Jenny Cooper 03 - The Redeemed

by M. R. Hall

  ‘Just out of curiosity, was this also a spiritual epiphany?’ Jenny asked, aware that she was straying into territory that wasn’t strictly within the bounds of her inquiry.

  Nelson leaped on the opportunity to tell more of his story. ‘At that time I would describe myself as agnostic. As a thoroughly rational person I believed it was the only intellectually honest position to take. Impressed as I was by Michael’s work, I saw organized religion as more of a social good than an expression of absolute truth, a positive motivational force if you like; some people need it to behave well, others don’t.’ He smiled to himself as he tried to find the words to express what happened next. ‘I was still working at the bank when I came down to Bristol to see the church for myself. To be honest, I was sceptical. There were maybe four or five hundred people present and after nearly an hour I’d had enough, I decided that I had made a mistake. But then Pastor Lennox Strong challenged any new arrivals to come forward and commit themselves to God. I was already on my way to the exit, but it was as if a strong hand placed itself on my shoulder and turned me around.’ He paused briefly. ‘For those who have never experienced anything similar this will make no sense at all, but I was drawn to the front of the church by a force I can only assume was that of the Holy Spirit. And when Pastor Strong placed his hands on me, I experienced something to which words can do no justice—’

  ‘I’m sure we’d be very grateful if you’d try,’ Jenny said.

  ‘It’s a phenomenon that’s become known as the Rapture. If you can begin to imagine an overwhelming sense of warmth and unconditional love coupled with a sense of the physical body being transformed into something light and radiant, you’re a fraction of the way there. We call it a gift of the spirit; an experience God gives us to prove that he’s real. Some of us believe this has been sent to reinforce the promise of the rapture described in Thessalonians, when Christians are lifted from the earth to the heavens.’

  ‘What happened to you then, Mr Nelson?’ Jenny asked as the lawyers exchanged shifty glances.

  ‘Within a fortnight I had applied for and accepted the job.’ His eyes shone at the memory.

  ‘I’d like to take you forward in time some seven or eight months to when Eva Donaldson came to work for Decency. Did you have much contact with her?’

  ‘Yes. We were quite friendly. The board would meet in the church offices, Eva would sometimes attend. She would always stop and talk.’

  ‘Would you describe yourselves as close friends – did you socialize?’

  ‘Not in that sense. It was a friendly, professional relationship, although we had different employers.’

  ‘You never work for Decency?’

  ‘They have their own staff.’

  ‘So this wasn’t the kind of friendship in which you discussed intimacies, matters of a personal nature?’

  ‘Not in the sense that I think you mean.’

  ‘You’ll know that her former partner, Joseph Cassidy, claims that Eva lost her faith before her death. Do you have anything to say about that?’

  ‘I never doubted her faith. She gave total commitment – you only have to consider her schedule, she didn’t stop.’

  Jenny turned back through her notebook to a section of Michael Turnbull’s evidence she had flagged. ‘Eva was killed on the night of Sunday, 9 May. She had been making a round of media appearances that weekend and was due to speak at the evening service: is that your recollection of events?’

  ‘Yes,’ Nelson answered cautiously.

  ‘Michael Turnbull said in evidence that you took a call from Eva, who said she wasn’t able to attend.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘What precisely did she say to you?’

  ‘She said she was very sorry, but she was exhausted and wouldn’t be able to make it to the evening service.’

  ‘Had she ever done that before?’

  ‘Not that I can remember.’

  ‘Did you consider it unusual?’

  ‘Not at all. I took her at her word, I had no reason not to.’

  ‘How often did Eva address a congregation four thousand strong?’

  ‘I couldn’t say. Not often.’

  ‘So this was a special occasion. Michael and Christine Turnbull were there, Lennox Strong. It sounds like something of a rally for the Decency campaign.’

  ‘No. It was a service at which Eva had intended to say a few words.’

  Jenny detected a hint of stiffness, or was it defensiveness, in Joel Nelson’s answer.

