The Redeemed (11 page)

Jenny said, 'Do you accept that he wasn't telling you the
truth when he said he had been called in to work on the afternoon before he
died?'

'Yes.'

'Did he make a habit of lying to you?'

'He did not.'

'You say he left home around four o'clock on the Saturday
afternoon. According to the pathologist, he died approximately five hours
later. His body was found in a graveyard a little over two miles from your
home. His clothes were in a nearby bin along with the packaging for a quantity
of phenobarbital. This is an anti-convulsant drug, fatal levels of which were
found in his bloodstream.' Jenny paused to take a mouthful of water and seize
the momentary opportunity to avoid Ceri Jacobs's gaze. 'Do you have any idea
what led him to that graveyard, Mrs Jacobs?'

'None at all,' she retorted, as if Jenny's question was
nothing short of indecent.

'A sign of the cross was cut into his torso with a small
kitchen knife that was found close to where he lay. It seems likely he did it
himself. Do you know why?'

'I don't believe it's at all likely,' Ceri Jacobs said. 'I
don't believe my husband took his life. I think he was molested and left to
die.' She lifted her gaze to the old priest. 'If he did make that cross, it was
as a sign to me, and to God, that he was leaving this world in faith.'

'The forensic evidence shows that your husband had
intercourse with an unidentified male in the hours immediately preceding his
death. Are you able to shed any light on this, Mrs Jacobs?'

The widow took a moment to compose herself, then answered
with a level of certainty that took Jenny and the entire courtroom by surprise.
'If it happened, it was not consensual. My husband worked with the ill and
disturbed, with people who are dangerous to themselves and often to others. He
wasn't just a nurse to them, he was a friend. The only explanation that makes
sense to me is that he went in good faith to meet someone who attacked him. I
also believe that there was some hint of this meeting on his computer, and that
for whatever reason that evidence was destroyed by the police, who have chosen
not to pursue this line of inquiry.'

Her accusation was met with silence from her family, a look
of suppressed pain from her priest and one of resignation from DI Wallace.
Alison caught Jenny's eye, her expression suggesting there was little point in
prolonging her ordeal; she would only embarrass herself further.

Jenny said, 'I note your theory, Mrs Jacobs, and I can assure
you your solicitor will be able to explore it fully with the other witnesses.'
She addressed the lawyers: 'Any questions?'

'No, ma'am,' Randall said, with a reassuring smile to his
client.

Suzanne Hayter stood abruptly, extracting a document from
amongst her orderly notes. 'Mrs Jacobs, at the police's request the pharmacist
at the Conway Unit carried out an audit of the stocks of phenobarbital and
found that two packets, each containing a sheet of twelve tablets, were
unaccounted for. Here is the report.' She held up the document. 'Your husband
had access to the pharmacy and regularly signed drugs out. The pharmacy is
outside the locked unit. Patients have no access to it.'

'I wouldn't know,' Ceri Jacobs answered defensively.

'But you do know that your husband had a recent history of
impropriety in matters concerning drugs and their prescription.'

'It wasn't Alan at fault,' Mrs Jacobs snapped back. 'It was
the psychiatrist. You know that.'

Sitting in the row behind, Harry Gordon, the Trust's lawyer,
wore the smug expression of a man who felt that things were about to turn in
his favour.

'The patient who killed herself following his unauthorized
intervention in her drugs regime was called Emma Derwent,' Suzanne Hayter said.

'Alan saved her life. It was Dr Pearce who made her suicidal.'

Suzanne Hayter belonged to the tungsten-shelled breed of
advocates Jenny had once envied with a passion. Mrs Jacobs's emotion seemed
only to harden her further. 'Did you notice any change in your husband's mood
following Miss Derwent's death?'

'He was always upset when a patient died.'

'I'm sorry to have to be so blunt, but what I am asking is
whether his remorse at having interfered with her treatment and her subsequent
suicide could have driven him to take his own life.'

