The pathologist was next into the witness box. Daisy braced herself. During her days as an articled clerk she had been to one or two inquests and she knew how clinical and merciless postmortem reports could sound. It had always seemed to her faintly demeaning that someone so newly dead could have the secrets of their bodies, complete in some cases with unmentionable diseases and unfortunate revelations, discussed in public.
The pathologist whipped through the usual preliminaries before stating that the immediate cause of death was drowning. Water had penetrated the lungs fully, indicating that the deceased was alive when she went into the water.
Prompted for his other findings he referred to his notes. ‘I found bruising and abrasion on the left temple,’ he said. ‘The bruising covered an area of four centimetres by three. The skin was broken over most of the bruised area. I estimated that this injury occurred at the time of death or very shortly before. If it was before, then it can only have been a matter of minutes.’
‘Could this injury in any way have contributed to death?’ the procurator fiscal asked.
‘Unlikely. It would not in itself have caused a loss of consciousness, although it could, I suppose, have caused confusion or loss of balance.’
‘How in your opinion could this injury have been incurred then?’ asked the procurator fiscal.
‘It was obviously the result of a blow of some kind, but by what and in what circumstances I could not say.’
‘Could it have resulted from Mrs Mackenzie being swept against a rock?’
‘Possibly …’ He sounded rather doubtful. ‘If the water was very fast flowing.’
‘Or a fall perhaps? Onto a rock or similar hard surface?’
‘Yes.’
‘Were there any other injuries?’
‘No.’
The procurator fiscal indicated that he was satisfied on the point and the pathologist returned to his notes.
‘Was the deceased otherwise in good health?’ the procurator fiscal asked.
‘She was considerably underweight for her height. Less than six stone on a height of five foot six inches. I would describe her as emaciated.’
‘Was there any medical reason for this that you could find?’
‘I could find no evidence of physiological disease, no. And certainly nothing that would account for the marked atrophy of the muscles. In my opinion the muscle atrophy could well have contributed to death.’
‘In what way?’
‘The deceased would have suffered much reduced muscle power compared to another woman of her age and build and would have had relative difficulty in swimming or extricating herself from the water. She was likely to have been weak.’
Nick moved then, bowing his head and rubbing a hand across his temple. The sheriff, a grey-faced man with a beaked nose and drooping eyes, peered at him over his half-moon spectacles, before returning to his scribblings.
‘You suggest the deceased could have been weak,’ said the procurator fiscal. ‘But not so weak that she couldn’t walk the’ – he consulted the papers on the table beside him – ‘almost two miles from the house?’
‘Hard to say, but walking is not nearly so strenuous as swimming.’
‘So it wouldn’t have been impossible?’
The pathologist considered. ‘Not impossible, no.’
The procurator fiscal waited for the signal from the sheriff that he had caught up on his notes before asking the pathologist to continue. Holding up his pad, the pathologist began to recite a long litany of test results. He spoke in a refined Scottish accent, his voice clear and well-developed like that of a trained actor, an impression borne out by his sense of timing; like a true performer, he left the scene-stealer till last. If the technical terms at the start of his speech had left people behind, morphine was a word they all understood. He had found morphine sulphate in the blood at a level of two hundred micrograms per litre.
‘What sort of dose would that be? High? Low?’ asked the procurator fiscal.
‘For someone of the deceased’s weight, high.’
A tiny ripple came from the audience, a collective movement that shivered through the hall.
‘Is morphine sulphate a prescribed drug?’
‘It is.’
‘And what is it administered for?’
‘The control of pain.’
‘And this dose, it was commensurate with one administered for pain?’
‘It could have been, but normally such a dose would only be given for really severe cases. As I’ve already said, I found no evidence of serious disease.’
‘And it’s normally given for cancer?’
‘For that, and heart attack and injury. But as it’s an addictive substance it’s only given for pain that cannot be relieved in any other way. In cancer, only for terminal cases.’
‘Can you say what effect such a dose would have had on the deceased?’
There was a sudden drumming on the high windows as rain pelted against the glass. The sky was so black that the rivulets of water reflected the light back into the hall.
‘I can’t be certain,’ said the pathologist, raising his resonant voice so it could be better heard above the rain, and it occurred to Daisy that he was enjoying his time in the spotlight. ‘It would very much depend on the deceased’s tolerance to the drug.’
‘And what factors would influence a person’s tolerance to morphine?’
‘The individual’s general health, the state of the liver and so on. But also usage – whether the individual was a habitual user.’
Another ripple, a collective intake of breath. Daisy winced inwardly: a disastrous choice of words, not something the reporters were likely to miss.
‘I see. So you can’t say precisely what effect this level would have had on the deceased?’
‘All I can say is that even the most frequent user would have felt considerable effects from such a dose. What I can’t estimate is the extent – the degree – of those effects.’
User. Again Daisy flinched, again she was aware of the effect that word would be having on the audience.
‘And what are the effects of morphine?’
‘Apart from reducing pain, it induces a feeling of well-being and euphoria.’