  ‘To your knowledge, Mr Nelson, had anything happened? Had there been any falling-out or misunderstanding which might have led Eva to stay away?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Were you aware that as long ago as last November she had asked Decency for a pay rise and been refused?’

  ‘No, I didn’t know that.’

  ‘Did you know she had money problems?’

  ‘I had no knowledge of Eva’s finances.’

  ‘You weren’t aware that all this committed work for Decency was driving her further into debt?’

  ‘I was not.’

  ‘Would it be fair to assume that Michael Turnbull would have known?’

  Sullivan started to his feet. ‘Ma’am, surely the witness can’t be asked to speculate on something about which he can have no knowledge?’

  For once he was right, and Jenny was forced to concede. But perhaps she had offered it subconsciously to provide a moment of distraction before she cut to the bone. ‘You’re quite right, Mr Sullivan, it’s a question best saved for this afternoon. You don’t have to answer, Mr Nelson.’

  Sullivan sat down with the satisfaction of having scored his first point of the day. Behind him, Prince and his colleague remained impassive, their attention anchored in a lower realm Jenny had yet to fathom. They had the brittle stillness of people waiting for something they hoped was coming but might not; only their eyes moved, flitting from Sullivan to Nelson to each other, a glance at the time, no attempt to take notes or pass messages.

  ‘Let me ask you this, Mr Nelson,’ Jenny said. ‘Did you get any sense from Eva that she was in any way resentful or annoyed that Sunday evening?’

  ‘Not at all. She sounded a little tired, that’s all.’

  Jenny flicked forward through her notes of Lennox Strong’s evidence and tried to picture the scene in the crowded church on that Sunday night: the excited crowd whipped up by the music, hearing that Eva couldn’t be with them. Announcing that she was under the weather and had stayed at home didn’t seem to fit with the way the Mission Church choreographed its services, each one a carefully staged ‘happening’ in which the rules of real life were suspended.

  ‘Do you remember how Eva’s absence was explained to the congregation?’ Jenny asked.

  ‘I think Pastor Strong said something. I can’t recall his precise words.’

  ‘Did he tell them she was at home?’

  Nelson shook his head. ‘Possibly . . .’

  ‘Is it fair to say she had become something of a talismanic figure, a person people had come to see as living proof of the Mission Church’s work?’

  ‘I can’t deny that.’

  But your answer says you’d like to. Why, Mr Nelson? What is it you’d rather I didn’t know?

  ‘Were you ever aware of her receiving unwanted attention from any member of the church?’

  ‘She never mentioned anything of that sort to me.’

  Four thousand worshippers. There had to be more than a few who idolized her less than healthily, who had spent the day in anticipation of being in her presence. A lightning rod for the sexual and religious mania of countless confused and searching souls; the disappointment of her absence must have been crushing.

  ‘She was friendly with a young man in her study group by the name of Freddy Reardon. Unfortunately he died two nights ago. It seems likely he took his own life.’

  ‘Yes, I heard. It’s a tragedy. I also heard he had a history of mental illness.’

  Ant
icipating Sullivan’s objection, Jenny turned to the jury. ‘That’s correct, members of the jury. Freddy Reardon was sixteen years old, but had suffered a depressive illness in his earlier teens. He was due to give evidence to this inquest on Monday, but as you may have read in the local press it appears he took his life on Sunday evening. It’s not our job here to speculate why that was, so please take care not to read any undue significance into that event.’ She turned back to Nelson. ‘Did you know him?’

  ‘Hardly at all, I must confess.’

  ‘Were you aware that he was friendly with Eva?’

  ‘Vaguely. I might have seen them chatting once or twice.’

  Was she imagining it or was Prince’s new companion now operating Nelson by invisible strings? Her steady gaze was fixed on him, but angled as he was slightly towards the jury, Jenny couldn’t see if his eyes were meeting hers.

  ‘He was a regular volunteer at your church.’

  ‘I’m afraid I’m a back-office man,’ Nelson said. ‘I knew Freddy’s name, but I doubt he knew mine.’

  Jenny followed swiftly with a question she hoped would open a fissure. ‘Tell me about Alan Jacobs.’

