by M. R. Hall
Jenny watched as a team of assistants in matching yellow MCG T-shirts received the steady stream of worshippers who started to come forward. The band struck up an upbeat but restrained rendition of 'Amazing Grace'; the choir hummed in gentle harmony.
Some stood, others knelt as Bobby, Michael, Lennox and the team laid hands on them and prayed. The big screen showed close-ups of the newly converted with their tearful expressions of joy and gratitude. In a sea of whispers she overheard snippets of prayer for relief from illness, addiction, jealousy, freedom from debt. Men and women who had arrived as strangers wept in each other's arms.
Bobby's unexpected roar echoed like a thunderclap around the auditorium: 'Ladies and gentleman, the Holy Spirit is truly at work here tonight! We are being visited with the blessing of the Rapture! A-men. A-men.'
A buzz of excitement shot through the crowd as pictures appeared on the big screens of a middle-aged woman and two young men who lay convulsing on the floor at the foot of the stage.
'Praise be. Praise be for your gifts of the spirit. Praise be to Jesus Christ, our Lord and Saviour. Welcome him into your hearts,' Bobby cried out as the slow-moving wave spread upwards through the rows towards Jenny's. A vast ox of a man sitting immediately in front of her sank to his knees, then fell prostrate in the aisle. A teenage girl tumbled out of her seat and collapsed next to him. Jenny heard herself dismissing the spectacle as collective hysteria even as she felt the wave breaking over her; a warm sensation spread downwards from the crown of her head through her shoulders and chest; her hands trembled and the strength bled from her legs.
On the brink of collapse and fighting the heaviness in her limbs, Jenny forced one leg in front of the other and headed towards the exit. Stepping between the fallen, she noticed Freddy among them. Lying perfectly still, his eyes shone like a child's, and for a moment she thought him the closest thing she had ever seen to an angel.
Jenny sat out the rest of the service in MCG's, drinking lukewarm coffee and watching a live feed from inside the auditorium on one of the several screens arranged around the deserted restaurant. Bobby brought worshippers who had just experienced the Rapture up onto the stage and urged them to testify. One after another they all described the same feeling: like swimming in a river of love; an overwhelming sense of happiness followed by peace beyond all description as they felt themselves floating upwards.
A waitress who had been wiping tables said, 'It started in America. First it was only a few people, now it's hundreds and thousands. It's just awesome.'
'What do you think's going on?' Jenny said.
'A new wave of the spirit. What else could it be?'
'People scream and faint at rock concerts.'
'Yes, but do they go out afterwards and change the world?'
Jenny handed the waitress her empty cup. There was no answer to that.
The church offices were situated behind a locked door at the far side of the shop. Jenny pressed the intercom and was answered by a male voice. 'Hello, how can I help you?'
Jenny looked into the lens of the built-in security camera. 'Jenny Cooper. Severn Vale District Coroner. I'd like to talk to the church administrator.'
'That would be me,' the voice replied. 'Come on in.'
She pushed open the door at the sound of the buzzer, and was met in a spacious reception area by a wholesome- looking young man in a neatly pressed shirt and tie.
He shook her hand. 'Good evening. Joel Nelson. What can I do for you?'
'I'm conducting an inquiry into the death of Eva Donaldson,' Jenny said, almost without realizing that she had just made her decision. 'I'll need statements from anyone here who had dealings with her. I thought you'd be the best person to ask who they might be.'
'Right,' Nelson said, his face devoid of any trace of alarm. 'The first thing you should know is that Miss Donaldson didn't actually work for the church. She was retained by the Decency campaign, which is an entirely separate body.'
'But she spent a lot of time here.'
'That's true, but she wasn't part of the management, so to speak.'
'A boy in the shop told me she was the leader of his study group.'
'That's a purely voluntary role.'
