by M. R. Hall
'Mrs Cooper, I need to speak to you,' she said urgently.
'It'll have to wait. I'll see you at the inquest.' Jenny pushed past.
Alison pursued her.
'Mrs Cooper, I was approached by a reporter.'
Jenny stopped abruptly and turned. 'About what?'
'You,' Alison said hesitantly. 'Something about a police inquiry into your past.'
'What did you tell him?'
'The truth - I had no idea what he was talking about.'
'If he calls again, tell him he'll be hearing from my lawyers.' She turned to go.
'He didn't call-'
Jenny looked back, responding to the alarm in Alison's voice.
'I was sitting outside a restaurant in Bath. I was with Martin. He took a picture of us.'
'Last night?'
Alison nodded. 'But how did he know I was there? I can't have that in the papers. I've only just met this man . . .' She was almost in tears. 'God knows what he must think of me.'
'Oh, I see ... I thought you meant you were worried about your husband—'
'Sod him. He's got no right to be angry.'
'Look, even if this person was a reporter, you're not the story.'
'Who else would he have been?' Alison said, panicked.
'That woman lawyer who turned up yesterday has made a career out of keeping her rich clients' grubby secrets out of the press. I wouldn't put anything past her.'
A look of relief spread across Alison's face which Jenny found curious, but their whole exchange had left her more than slightly confused. The love-struck Alison wasn't a person she knew or understood.
'I've got to go,' Jenny said, and hurried for the door.
The short drive into the city centre turned into an agonizing twenty-minute crawl through a solid jam. By the time she had made it to Queen Charlotte Street Jenny had lost all patience and cut across a silver Mercedes to beat it to a parking space. She met the driver's protest with a raised finger and a volley of abuse. She felt her face burn with shame as she hurried into the Georgian splendour of Queen Square; under pressure, she was no more civilized than a sewer rat.
Reed Falkirk & Co. occupied an elegant double-fronted building named Montego House. A frieze carved into the stonework depicted a ship in full sail with Caribbean palm trees in the background. Like all those in the square, it dated from the city's heyday, when local merchants and their bankers had grown rich on slaves, sugar and tobacco.
She climbed the stone steps and pressed the intercom.
A clipped female voice came over the speaker. 'Hello?'
Jenny turned to face the camera, trying to look imposing. 'Jenny Cooper, Severn Vale District Coroner. I'm here to see Mr Lynd.'
She entered a vestibule that opened into a spacious reception area set out to resemble a Regency drawing room: dark wood furniture upholstered in button-down velvet. Empress of this domain was a receptionist with perfectly painted nails and a silver brooch at the fussy collar of her blouse. Jenny approached her desk feeling irrationally timid.
'Good morning.'
The woman glanced up from a slender monitor. 'Do you have an appointment, Mrs Cooper? I don't see one.'
'No. But I won't take long. Five minutes at most.'
'I'll see if Mr Lynd's available.' She lifted the receiver and dialled a number with sharp, disapproving stabs of her immaculate fingers.
Jenny glanced up at the vast oil painting hanging above the mantelpiece. It depicted a tall wooden ship being unloaded by piratical-looking stevedores, dogs and ragged children at their feet. A young black man in a wig and frock coat stood in the foreground; an older clerk at his side was recording figures in a ledger with a quill pen.
'He'll be down in a moment,' the receptionist said coolly.
'Thank you.' Jenny was struck by the fact that the young man in the picture had fine features but strangely unforgiving eyes.
'It's called The Sugar Man,' the receptionist explained, more friendly now. 'The one in the wig is William Clayton, the first owner of this building.'
'Really,' Jenny answered, surprised that a black man had been that wealthy.
'He had a white father and a slave mother. He was one of the richest men in Bristol in the 1790s.'
At that moment a man came down the ornate oak staircase. He was younger than she had expected, and more fashionable than the lawyers who appeared at her inquests; his prematurely bald head was close-shaved and he wore expensive Italian glasses.
'Mrs Cooper?'