  This time there was no doubt. Nelson glanced at the anonymous lawyer, who gave the slightest twitch of her eyebrows as if to remind him of his script.

  ‘I believe he’s another member of the congregation who also unfortunately took his life in recent weeks.’

  ‘Not only a member of the congregation, a member of the same study group as Freddy Reardon and Eva Donaldson. He also happened to be a psychiatric nurse who had come into contact with Freddy when he was an inpatient at the Conway Unit.’

  ‘I’m afraid to say I didn’t know Mr Jacobs either, but obviously I’m deeply sorry for him and his family.’

  ‘I presume his death was the subject of some discussion at the church?’

  ‘Not particularly,’ Nelson said. ‘When you’ve so many members these sorts of things are to be expected.’

  But how many study groups had two members who had killed themselves within days of each other? She would like to have rubbed Nelson’s nose in the circumstantial evidence until he was forced to say that Eva must have known things about them that no one else did, that she was their confidante and confessor, their channel from the darkness to the light and perhaps back again. Jenny had to be cleverer than that; she had to find the single weakness that would cause Nelson to stumble and drop his guard.

  ‘Mr Nelson, as the administrator of a church with such a high public profile, you must have been particularly alarmed at Mr Jacobs’s death, given his close association with Eva Donaldson.’

  ‘As far as I know the police saw no connection, and nor did we.’

  ‘“We”, being—?’

  ‘The church’s trustees.’

  Ruth Markham, solicitor for Kenneth Donaldson, stood up from her chair and broke her morning-long silence. ‘Ma’am, if I may say so, it strikes me that this inquiry is in danger of straying some distance from the narrow issue of what caused Eva Donaldson’s death. Clearly while the relevance of evidence is a matter for you to determine, the influence of irrelevant evidence on the jury could affect the sustainability of a verdict.’ She gave an almost apologetic smile.

  It was a muted interjection, but the message issued in lawyerly code was loud and clear: Stop this fishing trip and stick to hard facts or we’ll have the High Court tear up your verdict before the ink’s dry. Jenny watched Sullivan and Markham exchange a glance. Working in concert, they were sharing the load, making the record show that it was clear to all parties present that the coroner was trespassing where the law said she shouldn’t. She was caught in a catch-22: despite her duty to seek out and determine the truth, the ever-tightening case law told her she could only cast her net in certain well-defined waters. She desperately wanted to make the connection between Freddy, Jacobs and Eva, but almost any line of questioning hinting at one would suggest pre-judgement and bias. Reluctantly, she accepted that for present purposes Jacobs’s and Freddy’s deaths were off-limits.

  Thanking Markham for her observation, Jenny addressed her final question to Nelson: did he know of anyone other than the man convicted of her murder who wanted to kill Eva Donaldson?

  ‘No, ma’am. I firmly believe her killer is already behind bars, where he belongs.’

  Jenny’s mind swam with questions and half-made connections as first Sullivan, then Ruth Markham led Nelson through a series of questions and answers designed to banish any suspicion that Eva’s mental state was anything less than stable, or that the untimely deaths of Alan Jacobs and Freddy Reardon were anything other than a cruel coincidence. The Mission Church of God had suffered more than its fair share of suicides among its congregation, Nelson admitted, but as the last stop for the ill and the desperate it was only to be expected. If they had made one mistake it was in failing to protect Eva from its most troubled souls.

  Closing the door of her office to await Turnbull’s arrival, Jenny attempted to crystallize her suspicions into a theory that might be tested. She had grown increasingly certain throughout the morning that what linked Eva to Alan Jacobs and Freddy Reardon went beyond the simple fact of their acquaintance and into much darker places. She recalled Freddy’s hostile reaction when she had mentioned Jacobs’s name to him. They had met at the Conway Unit, but Freddy had violently denied that Jacobs had steered him towards the church. Eva had spoken to Freddy frequently, telephoned him and shared her insecurities. Why him? Did she sense a kindred spirit? And what had caused Freddy’s bleak mood the night three months ago when he arrived late for his dinner with his kindly neighbour, Maggie Harper?

