by Hall, M. R.
Major Christopher Fielding was a younger man than Jenny had expected, only thirty-three years old and with a boyish, benign face that didn’t seem to match the seriousness of his profession. He was dressed in a civilian suit, but it did little to disguise his military bearing. He read the oath briskly then looked to Jenny with a bemused expression, as if awaiting an explanation for his summons to court.
Jenny said, ‘Major Fielding, I see from the statement that you kindly provided to my officer that you belong to the 4th Battalion Military Intelligence Corps, and are currently based at Bulford Camp, Salisbury.’
‘That’s correct.’
‘And on the 16th of July this year, you paid a visit to Hampton’s Health Club in Bristol.’
‘I did.’
‘Can I ask you why you were there?’
‘I had been on overnight business in Bristol, and called in the next morning. I belong to a club in Salisbury that has reciprocal membership.’
‘I appreciate that this may sound a slightly odd question, but do you mind if I ask what kind of business?’
‘I can answer up to a point—’
‘Please do,’ Jenny said.
Fielding picked his words carefully. ‘I’m on a regional liaison committee. Every few months the various law-enforcement and intelligence-gathering agencies come together to swap information on issues or individuals of interest to us. We had several sessions over the course of a weekend. It’s meant to make us more efficient.’ He smiled at what appeared to be his idea of a joke.
Jenny said, ‘Were you at the health club alone or with colleagues?’
‘Alone. But if I might say so, I question the relevance of this. Since being contacted by your officer I reported to the Medical Officer and have been confirmed completely free of any infectious diseases.’ He reached into his jacket and produced a document. ‘I have a letter here.’
Alison fetched it from him and handed it to Jenny. In a few short sentences it confirmed the military doctor’s finding that Fielding had tested negative for meningitis and a whole tranche of other infections. Jenny could have left it there – his presence at the club was always likely to have proved coincidental – but now she had him in the witness box, she felt it wouldn’t hurt to ask a few more questions.
‘I appreciate you having gone to this trouble, Major Fielding. Thank you.’ She handed the letter back to Alison. ‘But tell me, have you had reason to visit the military research establishment at Porton Down in recent months?’
‘I have been there once or twice,’ he answered, as if the question was entirely expected.
‘You’re aware that it’s a facility where research is carried out to defend against hazards presented by chemical and biological warfare.’
‘I think that’s common knowledge, ma’am. But if you’re suggesting, as I think you may be, that I somehow transmitted this bacteria, I think the tests disprove that. I can also assure you I haven’t set foot inside a laboratory.’
He smiled again, polite and assertive, and Jenny detected a strange familiarity. It wasn’t his face she recognized, rather his demeanour. It was in the slight upwards tilt of his chin and the tightly cropped military haircut. He was of a type; the same type as the man who had glanced her way inside the entrance to the Diamond Light Source. It was a wholly unjustified, irrational connection to have made, certainly not one she could articulate in open court, but it stuck and refused to dislodge.
‘Have you been in close contact with anyone who has been inside a laboratory?’
‘Not that I am aware.’
‘But you might have been?’
‘It’s possible, of course.’
Jenny had exhausted all questions she could reasonably have asked him. She had no choice but to thank him for his help and offer him to the lawyers for cross-examination. Not surprisingly, none of them took her up on it. After fewer than five minutes in the witness box, Major Fielding was walking smartly towards the exit.
Dr Anita Verma bristled with impatience as she stepped forward to give evidence for the second time in a week. Jenny reminded her that she was still on oath to tell the whole truth, and asked her if Elena Lujan’s remained the only other reported case.
‘Yes,’ Dr Verma replied curtly. ‘Miss Freeman and Miss Lujan’s cases remain the only two in the country that we know of. We’re making no assumptions, but it’s good news so far.’
‘Do you have any idea how long this infection takes to incubate?’
‘Between two and ten days. In the normal run of events we would have expected more cases by now. To that extent we’ve been very fortunate.’
‘Are you any closer to understanding how these two women came to be infected, Dr Verma?’
‘We’ve yet to isolate the source. It’s possible we never will. The most likely explanation is that it was an infected individual who has remained asymptomatic or who has moved on elsewhere, even abroad.’
