The Innocent: A Coroner Jenny Cooper Crime Short (3 page)

‘Are we sure their interest is completely healthy?’

‘Please. These are some of the most dedicated people we’ve got.’

‘Even angels fall, Jenny.’

‘Not these ones. They’ve got two grown-up daughters of their own. I’ve met them. They’re both lovely, well-adjusted young women.’

‘All right. The police will talk to them, I’m sure.’ Elaine moved on in the file. ‘I was looking for any suggestion that Natasha might have had a history of self-harming or suicidal thoughts. I couldn’t find anything.’

‘I don’t think those were her problems. She had plenty of others.’

Elaine stared at her over the rims of her glasses. ‘Why do you think she killed herself, Jenny? She was in our care. We’re going to have to come up with an answer.’

‘Sometimes there isn’t one,’ Jenny said. ‘We’ve all known people who—’

Elaine interrupted. ‘I don’t think you understand.’

‘I think I do.’

‘Listen to me, Jenny. We have to come up with a reason. You know what will happen if we don’t.’

Jenny didn’t answer her.

‘Moments before she jumped, she called your number. It may not seem obvious to you, but from here it looks as if you had become very special to her. You’re a lawyer, not a social worker, so it looks odd, to say the least. Suspiciously odd.’

‘What are you implying?’

‘Did you have an inappropriate relationship with that girl?’

‘Of course not—’ For a moment Jenny found herself speechless. ‘How could you even think that?’

‘Come on, Jenny. We’ve both worked here long enough to know that anything’s possible.’

Jenny looked into Elaine’s expectant face and saw that the women she had served so loyally really was prepared to believe she had exploited an innocent child. ‘You’ve lost touch with reality, Elaine. You’ve forgotten who I am.’

Elaine gathered up the papers in front of her into a neat pile. ‘I think it’s best you stay away from the office until this has been dealt with. I’d also ask you not to speak to or contact anyone else in the team.’

‘You’re suspending me?’

‘Yes. Check your contract. It’s standard procedure.’

‘
Suspended?
What are you meant to have done?’ David was appalled.

‘I told you – nothing. There’ll be a review. It’ll be fine.’ Jenny had been determined to show her husband she was coping despite the feelings of shame, anger, grief and bewilderment churning inside her. He was a surgeon – a man who avoided emotional involvement with his patients – and wouldn’t have understood the connection she’d had with Natasha, still less the impulse that had led her to hand over her mobile phone number.

David glanced at her dubiously as he filled his glass with Chianti. ‘I’d get my retaliation in first, if I were you. You can’t expect loyalty, not from anyone. What were the foster parents doing?’

‘They weren’t expected to keep her under lock and key.’

‘Time for a saner job if you ask me,’ David said. ‘You can do without this nonsense.’

‘I like my work—’

‘You don’t fancy something less stressful for a while? Might do you good – more time with Ross.’

‘We’re back on this again?’

‘God, Jenny, please! I’m concerned for you.’ He rested a hand on her shoulder. ‘You know I am.’

Jenny let out a sigh. He had touched a nerve. Her guilt at spending so little time with Ross was ratcheting up each day. There were plenty of part-time legal jobs that would have left her with time to be a proper wife and mother.

‘It’ll be all right, Jenny. It will. I know how conscientious you are.’

She felt herself soften towards him and dipped her head into his shoulder. He stroked her hair. Lately, their moments of affection had become so rare that she had almost forgotten what it was like just to feel his warmth and closeness.

‘Perhaps this is timely, you know? One of those moments you’ll look back on as pivotal?’

‘Maybe.’ For the first time that day she felt tears run down her cheeks. It was a relief of sorts. She sniffed. ‘I’m sorry—’

‘No need to be.’ He set down his glass and circled his muscular arms around her. ‘I do love you, Jenny. I really do.’ He kissed the top of her forehead and her damp eyelids, just like he used to when they had first become lovers. They’d met when she was still a student, spent all their adult lives together, learnt all they knew about the harshness and injustice of the world alongside one another. ‘Have some more wine. Try to forget about it. I’ll see to dinner tonight.’

She was refilling her glass when the doorbell sounded.

‘I’ll go.’ David was insistent.

He stepped around her and into the hall while Jenny hung back in the kitchen. She had a bad feeling.