'I see.' Jenny cast her eyes around the comfortably decorated room. There were pastel-coloured sofas, two top-of- the-range plasma screens, and several modern private offices separated from the reception area by plate-glass walls screened with sleek Venetian blinds. The largest office was signed 'Boardroom'. 'I'd be grateful if you could at least give me a list of your employed staff so I can contact them.'
'Certainly,' Nelson said, and moved over to a computer sitting on the receptionist's desk.
'Were you friendly with Miss Donaldson?' Jenny asked.
'In as much as we all try to be friends here,' Nelson said. 'I wouldn't say we were close.' He tapped on the keyboard and strolled over to a printer, which was already whirring into life.
Jenny ran her eyes over the polished solid-wood shelving that lined the wall behind him and noticed a section of box files marked 'Decency'.
'Does Decency have separate offices,' Jenny asked, 'or does it operate from here?'
Nelson glanced back at her, then at the shelves, working out how she'd made the connection. 'They have a small part-time staff here,' he said, 'but the main office is in London.'
Jenny was about to ask if he could provide a list of their employees too when Bobby DeMont, Michael Turnbull and Lennox Strong came through the door, buzzing with excitement. Wiping his perspiring neck with a towel, Bobby was saying, 'You think we couldn't be any more blessed, then we have a night like tonight.'
'You were great,' Lennox said. 'The energy, man.'
It was Turnbull who noticed Jenny first, catching Nelson's glance before turning to greet her with a warm hello.
'This is Mrs Jenny Cooper,' Nelson said. 'She's the coroner looking into Eva Donaldson's death.'
'Ah, yes. I'd forgotten about that part of the procedure.' Turnbull reached out a hand. 'Michael Turnbull.'
Bobby stepped forward unprompted. 'Bobby DeMont. Pleased to meet you, ma'am.' He enclosed her palm with a hot, strong handshake. 'What a terrible tragedy. Each time I met that woman I came away in awe. One of life's fighters. A real inspiration.'
'Mrs Cooper would like to take statements from people who knew her,' Nelson said.
'Didn't we already do that with the police?' Turnbull asked.
Jenny said, 'Don't worry, there's no fanfare or publicity. I just have to make sure that cause of death is ascertained correctly.'
'I don't understand,' Lennox said. 'We've just had the court case. There's more?'
'An inquest may only be a formality,' Jenny said, 'but there's always the chance there were areas the police didn't look at too closely.'
'Oh. Such as?' Lennox asked.
Bobby pressed a hand to Lennox's back. 'You're guaranteed our full cooperation, ma'am. The church will help in whatever way it can.'
'Of course,' Turnbull said. 'When can we expect this to happen?'
Jenny said, 'I appreciate the timing isn't great for you—'
'Can't it at least wait until the Decency Bill has had its first reading?'
Reacting to Turnbull's anxiety, Bobby interjected, 'Hey, you don't have to worry about that, Mike. A man's been convicted. This is just a technicality.'
With a forced smile, Turnbull said, 'I do hope so.'
'There's really nothing to worry about,' Jenny replied. 'This is perfectly standard procedure.'
'You'll forgive my concern when a bill threatening a multi-billion-pound industry is about to be debated.'
'Calm down, buddy,' Bobby said, throwing Jenny a tense smile. 'It'll be fine.'
'Who knows, if everybody's helpful we might get it done before then,' she replied.
Nelson took two sheets from the printer and handed them to her. Jenny said a polite goodbye and promised to be in touch. As the reception door closed shut behind her, she could have sworn she hea
rd Bobby DeMont mutter, 'Sonofabitch!'
Chapter 5
Jenny carried her coffee out to the table on the lawn to catch the first rays of sun. The house martins were already darting out from their nests under the eaves and swooping for the insects rising up from the unkempt meadow on the far side of the garden wall. The air was filled with the hum of bees and the raucous chorus of songbirds: she envied the creatures their simple, unquestioning sense of purpose. She was loath to admit it, but her visit to the Mission Church of God had left her shaken. It wasn't the frenzy of the crowd or the sight of otherwise sane and ordinary people reduced to convulsions which had played over and over in her listless dreams, but Lennox Strong's testimony. It was only a modern retelling of the hellfire sermons of the past, she told herself, a cynical manipulation of all those members of the congregation with uneasy consciences, but it had touched her nonetheless. As Lennox described his descent into darkness she had heard her father's voice, 'You remember, Smiler. You killed her.'