The procurator fiscal seemed to hover on the point of asking another question before saying: ‘You found no other unnatural substances in the blood or tissue?
‘I did not.’
‘So what is the summary of your findings?’
‘Death by drowning. I would add that low bodyweight and high blood-morphine level could have been contributory factors.’
The procurator fiscal nodded towards Nick’s lawyer, who positively shot to his feet. First he went over the bruising on the head, clarifying that it occurred at or shortly before the drowning. Then he asked: ‘Doctor, you say that morphine is used as a painkiller?’
‘It is.’
‘So it’s widely prescribed by the medical profession?’
‘I wouldn’t say widely. I would say, not infrequently.’
‘You mentioned cancer, but is it not also used for other diseases that cause intense pain?’
‘Well it can be,’ the pathologist replied grudgingly. ‘But there are not many other diseases that cause such intense pain that they cannot be treated by other means like analgesics. As I have said, a medical practitioner would normally be reluctant to prescribe morphine for anything but the most severe cases, because of its habit-forming nature.’
‘But whatever the disease, there’s very little else that a doctor can prescribe for really intense and prolonged pain, is that correct?’
‘For really intense and prolonged pain that did not respond to analgesics, no. Though, as I’ve already mentioned, the deceased did not appear to suffer …’
‘That wasn’t what I asked, doctor,’ the lawyer cut in rapidly. ‘I asked if morphine was appropriate for intense pain.’
The pathologist didn’t like being interrupted and looked across to the p
rocurator fiscal as if expecting him to intervene. Finding no support, he rearranged his mouth into a stern line of forbearance.
‘You used the terms “habitual usage” and “frequent user” just now,’ the lawyer was saying. ‘Taking “habitual usage” first, what exactly did you mean by that?’
‘Regular and extended usage.’
‘And what did you mean by “frequent user”?’
‘Someone who uses the substance frequently – often.’
‘Regular – frequent – habitual. Aren’t these all the same thing?’
‘Well – yes.’
‘So you might term a cancer victim an habitual user.’
A pause. ‘I might.’
‘Or an accident victim who suffers prolonged pain?’
A slight shrug. ‘Possibly.’
‘So the court would be correct to understand that the term “habitual” is interchangeable with “frequent” and “regular” and applies quite properly to someone who has been prescribed morphine as part of her medical treatment?’
The pause again, that oh-so subtle suggestion of doubt. ‘Yes.’
‘Thank you, doctor.’
As the pathologist left the box, Daisy glanced towards Nick, but he was motionless, shoulders back, head erect, and there was nothing to suggest the sort of face he might be showing to the front of the court.
The next to be called was a forensic scientist. Asked about the possible causes of the abrasion and bruising to the deceased’s forehead, he ventured the opinion that the blow had come from a large flat surface such as a rock or large stone. He also confirmed that the water found in her lungs matched the water from the River Ashard.
As soon as he stepped down, the usher called Campbell, who, deserted by his usual assertiveness, walked awkwardly to the box and stumbled over the oath. Haltingly, his voice hardly raised above a whisper, he began to describe the search; how he had joined the main party sweeping down the glen, how he had joined Nick Mackenzie to go back and search the upper reaches.
The procurator fiscal interrupted him. ‘Why did you decide to search the upper glen?’
‘It was Mr Mackenzie. He wanted to go. I joined him.’
‘There were just the two of you?’
‘Aye.’
‘And you left the main search party?’
‘Aye.’
‘Thank you. Please continue.’
He told how they had driven up the glen as far as the great rock then continued on foot, he by the narrow river path, Nick Mackenzie by the track, and how they had doubled back; how he had stopped by the pool a second time and shone his torch over the surface and seen a touch of white floating near the surface under the great rock, and waded in to investigate.
Campbell faltered, stopped and looked to the procurator fiscal for guidance.
‘It was the body of Mrs Mackenzie?’ the procurator fiscal prompted.
Campbell nodded.
‘Please tell us what you did then.’
With a visible effort Campbell described in a tense hesitant voice how he pulled her to the edge of the pool and onto the bank and tried to revive her, laying her on her stomach and pressing hard on her back, then turning her and breathing into her mouth, and how his efforts had been of no use.
‘And then?’
‘I called Mr Mackenzie who came down from above. From the track there.’
‘Go on.’
Campbell looked nervously about him. He wasn’t sure what he was expected to say next.
‘What did Mr Mackenzie do when he reached you?’
Campbell looked flustered and didn’t reply.
‘I’m merely asking what action Mr Mackenzie took when he got to you,’ prompted the procurator fiscal gently.
‘He … er, requested that I move to one side.’
‘And then what happened?’
Campbell was silent.
‘Did he try to revive her?’
Campbell blinked and ran a tongue over his lips. After some thought he shook his head. Almost immediately he seemed to regret this because he stammered: ‘No. That is, he … I’m no’ certain.’
‘Was it dark?’ offered the procurator fiscal helpfully.