‘Or who came from abroad? From the meningitis belt of Africa, perhaps?’
‘There are all manner of explanations. As you know, Miss Lujan worked as a prostitute. It’s possible she had an infected client. We may be lucky and trace him, but we may not.’
‘And transmission from Miss Lujan to Miss Freeman?’
‘We can’t say. This disease can spread through a cough or a sneeze, rather like a cold. They could have been travelling in the same bus, passed each other in the street, or been infected by a third party entirely separately.’ She looked sympathetically at Ed and Fiona Freeman. ‘Other than adding to the condolences already offered to the family, I’m afraid there’s not much more I can assist you with, ma’am.’
Jenny turned back through her notes, buying herself a moment to draw up her courage. She was in no doubt she would need it. ‘Actually, there are several things you can help me with, Dr Verma.’
The witness responded with a look of surprise.
‘I presume that by now your laboratories have carried out a detailed analysis of the strain that proved fatal to Miss Freeman and Miss Lujan.’
‘That work is ongoing.’
‘It is the case, isn’t it, that it has proved resistant to the effects of all the usual antibiotics?’
‘Yes,’ she answered hesitantly.
‘It is also the case that antibiotic resistance can be artificially inserted into a bacterium almost as a matter of routine. In fact, I’ve heard that genes that code for antibiotic resistance are often used as “markers” when carrying out complex gene manipulation.’
‘Yes, but—’
‘But what, Dr Verma?’
‘This strain is clearly one that has evolved to develop antibiotic resistance. I’m afraid it’s like an arms race – microorganisms evolve to create chemical defences to drugs. When two strains, each of which has a different resistance, combine, you have a new one with double the defences. In this case, multiple defences.’
Jenny looked at her closely, wanting to read the reaction in her face. ‘Have you pursued the theory that this strain was developed artificially?’
Dr Verma replied without missing a beat. ‘No such organism has been created in a British laboratory. If any such work were being carried out, my agency would have been notified. It has not been.’
‘You’ve pursued the theory and discounted it – is that your answer?’
Dr Verma glanced at Martlett, then back at Jenny. ‘Yes.’
Jenny kept her in her gaze. ‘Is that an entirely truthful answer, Dr Verma?’
‘Of course.’
‘Can you tell me who the team that have been sweeping the Vale Hospital during the last few days work for?’
‘They’re reporting to us.’
‘Can you please answer the question?’
‘They are experts in detecting and handling dangerous organisms.’
‘From the military laboratory at Porton Down, in Wiltshire?’
Martlett rose to his feet. ‘Ma’am, the identities of the staff my clients use to carry out the
ir investigations is hardly relevant to the fact at issue. There really seems to me to be nothing more of significance to be gained from this witness.’
Jenny said, ‘As I have already explained, that is a matter for me. Sit down, please, Mr Martlett.’
Martlett glanced back at the three lawyers seated behind him and, taking his cue from them, reluctantly gave way.
Jenny continued with her questioning. ‘Is it safe to assume that you brought in such people because you feared an outbreak?’
‘It’s a perfectly sensible precaution.’
‘Are you able to tell me what they found?’
‘So far they’ve found nothing. No trace of this organism other than in the two fatalities.’
‘That is good news,’ Jenny said. ‘But can you tell me why they found it necessary to remove all brain tissue and spinal fluid from Sophie Freeman’s body without even informing Dr Kerr, the hospital’s chief pathologist?’
Dr Verma stared back at her, her eyes widening first in surprise, then alarm. For once, she was at a complete loss for words.
Jenny glanced at the lawyers, who had immediately started exchanging panicked whispers. Her question seemed to have caught them all unawares. Ed and Fiona Freeman looked at each other for the first time that morning.
‘You are aware that Miss Freeman’s brain and spinal fluid were removed? Dr Glazier, the pathologist you instructed to carry out the post-mortem on Elena Lujan, was present in the mortuary when the discovery was made.’
‘No,’ Dr Verma said weakly. ‘This is the first I’ve heard—’
‘The brain tissue and spinal fluid were also taken from the body of a man named Adam Jordan. He had died in a fall from a motorway bridge. Can you explain that, Dr Verma?’
