The Disappearance of Emily Marr (30 page)

The coroner was speaking. He had a rapid, low-toned delivery, not easy to tune into from my position at the back of the room. I gathered that the police officer was a traffic collision investigator, a witness several names ahead of mine on the list, and that his folder contained photographs and plans from the scene of the accident, a set of which the coroner also referred to as they talked.

‘As I said this morning, it has been unnecessary to read aloud or discuss the more distressing material from the medical reports of pathologist Dr Michael Corrin, but you have had the opportunity to hear his evidence yesterday and to read his report in full?’

The investigator said he had.

‘And the technical findings we have been discussing would, in your opinion, corroborate the conclusions drawn from the type of injuries sustained, sadly fatal in these three cases?’

‘That’s right, sir.’

‘I would like to ask for a few clarifications, if I may. I’m interested in the deployment of the rear left-hand seatbelt: in your examination it was clear the restraint had not been used?’

‘Not at the time of the collision. It may well have been used earlier in the journey.’

‘There is no evidence that it had been in use but failed to function correctly on impact?’

‘No, none.’

‘I’m looking again at the statement of Miss Lisa Hawes, whom I had the opportunity to question on Monday, and her eye-witness evidence that the rear passenger, who we know to have been Alexander Woodhall, moved forward between the front seats and took hold of the steering wheel in an attempt to gain control of the vehicle. Did you or any of your team find any mechanical reason to disagree with her observation?’

‘None, sir. Our findings corroborate her judgement of the positioning of the third passenger.’

As this dry exchange continued, my eye drifted inevitably to Arthur. His head was bowed, whether in grief or in order to look at material on the desk in front of him I could not tell, but to my great fright emotions now started to make themselves known within me, bringing cold shivers to my skin and hot tears to my eyes. Within seconds I understood something crucial: there was nothing ‘former’ about my love for him, I loved him the same as ever; the months of silence had had no impact whatsoever on the degree of my devotion. Even if he did not once turn his face my way this afternoon, even if I was destined never to see him again, I would love him till the end. And this was in no way a peaceful epiphany, but a horrible, turbulent one, like receiving a punitive ruling, a sentencing. I could not be happy without him; and since he wanted nothing more to do with me, I could not be happy again. Like Sylvie, I would die unhappy.

This last, self-indulgent thought jolted me from my reverie. There was an exchange about death taking place between coroner and investigator and here I was thinking about
my
unhappiness. I could hear Sylvie’s voice –
How can you be so selfish?
– and was overcome with self-loathing.

I returned my focus to the proceedings.

‘ ⁠… And did you find any evidence of moisture on the surface of the road?’

‘No, sir, it was a fine, dry day. There had been no rain overnight.’

‘And it was light at that time of the morning?’

‘Yes, visibility was very good.’

‘Thank you. Now, with your fifteen years of experience as a traffic collision investigator you have gained expertise in judging speeds at which collisions occur? In examination of tyre skidmarks and crush damage and so on?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘What speed have you calculated in your investigation of this matter?’

‘I would judge that the car was travelling pre-impact at approximately ninety miles an hour. The extensive frontal-impact damage was consistent with a speed in that region.’

‘And this would be consistent with the witness statements of both Miss Lisa Hawes and Mr Nigel Reynolds, who were able to estimate the speed from a stationary position on the opposite carriageway, and also of the paramedics of the Sussex Ambulance Service and Sussex Air Ambulance, who attended the scene, and of course the pathologists who examined the injuries and whose report we have already discussed.’

‘Yes, sir.’

As I listened, I began to realise that every word that came out of the coroner’s mouth was concerned with factual information: there were no right or wrong answers to his questions, no shades of personal opinion or approval, just as his staff had assured me. He gave frequent factual recaps and reminders that his job was to establish how, when and where the Woodhalls had come by their deaths.

‘We touched just now on the rear left seatbelt, which you believe was functioning normally. And it was not your conclusion that there were any other mechanical faults to the vehicle?’

‘No, sir.’

‘No tyre defects, for instance?’

