The Coroner (55 page)

    Steve
wasn't in when she drove by on her way out, so she left him a note:
Success.
Working all weekend and staying in town. Call me. J
- she hesitated, then
added an
x.

    She
spent the morning in Chepstow securing a courtroom. At Williams's suggestion
she hired a church hall set back from the high street and tracked down a
retired usher from the County Court, Arvel Hughes, a precise, ex-military man
and stalwart of many local committees, who agreed to stand in as coroner's
officer. The afternoon was taken up with drafting summonses in the office, each
one of which had to contain sufficient 'conduct money', in cash, to get the
witness to court. The list for day one included Justin Bennett, the CCTV
operator Darren Hogg, Kevin Stewart, Elaine Lewis, Dr Peterson and Frank
Grantham.

    Her
next task was to locate a firm of process servers who could be persuaded to
turn out on a Saturday night for anything less than a four-figure fee. After
working through most of the firms in the
Yellow Pages,
she finally
succeeded with a one-man outfit in St Pauls who agreed to do it for five
hundred cash. She was one of Her Majesty's Coroners, an official with powers on
a par with a High Court judge, but late in the evening she found herself
counting out tenners for the greaseball who'd pulled up outside her office and
tooted her, too lazy to climb out of his car. Her early days in court
injuncting drunk and violent fathers had been more glamorous. Once the
summonses were dispatched, she had to phone every juror and give them
painstaking directions to the new and obscure venue, telling them yes, they
would be getting lunch. Her last call, one she'd been putting off, was to
Simone Wills.

    The
phone was answered by a boy of about ten or eleven who said his mum was
upstairs. There were younger kids screaming in the background, competing with
the TV. Jenny said would he mind going to fetch her, it was important. The boy
said he couldn't at the moment, she was with Kenny.

    'I
can wait a minute.'

    The
boy said OK and set the phone down on a hard surface. He shouted up the stairs
that there was someone on the phone but didn't get an answer. Over the yelling toddlers
and cartoons, Jenny heard a woman's moans and a thump-thump going in time with
them. She decided to leave it until the morning. Simone obviously had other
things on her mind.

    She
had never felt as alone as she did sitting in the office at the back of the
hall decorated with pictures of Noah and his ark. She'd spent two nights away
from home in this small Welsh town and had had only one message from Steve, to
say congratulations on getting her job back. He would have come over and seen
her only he'd picked up a few days' forestry work and needed the money. She had
detected an edge in his voice: she had things to do, so had he. Alison hadn't
called and nor had Moreton. The only person who had was Williams, and he was
beginning to worry her: he was so eager to stick it to the English, she'd had
to tell him to calm down and make sure not to be too heavy-handed. Her
isolation had, however, allowed her to realize something about her own motives.
It was no longer just about getting justice for Danny Wills or Katy Taylor; she
wanted to do it properly, she wanted to be Jenny Cooper, the coroner, and be
successful at it. Respected.

    She
had taken a single temazepam and had a tube of primed mints in her pocket.
Short of sleep and scared, the medication was barely touching her. Her
heartbeat was up, her palms were clammy and her tongue felt too big for her
mouth. She should have found a doctor over the weekend and replaced the pills
she had thrown down the sink, but she'd convinced herself she'd be so fired up
she wouldn't need them. It had made perfect sense in a hotel room, but about to
hold court she couldn't see how she'd get through.

    Arvel's
funereal footsteps approached on the other side of the door. He knocked twice.

    'Come
in.' The words stuck in her throat.

    The
seventy-year-old entered and stood to attention, wearing a regimental blazer
and tie beneath his usher's gown, grey hair slicked down, shoes gleaming.
'We're ready for you now, ma'am.'

    She
stepped into the roomy, high-ceilinged hall, which had been built in Victorian
times as a school room and still conveyed a sense of grim purpose. Her table,
draped with green baize, was positioned by itself, a good twelve feet away from
a row of desks spanning nearly the entire width of the hall at which sat a row
of aggressive, indignant-looking lawyers. Hartley held pole position in the
centre.

    To
her right, occupying two rows of four chairs, sat the jury. The rest of the
hall was crammed with hungry journalists. Simone Wills and two friends, women
Jenny remembered from the adjourned hearing, were squeezed on to the end of a
row, shooting angry looks at the reporters invading their space. There was no
sign of any UKAM executives and the only one of the summoned witnesses she could
see was Justin Bennett, wedged in by the door. Jenny took her seat with a
growing sense of unreality. A hundred pairs of eyes fixed on her.

    Keeping
it brief to hide the tremor in her voice, she thanked everyone for their
patience during the adjournment and said she hoped their business could now be
concluded swiftly. She could see Hartley trying to catch her eye, eager to take
the stage, but made him wait, turning to Arvel, who had tucked himself at a
desk with a tape recorder to her left, between her and the lawyers.

    'Mr
Hughes, have each of the witnesses answered their summons?'

    He
stood up and bowed in a studied display of deference. 'No, ma'am.' He read from
his clipboard through reading glasses. 'Mr Justin Bennett is present; witnesses
Mrs Elaine Lewis, Dr Nicholas Peterson, Mr Frank Grantham, Mr Darren Hogg and
Mr Kevin Stewart have failed to attend.'

    'Thank
you.' Jenny turned to the lawyers. She counted two counsel apart from Hartley
and four instructing solicitors. 'I take it some of these parties are
represented here this morning.'

    Hartley,
their nominated leader, got to his feet. 'Ma'am, as you know, I represent UKAM
Secure Solutions Ltd and by agreement Mrs Elaine Lewis—'

    'Not
Mr Hogg or Mr Stewart?'