‘That’s it,’ Campbell exclaimed, grabbing at the idea. ‘I couldna’ see.’ He nodded at the sheriff to make sure that he too had got the point. ‘It was dark,’ he repeated, the relief evident in his face. ‘I couldna’ see.’
Daisy closed her eyes and willed Campbell to stop babbling. Not a moment too soon, the procurator fiscal told him to stand down.
Then they called Nick.
In the silence you could hear the wind bombarding the rain against the windows like pellets and the sound of the clerk’s footsteps as he positioned himself by the witness box ready to administer the oath.
Nick paused to say something to his lawyer before getting up and crossing to the witness box. He faced the clerk while he took the oath, turning only when it was time to sit down. The women in front of Daisy craned their necks and darted their heads from side to side to get a better view, and it was a moment before Daisy could get a look at him. Skin pale, but not unnaturally so. Thinner perhaps; a little gaunt around that punished face. Eyes weary beneath the hooded lids, and touched with sadness.
The procurator fiscal began by asking him about events on the day the death had occurred – what time his wife had been missed, what form the search took, the return to the upper glen. For the most part he answered in monosyllables. Questions that required fuller answers he kept brutally short and occasionally the procurator fiscal had to prompt him to enlarge on what he had said.
‘And when you came across Mr Campbell and your wife’s body, what happened then?’
‘Nothing,’ he said in his quiet voice.
‘You didn’t try to revive her?’
‘There was no point.’
‘Why was that?’
Nick pressed his lips together. ‘It was obvious my wife was dead.’
The procurator fiscal nodded, and went through some background about Alusha Mackenzie’s daily routine and the walks she used to take. Then:
‘Can you tell us about your wife’s medical condition, Mr Mackenzie?’
‘She had been very ill for some time.’
‘What was the nature of her illness?’
Nick’s glance flickered across the court in the direction of his lawyer. ‘She’d accidentally inhaled a poisonous substance.’
‘When was this?’
‘Last June.’
‘This substance – do you know what it was?’
‘I believe it was a wood preserver called Reldane.’
‘Could you tell us how you came to this conclusion?’
‘My wife had been using Reldane on a stable door. She was found unconscious with the stuff – the Reldane – spilled on the concrete around her. She became extremely ill and never recovered.’
‘Did you seek expert advice at that time?’
‘If you could call it that.’
‘You consulted a toxicologist?’
‘More than one.’
‘And what was their opinion?’
‘Well, they couldn’t say exactly how the damage was done, if that’s what you mean.’
The procurator fiscal turned to the sheriff. ‘Your honour, in view of the seriousness of the allegation concerning Reldane – a product which is freely available to the general public over the counter – and in view of the court’s duty to investigate the matter as thoroughly as possible I will be calling an eminent toxicologist to give evidence about Reldane at a later stage.’
Nick’s expression darkened. Hadn’t he realized that this was inevitable? Daisy wondered. Hadn’t he realized that his word would count for little against the experts’?
The procurator fiscal put his next question. ‘Did the toxicologists you consulted venture any opinion on Rel-dane’s role in your wife’s illness?’
‘Not really …’ He shrugged it off. It was an unfortunate gesture
, giving the impression that he wasn’t interested in the question. Perhaps he realized his mistake because he added sharply: ‘They all had different ideas.’
The procurator fiscal nodded solemnly. ‘Did they not match the known effects of Reldane against your wife’s symptoms?’
‘They didn’t seem to know a lot about Reldane.’
‘So they could not be sure it was the Reldane?’
‘Not certain, no.’
‘You took your wife to America for assessment and treatment, I believe?’
‘Yes.’
‘And what was offered there?’
‘Not a lot. They had no idea about treatment either.’
‘But your wife was treated by a Dr Hubert Gravely of Boston?’
‘Yes.’
‘And he offered a firm opinion on the nature of your wife’s illness?’
‘Yes.’
The procurator fiscal reached behind him for some papers and announced that he was going to read the affadavit from Dr Gravely of Boston, Massachusetts. He read slowly, pausing occasionally to allow the sheriff to make his notes. The doctor’s statement was impenetrable with jargon, but it seemed to boil down to the fact that he had attended Mrs Alusha Mackenzie at various times between November 15th and December 18th of the previous year in Boston, and that she was suffering from the effects of exposure to a highly toxic substance. The toxicity had affected, as far as one could gather, almost every organ in her body, including the heart, the liver, and the endocrinal and nervous systems.
‘It appears, then, that your wife suffered a rapid and devastating decline in her health, Mr Mackenzie. Had she been well before the accident?’
‘Yes.’
‘Both mentally and physically?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘She was of normal weight?’
‘Yes.’
‘She had been expecting a baby at the time of the accident, is that correct?’
‘Yes.’
‘And what happened?’
‘She lost it. Two weeks later.’
‘What did the doctors say about that?’
Nick cast him a withering look. ‘There wasn’t a great deal they could say, was there?’ It was the first time he had showed anything approaching emotion.
‘And her weight loss, did that come soon after the accident too?’
Requiem Page 34