‘No. The vehicle had been serviced by Camberwell Motors in south London just twenty-six days earlier. Two tyres were replaced then and so were virtually brand-new.’

‘And there were no signs of sabotage to the car?’

‘None whatsoever.’

‘I’m looking at the photographs taken after the removal of the persons. You directed the photographs of the interior of the vehicle?’

‘That’s right, along with my colleague, Police Investigator Robert Timms.’

A small movement in the second row seized my attention: Arthur. As he turned to respond to the offer of drinking water by a neighbour, I saw part of his face for the first time, a glimpse of the profile so familiar and beloved it caused tremors of yearning in me; to resist them I had to hold the breath in my lungs and wrap my arms around my chest, feeling the air inside me press and press. In front, the stifled sobbing continued.

The investigator was excused and the coroner spoke at some length. ‘Now, as I say, I have had the opportunity to examine the witness statements and I have shared such material as I consider necessary from three quite complex pathology reports… I am satisfied that the identities of Sylvie Woodhall, Alexander Woodhall and Hugo Woodhall have been correctly established and that the place they met their deaths has been correctly recorded. I have been left in no doubt as to the accuracy of the recording of the times of death. I am also satisfied that I have clear knowledge as to the precise injuries that caused those deaths…’

I exhaled. This sounded like a summing-up to me – was I off the hook, then, no longer required after all? Listening to the investigator’s evidence had made me feel helpless as to what I could contribute to this inquiry; I hadn’t been at the roadside that horrible morning, I was not an eye witness or a member of the emergency services. More than this, the idea of going into the witness box and standing where he had stood, only then able to see the faces – and experience the glare – of those people who detested me, made me feel faint with cowardice.

‘What still remains, however, is for me to establish how the collision came to happen, not in the technical sense, which as I say I am clear on thanks to the evidence I’ve just heard from Police Investigator Brian Jarrett, but in the sense of being satisfied that the car came off the road accidentally, that is by pure accident and not by any deliberate act on the part of any of the persons in the vehicle. As I remarked when I opened this inquest, were such evidence to come to my attention, I would have no hesitation in adjourning this hearing in order to make further and necessary enquiries.’ Throughout this speech, the coroner’s manner remained perfectly avuncular – he had an understated authority that reminded me of no one so much as Arthur – but it was impossible not to be electrified by the content, with its implications of suicide and even murder. All heads in the room were raised now, all backs tensed to attention, as he spelled it out for us: ‘While satisfied that there could have been no sabotage to the vehicle, I would like now to question a group of witnesses who may be able to help me in understanding if the collision could in any way have been intentional on the part of the driver, Mrs Woodhall.’

He called Josa Buxton, who identified herself as Sylvie’s elder sister of Arundel, Sussex, and confirmed that she had spoken to Sylvie the day before the accident. I thought of the yellow plate, of Sylvie holding it to her chest like a trophy or a shield; I thought of a walk through a darkening park with a man who belonged to somebody else, the sense of enchantment I’d felt in his presence, the conviction that there could be no resisting what lay in store for us. What had Arthur said about our being together? It seemed inconceivable that it wouldn’t happen, he’d said. He had not bargained for death, for the obliteration of his family.

‘I knew there were problems in the marriage,’ the sister said, in answer to a question I had missed. ‘I knew that Arthur had been unfaithful to her several times over the years and she found it very upsetting.’

I caught my breath. Somehow I had not considered that other people would be questioned about the Woodhalls’ marriage today; only me. Stealing a glance towards Arthur’s row, I saw that his head remained facing the coroner; he did not turn to look at his sister-in-law as she laid his private life bare.

‘It was not her desire to end the marriage?’ the coroner asked.

‘No, definitely not. She wanted to keep her family together. She felt very strongly that teenagers need their parents just as much as younger children do. She’d done a lot of reading about it.’ Anticipating the direction of the coroner’s enquiries, Josa declared, ‘There is no way on earth she would have deliberately harmed her boys. I can’t stress that strongly enough. If anything, she was sacrificing personal happiness for their well-being.’