She saw him open the door to a man and woman who could only have been detectives. The woman’s eyes peered past him, scanning the inside of the house.

‘Good evening, sir,’ her colleague said. ‘Is Mrs Cooper at home?’

‘You are?’

‘Detective Sergeant Reynolds, and Detective Constable Clarke.’

‘I’ll see if she’s available.’ David addressed them in the clipped tone he used to subdue awkward patients. ‘Wait there.’

Jenny set down her glass on the counter and went out into the hallway. She met David’s eyes. ‘It’s all right.’

She approached her visitors. They were young, Reynolds no more than thirty-five, his female colleague still in her twenties. ‘Jenny Cooper. How can I help you?’

‘We’d like a word about Natasha Greenslade.’

‘Of course. What would you like to know?’

‘We’ve had a formal complaint against you, Mrs Cooper. Nothing that would justify an arrest at this stage, but it might be in your interests to come with us to make a statement.’

‘Can’t you speak to her here?’ David couldn’t resist intervening.

Ignoring him, Reynolds continued, ‘It’s better for you if it’s on video. We can’t do that here.’

‘I really shouldn’t, Jenny,’ David warned. ‘Not without a lawyer.’

‘Give me a moment. I’ll be right with you,’ Jenny said.

‘Jenny—’

‘We’ll be in the car,’ Reynolds said, and motioned Clarke to follow him.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ David said. ‘They can’t drag you to a police station if you’ve done nothing wrong.’

Jenny tried to remain calm. ‘They’re just doing their job. If I don’t go with them now, they’ll be back at dawn with a warrant. I don’t think either of us would prefer that.’

‘This is outrageous.’

‘Tell Ross I’ll see him tomorrow.’ She reached for her coat and followed the detectives.

The interview room in The Bridewell was soundproofed and air-conditioned, and the walls seemed to close in tighter with every passing moment. A video camera mounted on a tripod stared accusingly at her, registering every nervous tick and gesture. Jenny felt a bead of sweat trickle from her temple and attempted to wipe it away with a casual gesture as Reynolds glanced down at his notes. He missed it, but Clarke didn’t. She was noting everything with a cruel intelligence. Pale and slender-featured, she was superficially pretty, but there was no feeling coming from her; nothing to appeal to.

Reynolds looked thoughtfully across the table at her. He was easier and more confident than his colleague, a graduate, Jenny suspected. She found herself trusting him for that reason, but at the same time she knew it was a mistake. She mustn’t trust anyone.

‘You’ve no idea how Natasha got your phone number?’ Reynolds asked the question for the third time.

‘No.’ Jenny gave the same answer, believing her denial a little more with each repetition. She had felt she had no choice but to stick with the story she had begun. To have done anything else would have made her look as if she had something shameful to hide. And as far as she was concerned, she didn’t. ‘I suppose she might have had opportunities to look at my phone while we were at court together. Or her foster parents might have had it written down somewhere.’

‘Sure,’ Reynolds said. ‘But it still begs the question, why you? If we could just crack that—’ He glanced at his colleague. ‘The post-mortem was straightforward. The video from the station shows her stepping off the platform in front of the train. Either she was calling you for help, or she was going to do it anyway and was letting you know. It strikes me that would have been pretty cruel – not something she’d have done without a reason.’

‘I’ve had no contact with Natasha since the court case. She seemed perfectly happy with the outcome. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t been taken into care before.’

‘Have you ever seen her “socially”, Mrs Cooper?’

‘Never.’ Jenny felt her heart begin to race. She was frightened that her panic was becoming obvious.

‘I’ll level with you, Mrs Cooper. Her mother seems to think there might have been something going on between the two of you.’

‘I have nothing against Karen Greenslade – she’s had a very difficult life – but it doesn’t surprise me that she’s trying to cast blame.’

Detective Constable Clarke made a rare intervention: ‘You did have a soft spot for Natasha, though, didn’t you?’

‘Not in the sense I think you’re implying,’ Jenny said. ‘I had been the lawyer attached to her case for nearly six years. It would have been inhuman not to have felt concern for her.’

‘Karen Greenslade says she saw you put your hand on Natasha’s arm during the court case in July,’ Clarke said. ‘She says you were “touchy-feely” with her.’

‘She was sitting between me and her social worker for some of the hearing. Talk to her. Talk to Judy Harris. She’ll tell you.’

