by M. R. Hall
Shouting out her frustrations in the privacy of her car was a release of sorts but, Gleed apart, Steve's challenge had been salt on an open wound. The pain had raged through a long, restless night and refused to be dampened by her morning dose of Xanax bolstered by a top-up of Temazepam. The drugs might have stopped her heart from racing and steadied her hand, but they did nothing to dull the inner ache. He had confronted her with the undeniable truth: there was something buried inside her she had to uncover, or she would be truly lost. McAvoy had seen it from the moment they met. Father Starr had interpreted his intuited insights into her unsettled mind as a word of the spirit; Alison had betrayed her suspicions in countless minor manifestations of disapproval. All of these Jenny had been able to disregard as quirks of character, but Steve was different. He knew her past and was forcing her back to it. Anyone else could be pushed away, but Steve had cornered her. He had locked her in a space alone with herself.
The news crews were already busy setting up as Jenny squeezed her Golf between their vans and parked on the rough grass at the side of the hall. They were a different crowd from those who had been present on the first day; she recognized the faces of several national television reporters among them. Making her way to the hall, she overheard an earnest young woman explaining to camera that the sudden apparent suicide of a witness who had failed to testify, coupled with Cassidy's allegation that Eva had lost her faith, suggested there were many questions the police inquiry had failed to answer. Or even ask, Jenny wanted to butt in.
'The parties are all assembled, Mrs Cooper,' Alison announced as she appeared in the office doorway, 'but counsel would like to speak to you in chambers before we begin.'
'What about?'
'They didn't say.'
'Didn't you ask them?' Jenny said as she gathered her papers, trying to ignore the sudden palpitations that the prospect of facing a row of awkward lawyers had caused to erupt.
Alison swallowed defensively. 'I didn't think it was my place.'
'I see. Has Michael Turnbull answered his summons?'
'I didn't notice him.'
'So he's failed to attend. Are his lawyers aware that amounts to contempt?'
'I wouldn't know.'
Jenny took a deep breath, struggling to hold her impatience with her officer in check.
Alison hovered uncertainly. 'Shall I tell them to come in?'
Jenny marched towards the door, her apprehension turning to anger. 'You can tell them to stand up.'
Christopher Sullivan and Ed Prince wore expressions of surprised indignation as Jenny took her seat at the head of the packed hall. She could see Father Starr and Kenneth Donaldson amidst the swollen ranks of reporters, but there was no sign of Michael Turnbull. She did, however, spot a new face alongside Prince: a female lawyer with the hard attractiveness and sharp-eyed gaze that could only belong to a seasoned litigator, and wearing an outfit that could only have been afforded by a partner in a wealthy firm. She was their new tactician, Jenny guessed; a woman sent to read and undermine her.
Sullivan was first to his feet. The new lawyer flashed him a look that reminded him to remain polite. 'Ma'am, might counsel be permitted to address you briefly in chambers?'
'I don't see counsel in chambers, Mr Sullivan,' Jenny said, still battling a racing heart. 'As a matter of principle I conduct my business in public and on behalf of the public whose interests I represent.'
He strained to be polite. 'As an exceptional deviation from the rule, it would be much appreciated.'
'This isn't like a criminal court, as you well know, Mr Sullivan. It is my inquest, and as counsel you have the right to cross-examine any witnesses I may call, but not to dictate procedure. Now do you have anything you wish to say before I call on Lord Turnbull to answer his witness summons?'
Sullivan glanced back at Prince and his female colleague and exchanged whispered words. Jenny noticed Fraser Knight QC and Ruth Markham, passive observers to their colleagues' discomfort, exchange a hint of a smile across the length of the advocates' bench.
Sullivan turned back to the front, still wearing his expression of mock civility. 'Ma'am, I have to inform you that it has not been possible for Lord Turnbull to appear as promptly as requested. You may not know - and the fault may be ours for failing to inform you - just how busy a parliamentary timetable he has at the present moment.'
'On the contrary, your instructing solicitors informed me yesterday afternoon. And I told them that he was required to give evidence here at ten o'clock this morning.'
'Ma'am, it simply hasn't been feasible—'
'Where is he, Mr Sullivan?'
'Ma'am, a degree of reasonableness is customary—'
'Where is he?' Jenny insisted.
Sullivan's eyes flared, but fighting every instinct he contained his anger. 'In London. On urgent business, I believe.'
'And when is he proposing to attend?'
'He's very busy with parliamentary business all next week, ma'am.'
At her desk, Alison sat hunched over the tape recorder, avoiding the lawyers' gaze, pretending she was part of the furniture. It suddenly occurred to Jenny that they must have intimidated her into arranging the cosy meeting in chambers in which they hoped to ensure that Turnbull's absence would be excused and never mentioned in front of the press.
'Members of the jury,' Jenny said, 'in the light of Mr Cassidy's evidence about Eva Donaldson's state of mind prior to her death, I issued Lord Turnbull with a summons; he was to attend this morning to see if he could help us any further with the issue. Failure to comply is a contempt of court, an offence punishable by fine or imprisonment.'
Sullivan interjected: 'Ma'am, my client can hardly be said to have wilfully absented himself.'
'That's just what he has done, Mr Sullivan. The law applies to a wealthy member of the House of Lords as much as it does to a street sweeper. I find him to be in contempt and I'll sentence him when he appears. Do I need to issue a warrant?'
'He'll be here this afternoon, ma'am,' Sullivan said, through gritted teeth.
Jenny saw Ed Prince and his companion trade a glance that said they'd taken a punch, but could ride it. She sensed there was something else in play, a deeper strategy, but right now she had neither the time nor the mental space to ponder what that might be. She glanced down at her copy of the witness list. Apart from Turnbull's name, there was only one other yet to be ticked.
'Is Mr Joel Nelson present?'
The man who had greeted her in the office at the Mission Church stood up. 'Yes, ma'am.'
'Please come forward, Mr Nelson. We'll hear from you now.'
As Nelson walked the short length of the hall Jenny noticed Prince and his female colleague both sending messages on their phones. Two rows behind them, Father Starr was sitting perfectly still, his steady, piercing gaze telling her that she was being judged, and by the most exacting standards.
Jenny studied Nelson carefully. Beneath the sober suit and tasteful tie he was an attractive young man with sky- blue eyes and sandy hair. He wore no wedding ring, she noticed, and had the slim frame and well-defined features of someone who took good care of himself. He exuded ambition and purpose.
'Could you please state your full name?'
'Joel Henry Nelson.'
'Your age.'
'Thirty-two.'
'And your occupation?'
'I am employed by the Mission Church of God based in Bedminster, Bristol. My official title is administrative director - which in practice means I run the office,' he added with a polite smile.
'How long have you worked for the Mission Church, Mr Nelson?'
'A little over two years.'
'And prior to that?'
'For eight years I worked for the corporate finance arm of an investment bank. Then I saw the light, as it were.' The smile again.
'I'm intrigued. How did a banker come to work for a church?'
'I answered an ad.'
His quip drew a ripple of laughter from the jury.
'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 lik
ely he took his own life.'
'Yes, I heard. It's a tragedy. I also heard he had a history of mental illness.'
Anticipating 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?'