'Yes.'
'Damien Lynd.' He turned to the receptionist. 'Is the meeting room free, Susan?'
'Mr Reed has a conference in ten minutes.'
'We won't be long.'
Lynd steered Jenny to a door leading to a conference room which, apart from a plasma TV screen, could have been the same one in which William Clayton had entertained his business associates two hundred years before. Dark polished boards creaked underfoot as they sat at opposite sides of a cherry-wood table.
'What can I do for you?' Lynd asked.
'I've seen from correspondence that you acted for Eva Donaldson. I'm sure you know that I'm currently conducting an inquest into her death.'
'One could hardly avoid it.'
'May I ask if you're acting for her estate?'
'No, we're not. I believe her executors instructed someone else.'
'Her executors being—?'
'Her father and his long-standing solicitor, as far as I am aware.'
'I see. Then I presume you're still in possession of her files, at least until her bill is paid.'
'Yes,' Lynd said cautiously. 'That would be the usual situation.'
'Then, if you don't mind, I'd like to see the originals and to have copies made.'
The lawyer studied the backs of his hands. 'I'm afraid that won't be possible, Mrs Cooper.'
His objection came as no surprise, but Jenny was curious to see how he would justify it. He must know as well as she did that her next move would be to make an order requiring their disclosure, and that failure to obey would amount to contempt.
'You no longer have them?'
'I'm afraid I find myself in the position of being unable to answer any questions on this subject.'
'I do hope you haven't been placed under any pressure, Mr Lynd?'
'I'm really not at liberty to discuss this any further. I know it sounds odd, but that is the situation.'
'Mr Lynd, either you make Eva Donaldson's files available to my inquest in their entirety, or I will use the full force of the law to compel you. Do I make myself clear?'
With the pained expression of a man walking an excruciatingly fine line, Lynd said, 'I understand your impatience, but if you were to take that approach I can tell you that it would trigger a different order of legal proceedings entirely.'
'What kind of proceedings?'
'Enforcement, I would imagine.' Lynd spoke in such a way that suggested there was a subtext she was expected to understand.
The light slowly dawned.
'Are you trying to tell me that there is some sort of court order preventing you from disclosing Miss Donaldson's papers?' Jenny asked.
Lynd gave her look indicating that even to answer that question was a risk he couldn't take. She was left in no doubt: he had been gagged in a manoeuvre that only a lawyer of Annabelle Stern's expertise could have executed.
'I can't claim to be an expert on the law of confidentiality, Mr Lynd, but I do know that there is no lawful means of putting Miss Donaldson's papers beyond the reach of a coroner.'
'Moot point, Mrs Cooper. And not one I'm willing to test,' Lynd said.
'And if I were to make the order here and now and summon police assistance to take the documents from the premises?'
'I would pick up the phone to a judge.'
'Any judge in particular?'
Lynd's forehead creased with the mental effort of charting a course through his complex ethical dilemma. Whichever way he jumped, he risked being found
in contempt of court, and many lawyers had been struck off for less.
Jenny said, 'Don't say anything. Just listen. I'm assuming there's an injunction in force preventing you discussing or disclosing any documents relating to Miss Donaldson or her affairs, and I can guess who obtained it. I can also guarantee that the judge wasn't told anything like the whole story, nor did he intend to derail a perfectly legitimate inquest.'
'All logical conclusions,' Lynd said, starting to relax a little now that she had retreated from her earlier threats.
'I appreciate you can't tell me who the parties were or even confirm that this injunction exists, but if it does, I'm sure it doesn't contain a provision preventing you from naming the judge who granted it.'
'Almost persuasive, Mrs Cooper.' He glanced anxiously at his watch. 'I think our time's nearly up.'
'Just a moment.' Jenny fetched out her phone and speed- dialled Alison's mobile.
She answered from her car.
'Alison, I need police assistance at the offices of Reed Falkirk & Co., Montego House, Queen Square. Right now.'
'Police? What for?'
'To enforce an order for disclosure.'