‘We have, Mrs Cooper,’ Reynolds said. ‘She says you behaved perfectly professionally in her presence, but that you were alone with Natasha on several occasions.’

‘As was she. We were a team. We’re talking about a child who might have suffered all manner of abuse we didn’t even know about.’ Jenny felt her anger mounting beyond her ability to contain it. ‘We found her a safe foster home. You always know there’s a risk of a child like that doing something dreadful – of course there is – but you keep on doing the best you can. It’s what I do. It’s what we all try to do, isn’t it?’

The two detectives were unmoved.

‘You’re sure there’s nothing you want to tell us?’ Reynolds said.

‘I want to tell you that Karen Greenslade is eaten up with guilt and wants someone to blame.’

‘She says the same about you,’ Clarke countered.

‘I have nothing more to say,’ Jenny said.

Reynolds nodded and brought the interview to an end. ‘Thank you, Mrs Cooper. That’s all for now. Would you like me to arrange you a lift home?’

‘In a squad car? No thank you. I’ll get a taxi.’

Jenny couldn’t sleep. She lay wide awake, with Reynolds’ words, ‘That’s all
for now
,’ repeating over and over in her mind. She knew what police were like. She had witnessed first hand the particular delight they took in bringing down those who appeared outwardly respectable. She had dealt with children abused by carers, teachers and priests, and had seen how those suspected of the crimes against them, some entirely blameless, were hounded mercilessly by police officers who had no regard for the presumption of innocence. Necessary as it was, smoking such criminals out was as cathartic as police work got: it cleansed the detective of his own darkness, elevated him to a sinless plane. Jenny knew this because she, too, had experienced the thrilling feeling of moral superiority on learning that her dark suspicions had been confirmed by a tearful confession.

As dull dawn light crept around the curtains she found herself praying for forgiveness. How many people had she helped wrongly to accuse during the course of her career? How many injustices could be laid at her feet?

Days passed in aching silence. No word from the office. Not one well-wishing call. She was alone, on a limb, slowly being hung out to dry by colleagues she would never again be able to call friends. David became increasingly impatient and angry on her behalf. He was a man used to taking immediate action. She should resign immediately, he insisted, write to Elaine, telling her that she could rot. It was tempting, and Jenny spent many empty daytime hours composing and refining the letter in her mind. It would be subtle and understated, but hold a mirror up to Elaine’s character in which she would see a reflection so monstrous she would never be able to look at herself again. She shocked herself with the viciousness of her fantasy. Was this her true character surfacing?

The call came exactly a week after her interview at the police station.

‘Mrs Cooper?’

‘Yes.’

‘Detective Sergeant Reynolds. I thought you’d like to know that we’ve found no evidence of criminality in the circumstances of Natasha Greenslade’s death. But, of course, we will be keeping the file under review.’

‘What does that mean, exactly?’

‘I think “under review” is fairly self-explanatory. The matter has been handed to the coroner. I’m sure he’ll be in touch.’

‘Will you be informing my employers?’

‘I’ve already done so. Goodbye, Mrs Cooper.’

Reynolds rang off before she could ask any more unwanted questions.

There was no word from Elaine. No email. No letter the following morning. Jenny was damned if she would be the one to break the impasse, so she waited. Two more days dragged by before she received a call from the coroner’s office. A cheerful middle-aged woman named Kathy Turner introduced herself as the coroner’s officer and said Jenny would be summoned to an inquest to be held the following week. The coroner, Mr Bolter, had been forwarded a transcript of her police interview, but she was free to add to it if she wished. Jenny remembered what she had been told as a trainee solicitor sent out to sit with suspects during their police interviews: say nothing, and if you have to say something, say as little as possible.

‘I’ve no more to add,’ Jenny said, and then, in the weak hope of receiving a reassuring word, added, ‘There’s really not a lot to say.’

‘We’ll see you at court, then, Mrs Cooper. There’s a letter with the details in the post.’

Bolter. There was little comfort to be found in the name, and less still when Jenny searched for ‘Bolter, coroner’ online. She discovered that he had a reputation for harsh and extended cross-examination of witnesses. He prided himself on his bluntness and willingness to refer cases he had dealt with to the prosecuting authorities. She found his photograph: a balding, red-faced ox of a man with hard black eyes in which the lights of compassion seemed to have gone out.