  Jenny’s two brief forays into the Mission Church had taught her that it was a place of drama and catharsis; a crucible of emotion in which buried pains and passions were encouraged to erupt and spill out to the applause and wonder of the excited crowd: a theatre of the soul. It didn’t surprise her that Eva had been drawn from pornography to the Mission Church’s particular brand of religion. It was no coincidence that ‘ecstasy’ invariably described either sexual or religious euphoria.

  She lifted the phone and dialled Andy Kerr’s direct line at the Severn Vale District Hospital’s mortuary. She had hoped to reach him in person, but her call was answered by his machine.

  ‘Andy, it’s Jenny Cooper. I need you to run a DNA test for me. It’s just a hunch, but could you please establish if the semen found in Alan Jacobs’s body came from Freddy Reardon. I need to know as quickly as possible. Thanks.’

  She looked up to see Alison framed in the doorway.

  ‘There’s someone to see you, Mrs Cooper,’ she said guiltily.

  She stepped aside to make way for two men.

  ‘Good morning, ma’am,’ the older of the two grunted. ‘Detective Sergeant Simon Gleed.’ He passed her his warrant card and nodded to his younger colleague. ‘Detective Constable Alan Wesley.’

  The junior detective gave an embarrassed nod. Not yet thirty, he held a briefcase awkwardly in front of his body and glanced around the shabby room to avoid meeting Jenny’s gaze. Gleed was closer to fifty and hadn’t worn well; a beer drinker’s stomach strained against his shirt, and his bald head was coated with a thin sheen of perspiration.

  ‘You can leave us, Alison,’ Jenny said.

  She waited for the door to click shut before addressing her visitors.

  ‘Do you make a habit of interrupting judicial proceedings, Mr Gleed?’

  ‘We’re answering your enquiry, ma’am,’ he said with a pronounced Somerset burr that made him sound almost quaint. ‘I understand you’ve been trying to reach me.’

  Jenny sighed: an outward show of impatience to disguise the sensation of panic tightening her chest. ‘Let’s not play games. What do you want?’

  Gleed helped himself to a seat, leaving his subordinate standing.

  ‘A statement might be useful.’

  ‘Concerning?’

  ‘We’ve had a complaint, Mrs Cooper,’ Gleed s
aid, as he reached a handkerchief from his pocket and swept it across his forehead, ‘relating to an investigation that happened rather a long time ago.’

  ‘You’re referring to the death of my cousin.’

  He nodded. ‘I am indeed.’

  ‘A complaint from whom?

  ‘Officially it’s from your surviving cousin, Mr Christopher Chilcott. But I’ll let you into a secret – it was a retired police officer who alerted him to the situation.’

  ‘Situation?’

  ‘Let’s just say that police investigations sometimes weren’t as thorough back then as they would be now.’ He gave an apologetic smile.

  ‘Hold on a moment,’ Jenny said. ‘I was a child. I have no recollection of the circumstances and until three months ago I had no idea I even had a cousin Katy. A little girl died tragically, but her parents are both dead and the only other adult with any connection is my father, who you may already know is so senile he doesn’t recognize his own daughter.’

  ‘Your father’s medical condition is certainly something the Crown Prosecution Service will consider,’ Gleed said, ‘should it ever come to it. But it’s not a matter that I can let stand in the way of an investigation – there’s the public interest to consider, and the victim’s.’

  ‘What victim? Christopher Chilcott never even knew his sister.’

  ‘I can appreciate a woman in your position not wishing to have this raked over, Mrs Cooper, but you’ll understand my position too.’

  ‘You don’t find the timing of this complaint a touch coincidental?’

  Gleed glanced at his colleague and shook his head.

  ‘The fact that I’m in the middle of an inquest which might impact on a major murder investigation carried out by your colleagues in Bristol.’

  ‘Nothing to do with me, nor the old fella who came forward. He’s a Weston man, born and bred.’ Folding his damp handkerchief back into his pocket, the detective said, ‘We could take it now if you like, but I’m sure you’d prefer to make an appointment to come to the station. Would later this afternoon suit?’