A Life to Kill

by M. R. Hall

  ‘He’s my husband. I need to see him.’

  Jason had seemed less than enthusiastic. ‘Well, I’ll leave that with you.’

  Anna had smelt the rat from the moment the call ended. She called Sergeant Price. He was very sympathetic but explained that he was busy at court that morning and wouldn’t be able to drive her until later. Anna prepared to make the gruelling round-trip on the bus for the second time that week, but while she was struggling to work out what to do with Leanne while she was away, Sergeant Price called back shortly afterwards to say that Colonel Hastings had authorized him to book her a taxi. He passed on Hastings’s good wishes and sympathy and offer to do anything more that he could to help. It was as welcome as it was unexpected.

  Anna arrived at the hospital at ten a.m. The four hours since she had received the call felt like four days. She ran through the reception area and up the stairs, in too much of a hurry to wait for the lift. Breathless and perspiring and eaten up with fear, she arrived at the nurses’ station and demanded to be allowed to see Lee. This time there was no obstruction. A young nurse named Sandra gave her a kind smile and said that he had been moved to a private room further along the corridor. She led the way.

  ‘He’s been quiet since I came on this morning,’ Sandra said. ‘Don’t be too alarmed. I’ve been here four years. I’ve seen it many times before. We call it ICU psychosis.’ They arrived outside the door of Lee’s room and stopped. ‘Would you like me to come in?’

  Anna shook her head. She wanted to thank the nurse, but it was as much as she could do to stop herself from crying.

  Sandra patted her wrist. ‘You know where to find me.’ She headed off, leaving Anna alone.

  A glimpse through the observation pane in the door sent Anna’s heart thudding against her ribs. Lee’s face was badly bruised. His left eye was swollen to the point that it had nearly closed. Coupled with the strangeness of his shaved head, she barely recognized him. She took a deep breath, told herself to be strong and forced herself to go inside.

  Lee’s eyes were open but they gazed emptily into space. His wrists were secured by straps to the side of the bed.

  She leant over and looked into his eyes. ‘Lee? It’s me – Anna. Can you hear me?’

  She thought she detected a slight movement, but nothing more. His jaw remained slack, his lips slightly parted. She pulled over a chair and placed it at the side of the bed. Squeezing his fingers, she found they were cold and bloodless.

  ‘Lee – if you can hear me, move your eyes.’

  She studied them intently. No. She had imagined it. She grabbed his notes that were hooked over the rail at the foot of the bed. The handwriting was hard to decipher, but she made out an entry from ten o’clock the previous evening: Raving/ shouting incoherently. Flashbacks? Nurse tried to calm – lashed out. Struck himself repeatedly in the face. Restrained & sedated – haloperidol 5mg. Further entries had been made at hourly intervals throughout the night. From what she could make out, he had been given repeated injections of the same drug.

  He had been depressed the last time she had seen him, several days before. She had put it down to the shock of him learning about Pete Lyons, but logically it didn’t make sense. Lee must have known that he was most likely dead from the moment they lost him. Even she knew that no soldier could go missing in Taliban country without coming to serious harm. No, it can’t have been hearing that his comrade was dead. The desperate slump in his mood had to be something to do with being forcibly shaved – not losing his hair, but what it meant to him.

  ‘Lee – listen to me,’ she pleaded. ‘I need you to know that you can tell me anything. I’m here for you. Whatever it is, I don’t care. I’m here for you.’

  The door opened behind her. She turned round to see a doctor, a tall, balding man in his fifties.

  ‘Mrs Roberts?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Anthony Conway. I’m the psychiatrist who attended your husband last night.’

  ‘What’s happened? What’s wrong with him?’ Anna demanded.

  ‘Psychotic episodes are fairly common in highly traumatized patients. The causes may be purely psychological or have some physical element. We’ll have more insight as we decrease his medication over the next few days.’

  ‘What was he saying? What was he raving about?’

  Conway shook his head apologetically. ‘I’m afraid he was incoherent, Mrs Roberts. I couldn’t make any of it out.’