‘No—’
‘Ma’am,’ interjected Martlett, ‘these allegations are entirely unknown to us—’
‘They’re not unknown to the hospital, Mr Martlett. Dr Kerr reported this to his manager.’
Martlett hurriedly consulted with Catherine Dyer and the team behind her. ‘Ma’am, Dr Verma can’t be asked to testify to something of which she had no knowledge.’
‘Then I expect your clients to produce a witness who does have the knowledge.’
‘That may take some time, ma’am.’
‘It won’t take long to summon Dr Verma’s superior. I expect to see him here this afternoon.’ She turned to Dr Verma. ‘You may stand down for the time being, but please remain in the room. I may well want to hear from you again.’
As Verma escaped from the witness box, Jenny addressed Martlett. ‘Mr Martlett, your clients should know that this inquiry will continue until they have provided answers. Clearly someone higher up the chain of command than Dr Verma has assumed that the small matter of the gross violation of a child’s body was something that could be hidden from my view. I would like you to make this plain: it cannot.’
Martlett gave a disdainful nod.
Radstock, the Freemans’ solicitor, rose. Behind him, Fiona Freeman was silently sobbing into a Kleenex. Her husband ventured to put a hand on her arm. She pushed him away.
‘Ma’am, my clients are understandably deeply disturbed by this allegation. Can we please have your assurance that you will substantiate it?’
‘We’ll hear from Dr Kerr now, Mr Radstock. I apologize to your clients, but sometimes surprise is necessary.’ She looked out across the rows of puzzled faces. ‘Will Dr Kerr please come forward?’
No one stood.
‘Is Dr Kerr in the room?’ She felt a wave of anxiety rise up from deep within her. ‘Dr Kerr?’
The door at the back of the court opened.
‘Dr Kerr?’ She heard a note of shrillness enter her voice.
Simon Moreton entered. He looked at her, and slowly and emphatically shook his head.
‘Fetch the witness, please, usher,’ Jenny barked at Alison. ‘We’ll rise until he’s found.’
She stood up and left the courtroom. As she closed the door behind her, she heard Ed Freeman’s angry voice above the commotion: ‘What in God’s name have you done to my daughter?’
The knock at the door sounded ominously.
‘Come in.’ Jenny didn’t look up from the email she was typing to the director of the Severn Vale District Hospital Trust. ‘Attempting to pervert the course of justice, Simon? I could have you thrown in the cells for contempt.’
‘I believe you’ve already met Miss Webley.’
Jenny looked up and saw the young intelligence officer at Moreton’s side. She was carrying a small tan briefcase and appeared taken aback at the modesty of the room in which she found herself.
‘Good morning, Mrs Cooper. I’m sorry to disturb you.’
‘I’m not sure either of you are quite grasping the seriousness of this matter,’ Jenny said, barely containing her fury. ‘Where’s Dr Kerr? He’s a witness. A lawfully summoned witness.’
‘There’s no call for alarm. He’s quite safe,’ Moreton said. ‘He’s just needed to answer a few questions.’
‘Questions from whom? You know that obstructing proceedings is unacceptable.’
‘I’m well aware of that, Jenny, but extraordinary circumstances call for extreme measures. May we?’ Moreton gestured to the two chairs that Jenny had failed to offer them.
She shrugged. She could gladly have hit him, especially when she saw the unctuous, apologetic smile he gave Webley as he drew up her plastic chair. Jenny wondered if he had already booked their table for lunch at the Hotel du Vin.
‘I’ll leave this to you, Ruth, shall I?’ Moreton said.
Webley unfastened her briefcase as she started to talk. ‘Mrs Cooper, I appreciate this is irregular, to put it mildly, but there are issues of national security involved.’ She glanced at Moreton. ‘I’m told I can trust you.’
‘Trust me to do what, precisely?’
‘There were several options open to me, Jenny, but you’re an experienced coroner with an impressive record. I was assured you would appreciate the delicacies of the situation.’
Jenny didn’t believe a word: for Simon not to have just shut her out – as he had tried to in the past – could only mean that he was frightened of her or, more probably, of what she might know. She was tempted to challenge him simply to remove her from the case, but a wiser voice told her to make the most of her advantage.
