mrs Cooper out, would you?'

    They
met on the front step outside the station. Steve held up his hands. 'I'm sorry
. . .'

    'That
might just be the most expensive sex I've ever had.'

    'Not
the best?'

    She
gave him a look, not able to laugh, and said, 'Any idea who it was who called
them?'

    'I
guess it was Annie. I was down there briefly before I came round . . .' A
guilty look came over his face.

    'What?'

    'One
of the guys down there, Ed, said someone had been in last weekend asking after
you.'

    'Who?'

    'Just
a guy. Thirties. He thought he might be a copper, except he was quite
fit-looking. Toned.'

    'What
did he want to know?'

    'Whether
you came in, who your friends were. Ed thought he must be an ex-boyfriend
sniffing around.'

    'Did
he mention you?'

    'I
haven't told anyone about us.'

    'From
what you say, you don't have to.'

    He
touched her hand, holding her fingers. 'I'm sorry, Jenny.'

    'You don't
have to keep saying that. It's not your fault.'

    'What
are you going to do?'

    'Get
a taxi, and something to eat.'

    It
was raining again, the tail-end of a heavy summer storm, so they sat at the
tiny table in the kitchen. The cramped domestic scene added to the sense of
unreality; like watching somebody else's strange day play out. All she had to
go in a sandwich were cheese and lettuce. She apologized for her poor supply of
groceries and joked that if he wanted a slim girlfriend he couldn't expect to
be well fed. She'd said 'girlfriend' without thinking and waited for him to
react, but he didn't. Sitting there eating a sandwich, he seemed quite
comfortable. Perhaps he was trying to make up for destroying her career.

    She
asked him again about the man making enquiries about her. Steve said that was
all he knew, a man, not young, not old, asking about her habits.