    'No,
ma'am. I have received no instructions to do so. Indeed, I had no idea they had
been summoned until this morning. I think it's fair to say that, given recent
events, this resumed hearing came as rather a surprise to most of us in this
room.'

    Ignoring
his attempt to embarrass her, Jenny said, 'Perhaps you could ask your
instructing solicitors to find out where they are? I have certificates from the
process server confirming that documents and conduct monies were delivered to
their home addresses on Saturday evening. As their employers, your clients have
to let them comply with this court's request even if it means missing work.'

    'I
can assure you my clients are perfectly aware of their obligations—'

    'Then
where is Mrs Lewis?' Jenny heard herself snap like a schoolmistress, her
tension spilling over into irritation.

    'Mrs
Lewis is in Washington, DC, ma'am, on an extended business trip expected to
last several weeks.'

    'She
received her summons in person thirty-six hours ago. If you're telling me she
has left the country since, then I'll have to treat it as contempt.'

    Hartley
said, 'Firstly, I would like to extend my client's sincere apologies for not
being able to defer her trip, and secondly, I would ask you to consider a less
drastic course of action, namely taking evidence from her, should it be
necessary, via a video link. The use of such technology has been encouraged by
the Lord Chief Justice in recent practice directions.'

    Several
of the other lawyers smiled at Hartley's subtle jibe at the primitive
facilities in the make-do courtroom.

    Jenny
held her temper. 'You will provide me with details of her current whereabouts
and I will apply to the High Court for a warrant for her arrest.'

    She
knew that a UK coroner had no power to issue a warrant with effect beyond the
borders of the UK, a fact which UKAM's lawyers had doubtless confirmed to their
anxious clients some time late on Saturday night. To repatriate Elaine Lewis
would involve a lengthy and costly procedure which a team of highly paid
lawyers in the US courts could postpone indefinitely.

    Assured
of his client's safety, Hartley said, 'I will gladly furnish those details to
your officer,' and resumed his seat, omitting to bow.

    Next
on his feet was a foppish young barrister in a hand- stitched pinstripe suit
who attempted an imitation of Hartley's attitude of mild disdain. He announced
himself as Henry Golding representing Dr Peterson, who, he said, was seeking a
clarification of the issues on which he was being asked to give evidence.
Having already testified, Golding argued that his client was entitled to know
exactly why he was being called back. And if the answer to that raised any
controversial issues he was instructed to seek an adjournment on the grounds
that Peterson's computer files had recently been hacked into and disturbed. It
would be impossible for him to refer to any of them, Golding assured her, until
their integrity had been established beyond all shadow of doubt.

    Confident
she was on firm ground, Jenny said, 'Mr Golding, you have given no lawful
excuse for your client's failure to answer his summons and the questions I wish
to ask him are about a body he examined only a few weeks ago.'

    With
a smile he clearly considered endearing, Golding said that, with respect, Dr
Peterson was carrying out up to half a dozen post-mortems per day. He couldn't
be expected to recall details of a case he dealt with nearly two months ago.

    'Thank
you, Mr Golding,' Jenny said. 'I have noted your submissions.'

    Thrown
by her response, he mouthed emptily for a moment, then, with a theatrical
shrug, said, 'And your decision is, ma'am?'

    'I'll
hear from remaining counsel first.'

    Golding
sat down with a bemused expression and looked to Hartley for confirmation that
he was right to be confused. The older lawyer gave him an insincere smile, glad
the young man was no threat.

    The
third barrister, Pamela Sharpe, a woman of a similar age to Jenny whom she
vaguely recognized from the family courts, rose slowly to her feet, pretending
to be engrossed in far more important matters in her file. Drawing herself away
with apparent reluctance, she said that she had been instructed to inform the
court that Mr Grantham was also seeking clarification and an adjournment, firstly,
on the grounds that no senior manager in a vital public service could be
expected to answer a summons at such short notice, and secondly, on the grounds
that he had no material evidence to give, never having had anything to do with
Danny Wills or his case. Before Jenny could answer she sat down, as if there
was no conceivable argument to the contrary.

    'Do
you want me to respond to that, Miss Sharpe?'

    The
barrister rose wearily to her feet, her look to the jury saying this had better
be worth the effort.

    'You
and your client both appear to have similar attitudes towards the authority of
this court,' Jenny said. There were smirks among the instructing solicitors.
'The most perfunctory reading of the law would have informed you that I alone determine
which witnesses it is necessary and in the interests of justice to call, and
that refusal to attend when lawfully summoned is an offence.'

    'It
is customary to ask a witness to an inquest to provide a statement in advance,
ma'am.'

    Pamela
Sharpe's unyielding defiance sent a bolt of anxiety through her. It was always
the way: people who refused to connect emotionally while inviting conflict
caused her to panic.

    'Miss
Sharpe,' Jenny said, her heart crashing against her ribs, 'I am issuing warrants
for the arrest of your client, Dr Peterson, Mr Hogg and Mr Stewart.'

    'Surely
a brief adjournment—' 'No.'

    Golding
shot to his feet in protest. 'Ma'am, I'm sure my client will come to court
without having to be arrested.'

    Erupting,
Jenny said, 'Do I have to spell it out, Mr Golding? Each of your clients has
ignored a summons. That's a criminal offence.' She aimed her last word at
Hartley: 'And fleeing the jurisdiction is particularly serious. Mrs Lewis can
expect the consequences to be severe.'

    Hartley,
untroubled, traded a look of mutual condescension with Pamela Sharpe, assuming
their victory in Jenny's loss of cool. Just wait, their expressions seemed to
say, she'll do our job for us.