'Now, hold on a moment—' Lynd protested.
Jenny cupped a hand over her mobile. 'Yes?'
Lynd pressed his fingers to his temples in an agony of indecision.
'Mrs Cooper?' Alison's tinny voice cut through the ominous silence between Jenny and Lynd.
'I'm sorry, I don't have time for this. Alison?'
'No!' Lynd said. 'Mr Justice Laithwaite.'
'Thank you.' Jenny spoke into her mobile. 'Blank that last instruction, Alison. But I want you to call the Royal Courts and get me an appointment before Mr Justice Laithwaite. As soon as possible.'
She rang off and turned to Lynd. 'If a single document goes missing from those files I will hold you personally responsible. Do you understand?'
'I think you've made yourself perfectly clear.'
'And by the way, I know about her dispute with GlamourX.'
Lynd's mouth fell open: she clearly wasn't meant to.
'Someone left a letter in her personal papers. I'm presuming the £15,000 she owed you was spent dealing with the injunction. Hard to catch everything, I suppose.'
Getting up from the shiny table, Jenny paused. 'One thing you might be free to talk about - Eva called the police on 15 March to complain that someone was harassing her. A male. Any idea who?'
'I have no knowledge of any complaint,' Lynd answered woodenly.
'I don't suppose you'd care to speculate as to who Eva had upset enough to want to kill her.'
'Why do you say "upset"?'
'I get the feeling she was a woman of extremes; you'd either love her or hate her, possibly both.'
'No comment,' Lynd said.
Chapter 21
The news vans and people carriers had filled the clubhouse car park and spilled out along the litter-strewn margins of the road. Jenny arrived fifteen minutes late and was forced to carry her heavy briefcase and unwieldy box of documents fifty yards along the busy carriageway, an articulated truck threatening to pull her over in its slipstream.
Alison was waiting fretfully on the front step in her usher's gown. 'I thought we'd lost you, Mrs Cooper. The lawyers have been threatening to leave.'
Jenny offloaded the box on to her. 'Did you make an appointment with the judge?'
'I don't think it's going to be possible. He's hearing applications this morning and checking into the Cromwell Hospital at three - gallstones.'
'Great. Well, I'll just have to catch him between the two.'
She pushed through the door.
'I don't think-'
'It can't wait,' Jenny insisted. 'Call his clerk and tell him I'll come to his hospital bed if I have to.'
She opened the door to the hall and walked straight to her desk at the front, the hubbub of speculative chatter dissolving to an expectant silence as she took her seat and removed several legal pads and her copy of Jervis on Coroners from her briefcase. Ignoring the indignant lawyers, she addressed the jury.
'I apologize for my lateness, but I can assure you that I'm as anxious as you are to conclude proceedings.' Jenny turned to face the hall and saw that Michael Turnbull was present. 'I see your client has finally arrived, Mr Sullivan.'
'Good morning, ma'am,' Sullivan said, with exaggerated deference. 'I am glad to say that Lord Turnbull has indeed been excused parliamentary duties this morning.'
'Then we'd better hear from him. Come forward, please.'
Turnbull made his way unobtrusively to the witness chair, smiling briefly in the direction of the jury before taking his seat. Ed Prince and Annabelle Stern sat side by side, watching their man closely. It was their moment of greatest danger and the tension was written in their faces.
'We'll deal with the issue of your contempt before we go any further,' Jenny said. 'The consequences of failing to attend were clearly stated in your summons.'
Turnbull stiffened. 'If I might offer my apologies — '
Jenny cut him short. 'I fine you the sum of one thousand pounds. You'll arrange payment with my officer before leaving court.'
Turnbull made no comment, responding with a not quite contrite nod she could imagine him having practised with Ed Prince.
Jenny turned to her handwritten notes of Cassidy's evidence, conscious that she was far from mentally prepared for the coming confrontation. You can get through this, she told herself. You're the coroner, for goodness' sake.