It was ridiculous. Her father was senile and Lennox Strong's story, even if it were true, was merely the waking nightmare of a young man terrified of death. She had no reason to be frightened; she had progressed beyond irrational emotions. Her divorce was fading into history and she had the attention of a handsome, thoughtful man whenever she desired it. By all objective measures life was good; her only challenge was to start believing it. Once she had achieved that simple step, everything else would follow. She would be well again and her son could learn to trust her.
But simply forcing herself to look on the bright side failed to lift her mood. A persistent knot of troubling and unwanted thoughts lodged stubbornly while she washed the breakfast dishes and ran through her tasks for the day. When the phone rang it was a welcome distraction. She hurried to answer it, hoping to hear Steve.
'I haven't woken you, have I, Mrs Cooper?' It was Alison.
'I was just leaving.'
Her officer continued in a put-upon tone: 'Only I've had Mrs Jacobs calling trying to get hold of you. Apparently the police say they're not treating her husband's death as suspicious.'
'That was quick. I suppose she wants to know if we can move as swiftly.'
'Not quite.' 'Oh?'
'CID returned his computer wiped blank. They claim it's a mistake; she thinks they're hiding something from her. I tried suggesting that, if they were, it might be for the best, but she's got it into her head there was something going on at the Conway Unit they're hushing up.'
'I presume they told her about the swabs?'
'She doesn't believe it. She insists she'd have known.'
Jenny saw a long day stretching ahead. 'All right. I'll stop by and talk to her on my way in.'
'Eva Donaldson's father has been melting the answer- phone. He's furious about the post-mortem and is demanding to bury his daughter.'
'Tell him to come to the office. I'll try to explain.'
'Good luck.'
Alison rang off.
Replacing the receiver, Jenny felt a cold and unexpected draught on the back of her neck coupled with the sensation of being watched. She turned slightly and from the corner of her eye saw a flicker of movement beyond the window: the outline of an adult, a man. She spun round. There was no one there. She told herself it had been a trick of the light, but as she took a step she felt her legs shaking. Heart thumping, she forced herself forwards to the window and looked left and right, half-expecting to see the postman or the old man from the village who, when the spirit moved him, cut the grass. The garden was empty.
She took a breath and closed her eyes. 'Calm down, Jenny. Calm down.'
She turned the radio on as loud as it would go as she ran around the house getting ready to leave, but the spectre refused to leave her. She saw him in every corner and shadow; he lurked on the other side of each door. Hurrying to her car, she caught a musty trace of tobacco smoke and sawdust mingled with the jasmine and rosemary. It propelled her back through decades to a garden with a swing. Sitting apart from the family circle in the long grass at the far end, Jenny watched the man pushing it. He wore braces, his shirt clinging with perspiration to his muscular back. He was her father's brother, Jim.
Her reckless days were behind her. Jenny had checked whether it was safe to increase her dosage at times of stress and had satisfied herself it was. She pulled over into a layby to swallow the extra Xanax tablet to allow time for it to get to work before she arrived at the Jacobs' house. It was a blip. She'd had jumpy periods before and they had passed.
The key to not letting it take hold was not to panic, to remind her subconscious mind who was in control.
The double dose did the trick. She arrived on Ceri Jacobs's doorstep feeling a little woozy but not so much that it showed. Ceri came to the door dressed in black trousers and top, a small silver cross around her neck. She ushered Jenny into the house filled with flowers.
'It took people a day or two to know how to react,' Ceri said. 'They wonder if sending flowers is the right thing to do.'