  Something in the doctor’s manner made Anna uneasy. ‘Did he mention Skippy?’

  ‘I was mostly concerned with making sure he didn’t do himself any more harm,’ Dr Conway said. ‘He really was in quite a distressed state.’

  ‘Why have you put him in here, by himself?’ Anna said.

  ‘The room was available. We thought it would be more peaceful for him. Do you understand why he’s been sectioned and what it means?’

  Anna said she did. It had happened to her best friend after they left school. A bad relationship had led to drugs and a downward spiral that saw her spend six months in a secure unit.

  ‘We hope this condition is temporary, Mrs Roberts. We really do. And if you have any questions you mustn’t hesitate to ask me. Email is always good.’ He produced a card from his breast pocket and handed it to her. He looked at Lee, then back at Anna as if he were expecting her to go.

  ‘I’m going to sit with him for a while,’ she said.

  ‘I really do feel that complete rest is what he needs.’

  ‘I’m his wife,’ she answered, with a note of steely defiance that took her by surprise.

  ‘Of course.’ Dr Conway nodded and, after a pause, quietly left the room.

  Anna sat clasping Lee’s hand, and for nearly an hour kept up a constant monologue hoping to see just the faintest flicker of life. She told him about Leanne and about what it had been like while he was away – all the gossip and silly rumours that had circulated amongst the families. She told him about a weekend she had spent in Cornwall and her plans for redecorating the flat, but still he remained in his catatonic state, conscious but seemingly able only to blink.

  It was approaching midday. She had to be back in time to collect Leanne, who, in the absence of anyone able to mind her, was booked into the WAGs Club nursery for both the morning and afternoon sessions. Anna kissed Lee on the forehead and told him that she loved him. She felt sure that somewhere, somehow, he would understand. As she stood up to leave, she remembered the picture Leanne had drawn of him which she had brought with her. She fetched it from her handbag. It was nothing more than a crayon scrawl, but there was a face and a smile and ‘Daddy’ spelled out in big letters. She propped it up at his bedside where he would see it when he came round.

  Anna set off along the corridor towards the exit. Up ahead, Sandra and another nurse were busy talking to one another and hadn’t seen her. Anna glanced right, through the door into the ward. A consultant and his registrar were doing their rounds. She continued on several paces and came alongside the entrance to the day room. Inside, a young soldier who was missing a leg beneath the knee was watching television. Unseen by the nurses she slipped in.

  The young man looked up at her. He had boyish brown eyes and a ready smile.

  ‘I’m Lee Roberts’s wife,’ Anna said. ‘I’ve seen you in the ward, haven’t I?’

  ‘I think so,’ he answered in a soft Welsh accent. ‘Gary. Gary Owens.’

  Anna noticed his eyes flick to the door behind her.

  ‘You must have been in the ward when Lee flipped last night?’

  He nodded, casting another anxious glance to the corridor.

  ‘What was he saying? The psychiatrist is pretending he couldn’t make it out.’

  ‘Seemed like he was having a flashback, like . . .’ Gary said uncertainly.

  ‘To what? Did he say any names?’

  With something approaching panic in his eyes, Gary shook his head.

  ‘What did he say? Please! I need to know.’

 
; ‘He didn’t, love. No one likes to see a lad like that. He’s stressed out, that’s all. He’ll get over it. We all do in the end.’

  ‘What happened when they shaved his head? Who ordered that? Did he talk to you about it?’

  ‘Love, it’s the army. You do as you’re told.’

  Sandra, the nurse, appeared. She smiled awkwardly at Anna. ‘You shouldn’t really be in here.’

  ‘Why? Because someone might tell me the truth?’

  Sandra looked puzzled.

  ‘Forget it.’ Anna pushed past her and, feeling as if she were on the brink of losing her own sanity, ran all the way to the exit.

  Jenny had hoped to avoid Simon Moreton at the end of the hearing, but he appeared in her chambers less than a minute after she had left the bench. His usual charm deserted him as he asked her acidly if she was feeling all right, and then told her that if she didn’t sharpen up she was in danger of letting Claydon White humiliate her.