'Lord Turnbull, you weren't present, were you, when Miss Donaldson's former partner, Mr Cassidy, gave his evidence?'
'No.'
'You might have heard that he stated his opinion that by the time of her death Eva didn't have faith any more.'
'That certainly wasn't my impression,' Turnbull said mildly. 'In fact, I would say that her faith had never been stronger. Her efforts on behalf of Decency were relentless.'
'Campaigning for a ban on pornography doesn't require religious faith.'
'Eva was an ever-present member of the church. I never heard of her expressing doubts.'
Fighting the urge to go in hard at the outset, Jenny told herself to stay calm. Even the merest hint of bias would send Prince scurrying to the High Court; the Ministry of Justice would leap at the chance to remove her. She had to appear neutral, however hard Starr stared at her from his seat at the back of the room. She turned at the sound of Alison emerging from the office door behind her. She walked to her desk, giving Jenny a nod as if to say an arrangement had been made.
Jenny addressed herself to Turnbull with a renewed sense of purpose. 'How would you describe her state of mind the last time you saw her?'
'It would have been at a briefing session on the Friday afternoon. She seemed in very good spirits.'
'Was she ever prone to mood swings?'
'I think I have already stressed her levels of professionalism.' He spoke to the jury: 'I can only emphasize that.'
Jenny turned to the tab in her pad marked 'Turnbull', and brought up her notes of his previous evidence. 'Perhaps if we can just revisit the night of her death, briefly. I know that you and your wife were at the church when you received the message that she was too tired to speak that evening.'
'That's correct.'
'Are you aware of any additional strain that she might have been under which caused her not to come to the service?'
Turnbull appeared to think hard for a moment, then shook his head. 'No.'
'Did she talk to you about her mounting financial problems?'
'Not in any detail. I was aware there was an issue, but as I think Lennox tried to explain, she was considering her whole future. She clearly couldn't live as she once had while working for an organization such as ours.'
'Quite. But did you know, for example, that apart from mortgage arrears and other debts she had outstanding legal bills of nearly £15,000?'
There was a collective flinch from the Decency legal team. Annabelle
Stern shot Ed Prince a frigid sideways look to which he didn't respond.
'No, I didn't,' Turnbull said with admirable calm.
He was good, Jenny thought. She could imagine him going as far in politics as he had in business.
Jenny continued, 'Mr Cassidy said that in his experience of living with Miss Donaldson it was very out of character for her to miss a professional engagement. Would you agree with that?'
'It was out of character, but not inconceivable. Her work for Decency affected her deeply. I would imagine she had become subject to all sorts of emotions she had simply shut down in her previous career.'
'You only imagine, or you know that to be the case?'
'I saw her looking tired and drained on occasions. People expected much of her and she gave it.'
'That's something I wanted to ask you about. She was the leader of a study group, two members of which have, it seems, committed suicide within days of each other. One was a young man of sixteen with a history of psychiatric problems, the other was a man in his thirties who worked as a senior psychiatric nurse.'
'It's very sad,' Turnbull said. He struck a homely tone. 'Look, churches like ours attract desperate and unhappy people, it's only to be expected. It's our Christian duty to do our best to help. It saddens me very deeply that these two were lost to us.'
'Did Eva ever speak to you about either of them?' 'No.'
'But she would have been on relatively intimate terms with them.'
'Prayer counselling has to be confidential. I'm sure if Eva thought either of them needed help she couldn't give she would have urged them to get it elsewhere.'
'You're not aware of any unhealthy aspect to her relationship with these two, and I mean that in the broadest sense?'
'The church has strict protocols. If there was any problem she would have gone straight to Lennox Strong.'
His delivery was flawless: distanced but compassionate, rational yet spoken with warmth. He was a hard man not to trust. Jenny's every instinct was to tear the facade down: to make him explain the coincidence of the three deaths following so swiftly after one another; to ask him why Freddy's psychosis had returned just as Eva was struggling with debts and crippling legal battles; to press him on the identity of the people with whom Jacobs had regretted becoming involved.