Jenny gave her the kindly but neutral smile she had cultivated during her many months of visiting the bereaved. They sat at the dining table in the kitchen area, Jenny declining the offer of a drink for fear that her hand might tremble. Ceri sat upright, composed and dignified, the bewilderment of sudden grief replaced with an air of quiet determination to soldier on.
'How's your daughter?' Jenny asked.
'I took her back to nursery this morning. There's no point disrupting her routine.'
'No,' Jenny said. Small talk eluding her, she fetched a notebook from her briefcase. 'My officer said the police have called off their investigation.'
'So they tell me. I don't appear to have any say in the matter.'
'It's a question of resources. If everything points to someone having taken their own life they tend to hand over to the coroner fairly swiftly.'
'Do they usually wipe people's computers when they examine them?' Ceri nodded to a laptop sitting on the kitchen counter.
'I understand you were told it was an accident?'
'A technician accidentally formatted the hard drive, they said. Apparently they take the drive out and put it in another machine.'
'I'm not familiar with the technicalities, but I can make enquiries.'
Ceri shook her head. 'I don't know why I'm surprised. Why would I expect the police to be honest?'
'What were you expecting them to find?' Jenny said.
Ceri glanced down at her hands, making a conscious effort to keep her emotion at bay. 'Not even his good friends really knew Alan, not like I did. He was a big, good-natured man, just the sort you'd want looking after you - we've got a drawer full of letters upstairs from ex-patients. But what you saw on the outside wasn't the whole story.' She paused and collected herself. 'He was sensitive. He cared deeply about the kids in the unit, but he didn't always agree with the methods used to treat them.'
'In what way?'
'The constant drugs for one thing. The fact they'd be so short-staffed they'd have to knock the difficult ones out just so they could cope. Sometimes he'd come home in tears, saying that instead of helping them get better he was turning them into zombies.'
'How does this connect with what you think may have been on his computer?' Jenny asked.
'I know he used it for work. And sometimes he'd look things up, try to work out if a patient was being given the right treatment. Like last month . . . there was a girl diagnosed as paranoid schizophrenic, but Alan thought it was a reaction to her anti-psychotics. The doctor wouldn't listen—' Ceri paused, in two minds whether to continue.
'I'd like to hear,' Jenny said.
'Al took it upon himself to change this girl's pills. She was getting better, she really was. Dr Pearce found out and changed the prescription back again. He was threatening to have Alan suspended, but the girl hanged herself in the night.' Struggling with the painful memory, Ceri said, 'He was involved with each one of them, he couldn't help it.'
'You think t
hat incident might have something to do with his death?'
Ceri's eyes clouded as she relived the memory. 'All I know is that he went through three very black days when he thought his career might be in danger. I'd never seen him like that.'
'Did you tell any of this to the police?'
Ceri nodded. 'They said they'd spoken to his superior and she insisted there had been no complaints lodged against him.'
'Is it possible something else was happening which might have led to a complaint?' Jenny asked. 'Another case perhaps?'
'I've no idea. But why this business with his computer? It's more likely he'd found out about other mistakes. He was the kind of man who had to tell the truth. It just wasn't in him to lie or cover anything up.'
'So your theory is that he had uncovered some incident or malpractice . . . then what, exactly?'
Ceri shook her head, the possibilities in her mind too dreadful to articulate.
Jenny gently changed tack to a line of questioning she felt was probably more relevant to the manner of Alan Jacobs's end. 'Would you say that your husband was a secretive man?'
'No. Not at all. We told each other everything.'
'When did he tell you about the girl and her misdiagnosis, for example?'
'He couldn't tell me about it at the time,' Ceri said defensively. 'It was difficult enough ethically without asking me to compromise my morality too.'
'In what sense?'
'You could say he was acting unprofessionally. He knows I would never have approved of him being dishonest.'
'So he was giving her one type of medication but entering another into her records.'
'Yes.'
'When did he tell you?'