Jenny looked him in the eye. ‘All right. I’ll listen.’
Moreton responded with a grateful smile. And in it, Jenny could see that he had convinced himself that he had finally converted her to his cause: expedient justice.
‘I’ll be honest with you, Mrs Cooper,’ Webley began ominously, ‘organs and spinal fluid were taken from the cadavers as part of a thoroughgoing investigation into what we have had to treat as a potential emergency. I apologize for the impression of a cover-up, but when something as potentially dangerous as a fatal epidemic threatens, you have to do what it takes. I’m told those samples are necessary for studying this organism – they provide a bank, if you like.’
‘Are you intending to explain this to Mr and Mrs Freeman?’
‘Yes, of course.’ She glanced at the documents she held in her hand. ‘And to Mrs Jordan.’
Jenny waited for her to continue.
‘This is an unusual situation. There are several organizations involved. Initially the Health Protection Agency thought it was dealing with a simple outbreak, but an analysis of this strain of meningitis revealed – as I think you’ve worked out – that it carries the characteristics of a recombinant organism. That immediately triggered the involvement of the biological weapons team from Porton Down and my service. Our procedure is quite simple: we worked through our watch list to look for any possible connections. One of the names on our list was Sonia Blake’s. We had received intelligence that she had been in contact with a man named Adam Jordan. We looked into his background, tried to find him, then discovered he was dead. I think you can appreciate our interest, especially as he’d recently retu
rned to the country from an area where this disease is commonplace.’
‘What did you think he had done?’ Jenny said.
‘We had no idea, but we do know this about him.’
She brought some blown-up photographs out of her briefcase and handed them over to Jenny. They were similar to pictures she had seen at AFAD’s offices: a lush, green plantation standing in the midst of a parched, dry landscape. Adam Jordan could be seen in one of them, sitting shirtless behind the wheel of a stationary jeep.
‘One of his organization’s irrigation projects. It’s marijuana. Twenty-five acres of mature crop alongside the maize. From what I hear, he and his boss, Mr Thorn, took a principled stand on the issue – growing a lucrative cash crop was the fastest way out of poverty for these people.’
Hiding her disappointment, Jenny said, ‘Maybe they had a point.’
‘I’m sure they did, but once you’re in the drugs business you’re in everything that goes with it. People will do almost anything for a share of that kind of money, particularly somewhere as war-torn and poor as South Sudan.’
‘For what it’s worth, I get the impression that Adam Jordan’s heart was genuinely in the right place. Why else would he have been in contact with someone like Sonia Blake?’
‘We’re keeping an open mind about his motivations,’ Webley said coldly, ‘and about why he jumped off a bridge. Let’s just say the picture looks increasingly complicated.’
Jenny thought back to the photographs of Jordan’s car that Alison had shown her. ‘Was it your people who got to his car the morning after he died?’
‘What do you mean?’ Webley was puzzled.
‘The police took photographs – there was a wooden figurine hanging from the rear-view mirror. Someone took it before my officer arrived later that morning.’
‘No,’ Webley said. ‘I know nothing about that.’
For a reason she couldn’t pin down, Jenny believed her.
‘Is there anything else we should know? Really, Mrs Cooper – you’ll have to take my word when I say we have only a sketchy knowledge of what Adam Jordan had been doing.’
Again, Webley sounded sincere, but Jenny reminded herself who she was. It was her business to win trust as a means of extracting information. Human feelings existed merely to be exploited. She thought of the African girl with Adam at the filling station, of his regular withdrawals from a cashpoint in central Bristol, of Sonia Blake’s visit to the Diamond Light Source, of her father’s murder and her interest in the Soviet biologist Roman Slavsky. All were pieces of the puzzle that Webley and her colleagues were desperately trying to piece together, as she was. But she also recalled her last conversation with Karen Jordan, and her suspicion that Adam had seen legal drugs withheld from disease-stricken communities in South Sudan; drugs that were being used as weapons in a proxy war. A war over what, Jenny couldn’t begin to speculate. Oil? Minerals? Or perhaps nothing more than political influence in the great, long-playing African game?