Ceri Jacobs erupted. 'How dare you accuse my husband of
harming that girl. It's Dr Pearce who should be feeling sorry, and all the
people who have covered up for him.'

Unmoved, Suzanne Hayter turned to Jenny. 'No further
questions, ma'am.'

Jenny thanked Mrs Jacobs for her patience and told her she
could return to her seat. Refusing to step down, she said, 'I am not going to
let them tell lies about my husband. You can see what they're doing, they're
just trying to protect themselves.'

'I appreciate how you feel, Mrs Jacobs, but all parties are
entitled to ask questions.'

Randall intervened before Ceri Jacobs retaliated. 'Thank you,
ma'am. I'll make sure my client fully understands the position.' With a gentle
smile he coaxed her from the witness box, whispering comforting words as he guided
her to her seat. Her relatives traded uncomfortable glances that told Jenny
they suspected Suzanne Hayter had hit a raw nerve, and quite probably the
truth.

DI Wallace was showing increasing signs of impatience, but
Jenny made him wait his turn and called for Deborah Bishop, director of the
Conway Unit. With her untinted hair, and clothes that failed to flatter her
spreading figure, she looked older than her forty-four years; a woman, Jenny
speculated, struggling to manage a high-pressure job as well as care for her
family.

Deborah Bishop read the oath with a nervous briskness. Jenny
noticed her cast Harry Gordon a mistrustful glance. He would have briefed her
exhaustively, instructing her on pain of death to stick to the corporate line
and never to admit to mistakes, even honest ones. It occurred to Jenny that the
future of Deborah Bishop's career might hang on her performance in the next few
minutes.

Bishop told the court that she had been director of the
Conway Unit for a little over two years and had been Alan Jacobs's line manager
for the entire period. He was the senior psychiatric nurse in the young
persons' ward and had performed his duties admirably, helping the unit gain a
three-star government rating. They had held regular weekly meetings and as far
as she was concerned he was as happy as could be expected, given the
extraordinary pressures of his job. In fact, he coped better than most: his
personnel file showed he hadn't taken a day off sick for over fifteen months.
Her last meeting with him had been on the Friday morning, thirty-six hours
before he died. Their discussion had been perfectly routine, and was mostly
concerned with how he should deal with a black female nurse suffering racist
taunts from a deeply disturbed young woman on the ward. The nurse claimed a
right not to be abused, and Jacobs had argued for the patient's right not to be
medicated to insensibility.

'Did you resolve the issue?' Jenny asked.

'Alan suggested the nurse be transferred to other duties. I
pointed out that was a luxury we couldn't afford. We agreed to think on it over
the weekend and discuss it again the following Monday.'

'Was it something that might have weighed heavily on his
mind?'

'It may have done, but similar issues present themselves all
the time.'

Jenny glanced at Harry Gordon, his eyes fixed on Mrs Bishop,
willing her to stick to the script.

'Reading between the lines,' Jenny continued, 'do I detect a
suggestion that he suspected the patient was more likely to be chemically
silenced than the nurse transferred from the ward?'

'He wasn't unrealistic. A touch idealistic sometimes, but
that's what made him such a good nurse.' She attempted a smile. Ceri Jacobs
glared at her. With a glance at Harry Gordon, Deborah Bishop continued
unprompted: 'I had only known him make one serious lapse of judgement, which
was why I felt able to excuse it.'

Jenny said, 'You're referring to the Emma Derwent incident,
when he felt a doctor had misdiagnosed her as paranoid schizophrenic.'

'Yes. And unfortunately he altered the patient's medication.
As I said, I took no formal action against him on that occasion.'

'Tell me, Mrs Bishop, when it was discovered that Mr Jacobs
had taken the patient off her anti-psychotic medication, did he express
regret?'

Mrs Bishop's eyes flitted to Harry Gordon and Suzanne Hayter.
Jenny got the impression it was a question for which she hadn't been primed.