The coroner nodded respectfully. ‘You last spoke to her on the morning of Friday the twenty-second of July, when she met you for coffee at your home. You were aware of no specific problem or piece of news that had distressed her in the preceding days?’

‘No. She was quite negative when I asked after Arthur, but that wasn’t unusual. As I say, she had often felt let down by him. I thought he must have been unfaithful again, or she suspected he had. She’d become a bit paranoid about it and I suppose I’d stopped picking up on every little comment or criticism.’

‘Paranoid in the sense that she was suspicious of events taking place that had not in fact taken place?’

‘More that she didn’t always know for sure whether they had or not. She didn’t always have evidence. He was a master at covering his tracks and he also had his staff telling lies for him. You probably know he’s quite famous, very famous in his field, and everyone treated him like a god. It’s amazing Sylvie didn’t…’ She did not finish the comment, but it was clear that there was no love lost for Arthur from this quarter. Inevitably I was now thinking, Does she know about me? Do any of them? Was my testimony to be the first time they heard my name, understood my part in this tragedy? If so, I did not think I would get out of the building alive.

‘To clarify: in this conversation, you were not made aware of an individual person or specific incident to which she might be having an extreme emotional reaction. Did she mention any plan to return to London the following day?’

‘No,’ Josa said. ‘She always stayed till the August bank-holiday weekend. I’m sure she would have said if she was going back the next day, even if it was just a dentist’s appointment.’

I had been the one with the dentist’s appointment, I thought. Shame seemed to be manifesting itself in body temperature and, having earlier been shivering, I was now flushed and sweating.

When Josa stepped down, she took a seat next to Nina, who was called to the witness box immediately after and laid a gentle hand on the other’s shoulder as she passed behind her. Again, I craved similar comfort: what had I been thinking, trying to survive this on my own?

As Nina swore her oath, it seemed to me that her confidence and authority brought a heightened significance to proceedings. She awaited questioning with an attitude quite different from that of Sylvie’s sister, as if her commitment and intelligence in this matter matched the coroner’s own. She was compelling, I thought, as I had when I first met her. What a friend to have, what a woman to have on your side!

How incredible it seems now that I should have had such admiration for her.

It was evident in her opening words that she had more specific insight into Sylvie’s private anguish than had Josa. ‘Yes, she had found out about Emily Marr about a month earlier,’ she said briskly. At the first mention of my name, I coloured deeply under my make-up, lowering my eyes in anticipation of the hostile attention to come. ‘She’d had her suspicions before that; she could tell Arthur was involved with another woman. But this one was different. She thought he seemed unusually happy. She said she’d seen him one day in the street when he didn’t know she was driving past and he looked euphoric. That was the word she used: euphoric. She found it heartbreaking that it should be someone else who’d made him so happy and not his own family. It was about the same time that our friend Sarah had told her she’d seen him and Emily outside the Inn on the Hill hotel and she put two and two together. It wasn’t rocket science.’

‘What was her reaction to this deduction?’

‘She was terrified he was going to leave her, she seemed convinced it was going to happen sooner rather than later, and she had to decide how to deal with that possibility. Until then, it had always been a question of her threatening to leave him and him deciding he didn’t want the affair as much as he wanted to stay with his family. There’d been a pattern she could rely on. But this time was different and she didn’t know what to do.’

‘Her removal to Sussex for the summer was not to be considered an attempt by her to leave him?’

‘No, she went there for most of July and August every year. She thought it was best to carry on as normal, especially as it was Alex’s last summer before he went off travelling.’ Nina paused, lingering as I did, as everyone present must have been, on those words ‘Alex’s last summer’. ‘The boys had invited friends, there was a party planned for Alex’s send-off and she didn’t want to disappoint them by cancelling. Arthur always went down for two weeks in August and she decided that was when she was going to confront him, when there weren’t all of his work demands and, obviously, when he was away from
her
, Emily. Meanwhile she’d have time to develop some strategies to deal with the new crisis.’