  ‘Simon, you almost pleaded with me to take these cases.’

  ‘I thought I was offering you the chance to redeem yourself.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘By proving that you’re capable of handling a tricky case without making a public exhibition of yourself. Clearly not. Old habits die hard. And as for that bloody boyfriend of yours . . .’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  Simon thrust his phone under her nose. A reporter had posted a photo of Michael punching a photographer in the lane outside Melin Bach along with the message: #Helmand2 Coroner’s partner investigated over war crimes. Assaults reporter.

  The picture took Jenny by surprise. It had clearly been taken that morning while Michael was leaving the house. How had the reporters found out? There had to have been a leak. Jenny struggled to contain her rage. Thus far she had managed to persuade herself that what had happened to Michael was a coincidence. Now she realized with full clarity that she had been guilty of wishful thinking.

  ‘What do you expect him to do?’ she retorted. ‘You know as well as I do that this investigation is completely malicious.’

  ‘I’ve been reliably informed that it’s been bubbling for some time.’

  ‘Really? What do you take me for? It’s meant to unsettle me, make me fear that if I embarrass the army there will be consequences.’

  Her reply silenced him for a moment. His face twitched uncomfortably as he was forced, against all his instincts, to acknowledge that she may have touched on the truth.

  ‘We both know these things happen,’ he muttered. ‘The way to deal with them is to remain calm and dignified, to let the sensible heads in the press do your talking for you.’

  ‘And quietly steer this inquest through to a non-conclusion? Is that the idea? Take the evidence, keep White on a leash, nudge the jury to an open verdict – would that be sufficient to save you from an early exit?’

  Simon met her gaze. She had never before seen the expression with which he looked at her: it was almost pleading. ‘Jenny, I’m going to let you into a confidence. Can I trust you?’

  ‘As long as it’s not evidence in the case.’

  ‘No, it’s not evidence.’ He dipped his head as if in shame. ‘I committed an indiscretion a little while ago. A junior colleague at the Ministry – before I transferred to the Chief’s office. The woman, well, she wasn’t much more than a girl really, she kicked up a bit of a fuss when I ended it. All dealt with internally, discreetly, but not strictly according to the rules, if you get my drift.’

  ‘No, I don’t.’

  ‘I paid her off. She withdrew her complaint. For the sake of my marriage, my children, everything I’ve worked for. I didn’t see why all that should be ruined as the result of a foolish office . . . dalliance.’

  Jenny felt a ridiculous pang of jealousy. Somehow, some egotistical part of her had allowed itself to imagine that she was the only woman Simon had fantasized over. She pushed the unwanted emotion aside and told herself to grow up.

  ‘Let me guess – someone’s got hold of it?’

  ‘I’ve had an indication,’ Simon said. ‘They must have seen my private emails. It’s the only possible way, and in pretty short order, too. Someone in the MOD must have picked up the phone to a trusted friend in GCHQ and gone straight after me.’

  ‘That’s a lot of trouble and risk to go to over the deaths of a couple of private soldiers.’

  ‘It’s not the ranks who are going to be culled. There’s plenty with a shoulder full of pips who’ll be pushed out of the door if government gets its way. They want a new order. An army stripped down to its essentials. They’ve got slick salesmen taking them out to lunch telling them the future’s in high-tech weaponry. Drones, robots, all controlled by a bunch of spotty kids from a warehouse somewhere. Politically embarrassing wars with an endless parade of soldiers’ coffins appearing on the evening news are meant to become a thing of the past. Meanwhile, plenty in the MOD know the truth – just around the corner there’ll be another Middle Eastern war, far worse. We’ll need all the men, guns, bullets and boots we can get hold of.’ He let out a sigh of despair. ‘It’s bizarre how such huge issues get tangled with such trivial ones.’

  Speech over, he looked at her dejectedly, like a child fishing for sympathy and reassurance. When Jenny remained silent, he said: ‘I’ve been good to you, Jenny. Think how many times I’ve saved your neck in the last seven years.’

  ‘Alison thinks I act as your conscience.’