'Mrs Bishop?'

'He made a formal apology to Dr Pearce, of course.'

'But he remained adamant about the misdiagnosis. And shortly
after the patient resumed the medication he thought had contributed to her
symptoms she took her own life.'

'This was a suicidal patient. She was being correctly treated
by a consultant psychiatrist. As far as I am concerned, the only clinical error
was committed by Alan Jacobs.'

Ceri Jacobs's mother laid a hand on her daughter's arm,
urging her to remain calm.

'Maybe I'm jumping to conclusions, Mrs Bishop, but I'm
assuming Mr Jacobs remained convinced this patient was misdiagnosed, which
leads me to wonder if the only reason he didn't seek a clinical review of her
case before she died was that you could have dismissed him on the spot.'

'I couldn't possibly comment on his state of mind.'

'Try to see if you can comment on this: if Emma Derwent's
death was on his conscience, would it have been because of what he did or
because he wasn't prepared to lose his job for what he thought to be right?'

Mrs Bishop shot back with an answer which Jenny had no doubt
had been scripted by Harry Gordon: 'When a respected professional has a serious
lapse of judgement it can be a very traumatic event. He hid it well, but my
personal belief, for what it's worth, is that it caused Alan Jacobs to suffer a
shipwreck of self-esteem.'

'One last thing,' Jenny said. 'Did you have any email
correspondence with him concerning Emma Derwent either before or after her
death?'

'No, I did not.'

Suzanne Hayter offered no cross-examination. Randall, who was
not a gifted advocate, attempted to extract the names of any dangerous former
patients at the unit who might have lured Alan Jacobs to his death, but Mrs
Bishop refused to be drawn. She had made all the patient records available to
the police and detectives had spoken to each of the nursing staff. As far as
she was aware, Jacobs had had no personal contact with ex-patients; it would
have been highly unprofessional, and she was sure he would not have succumbed
to any further lapses of judgement.

Harry Gordon smiled as Mrs Bishop stepped down from the
witness box. His woman had survived her brief ordeal and kept the reputation of
the Conway Unit intact. Jenny had begun to suspect there were deeper layers to
the Emma Derwent story, but none of the nursing staff Alison had taken
statements from would admit any knowledge of the matter. Either they were
hiding something, or, just as likely, Jacobs had dealt with her alone and very
much in secret.

DI Tony Wallace was the last witness of the morning session.
Brusque and businesslike, he described the condition in which Jacobs's body had
been found and summarized his investigations into Jacobs's recent history. He
produced a lab report which confirmed that the phenobarbital in Jacobs's
stomach had come from the packets which were found along with his clothing, and
delivery notes that proved that the drugs matched those in a consignment
delivered to the Conway Unit's pharmacy. In the absence of any forensic
evidence suggesting a violent struggle, DI Wallace was in no doubt that Jacobs
had taken his own life.

Jenny said, 'There is a suggestion in the pathologist's
report that the body may have been turned over some hours after death occurred.
Do you have any idea how or why that happened?'

'I don't believe it was the two kids who dialled 999. They
claimed they were too frightened to go very close and I have to say I believe
them.'

'So it's possible someone else disturbed the body beforehand?'

'Yes. Most likely they rolled him over, realized he was dead
and took fright. It might even have been whoever he had sex with.'

Avoiding Mrs Jacobs's gaze, Jenny said, 'Do you have any idea
who that person might have been?'

'None at all, I'm afraid. Internal swabs were taken, but the
DNA profile didn't match any currently held on the national database.'

'Were you able to establish Mr Jacobs's movements after he
left home?'

'We just got a piece of information through this morning - he
bought petrol at Easton Road at four-thirty in the afternoon. He used his
MasterCard. We asked the filling station for any CCTV footage but it gets
overwritten every day.'

'That means he was heading south from his home towards the
city centre. Where was his car found?'

'Around the corner from the church. The tank was nearly full
so I assume he didn't drive far.'