  ‘She’s a perceptive woman. But do we want to be martyrs? And even if we were to be, would it do any good?’

  Jenny would have been more than within her rights to explode and tell Simon that attempting to manipulate her inquest using whining personal appeals was just about the lowest and most unforgiveable thing he had ever done, but she remained patient. Something inside her prompted her to treat him like the wounded little boy he was. ‘I’m sorry that your “dalliance” has put you in an awkward situation, but Simon, there is only one way I know how to conduct an inquest – I’ll go after the truth, whatever it takes. Even if everyone else deserts you, you’ve still got to live with yourself.’

  ‘I was very afraid you were going to say that.’

  Jenny couldn’t raise Michael on the phone and she couldn’t face returning to Highcliffe so soon after the hearing. Needing a few moments to herself to clear her head and process the morning’s events, she slipped out of the building, and managing to avoid the media scrum still gathered at the front steps, hurried across the road and went in search of a cafe in one of the small side streets between High Street and The Broadway. Although the reporters’ attention was on the lawyers and soldiers still emerging from the court, one woman in the crowd spotted Jenny making her getaway and went after her.

  Jenny sat at a seat in the window and tried to force down the filled baguette. Mozzarella, avocado and tomato with basil vinaigrette – it should have tasted delicious, but each mouthful was an effort. Besides worrying over Michael’s problems and the unwanted pressure from Simon Moreton, she was carrying a burden of guilt for the way in which she had mismanaged the inquest to date. Underneath it all, she realized that she felt intimidated and out of her depth. She was there to help, to root out the truth for the good and benefit of the soldiers still serving and those who would follow, but none of them seemed to want it. It was as if they willingly gave up the normal expectations of justice the moment they stepped into uniform. There was something in the male mind – and despite the odd female face, the British Army was most definitely a male institution – that she couldn’t fathom: the willingness to embrace and accept violence as a fact of life. Men seemed to revel in it. To hear Michael talk sometimes, you would think that a man wasn’t worthy of his sex unless he had stared death in the face. Perhaps that was just how it was – a primal instinct that could never be expunged?

  ‘Is this seat free?’

  Jenny glanced up to see a pleasant, slightly worried looking woman in her early thirties carrying a full c
up of coffee. She could see that there were plenty of other free seats in the small cafe but to turn her away would have seemed churlish.

  ‘Yes,’ Jenny answered, and tried to force down another mouthful of baguette.

  She ate in silence, taking occasional sips of the large Americano she had bought to accompany it. She avoided the woman’s gaze but quickly became aware that she had sat at the same table for a reason and was struggling for a way to initiate a conversation. Finally, Jenny could bear the tension no longer. She looked up at the woman and offered a smile.

  ‘Have we met?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so,’ the woman said with obvious relief that Jenny had broken the impasse. ‘But I’ve seen you in court. I was there this morning.’

  ‘Oh,’ Jenny said, trying to fathom who she might be. ‘Well, obviously I can’t discuss anything to do with the case.’

  ‘Of course not.’ The woman stared down at the table. She drew in a breath and spoke in a quiet, but clear and heartfelt voice. ‘My husband’s in the regiment. I’ve watched him over the years, seen him change from a bright-eyed young man into one I sometimes feel I hardly know. They do their duty and they do it willingly, but if you’re any sort of human being the responsibility of having those young men’s lives in your hands . . . Well, it can’t help but change you. There’s no one for them to turn to. No one to share their feelings with.’ She let out a laugh. ‘It’s an absurd thought really, isn’t it – talking about what sending boys to their deaths and killing people makes you feel? I don’t suppose there is anything anyone can say to make it better. It has to be done. But it eats away the souls of those who have to do it . . . People talk about the army as if it’s a world apart, as if soldiers are nothing to do with them, but they’re as much a part of us as anything else. Someone has to clean out the sewers. Who can be surprised if they come back stinking?’ She looked up and met Jenny’s eyes. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t know where that came from, I just knew I had to say something . . . I shouldn’t have troubled you.’ Embarrassed, she rose from her seat.