by M. R. Hall
Jenny said, ‘My concern is to get full information about the circumstances of Miss Donaldson’s death. I’d be grateful for your help with a few points.’
Michael Turnbull held up his hand to restrain Prince before he objected. ‘Of course. We’ll assist in whatever way we can, Mrs Cooper.’
The lawyer frowned, keeping his eyes trained on her as she took a legal pad from her briefcase. She guessed it was he who would have been part of the discussion with Eva’s father; the complaint to the Ministry of Justice had probably been his idea. No doubt he was furious that she hadn’t been warned off.
Jenny opened her notebook to a page in which she’d jotted some questions. ‘This isn’t a formal evidence-gathering session,’ she emphasized, ‘just a chance for me to find out what was going on in Eva’s life.’
Prince couldn’t help himself. ‘Are you seriously entertaining the possibility that it wasn’t Craven who murdered her?’
Calmly Jenny said, ‘A coroner must entertain whatever possibility the evidence supports.’
Prince gave a dismissive grunt.
Ignoring him, Jenny continued, ‘I understand Miss Donaldson had been working for Decency for a little over a year.’
‘That’s right,’ Michael Turnbull replied. ‘Though it seemed like a lot longer.’
His wife nodded in agreement.
‘What would you say was her chief motivation?’
‘She didn’t want other women to suffer what she had,’ Christine Turnbull answered. ‘She wrote at length about it in her two books. There was the simple humanitarian side, the desire to prevent cruelty and exploitation; and there was the spiritual side. She genuinely believed that pornography is an addictive drug, something that destroys moral integrity.’
Jenny said, ‘I’ve no doubt she was committed to the cause, but she was in trouble financially. Were you aware of that?’
Michael Turnbull cut in ahead of his wife. ‘I’ll be straight with you. This has only come to light since she died. Decency paid her a very reasonable salary, but obviously, if she’d told us how bad things were, we might have tried to offer more help.’
‘She wrote to you last November asking for a rise.’
‘That’s right. Her request was put to the board and it was felt that increasing salaries wasn’t the best use of funds. I talked to her about it afterwards: she perfectly understood.’
Michael and Christine Turnbull exchanged a glance, as if there was something they weren’t sure should be said.
‘Yes – ?’ Jenny prompted.
‘Of course, we knew the campaign wouldn’t go on for ever,’ Michael said. ‘I’d talked with Eva about what she was planning to do afterwards, and to be honest she was struggling to decide between some quite profound alternatives.’
‘Such as?’
‘She had become a very committed Christian, but she was also a natural performer,’ he said with a fond smile. ‘I know she and Lennox, our chief pastor here, talked a lot about her maybe entering the ministry, but she was also attracted to a career as a serious actress. I couldn’t tell you if she had made up her mind, but I know what I would have wanted for her.’
‘She was a very powerful preacher,’ Christine Turnbull added. ‘Personally, I think she’d made a decision to minister.’
‘And live on what?’
‘A very modest wage,’ Michael Turnbull said. ‘Money can’t buy a vocation. Even a well-endowed church like this one has to live by the obvious principles.’
Jenny made a note that Eva was on the horns of a dilemma. Maybe it began to explain the bizarre tattoo? Perhaps ‘Daddy’s Girl’ referred to her relationship with God? It didn’t seem the obvious way to express it, but what could she know about the mind of an ex-porn actress?
‘How would you describe her state of mind in the weeks before her death?’ Jenny asked.
Michael Turnbull gazed at the ceiling for a moment, a trace of sadness, or was it regret, in his expression? ‘Like the rest of us she was apprehensive, anxious to succeed. But having become the face of the campaign she probably felt personally responsible in a way the rest of us didn’t quite appreciate.’
‘You mean she was showing signs of strain?’
‘No more than any of us,’ Christine Turnbull said. ‘I suppose it just bothers all of us that she was at home that Sunday evening, too tired to be here as she usually was. She had been to Manchester and Birmingham and made several radio appearances that weekend.’
Yes, it was regret. Jenny saw it Michael Turnbull’s face.
‘If there’s one thing I should have insisted on,’ he said, ‘it was that she have full-time security. I offered on several occasions but she always refused. I suppose we all had faith that we’d be looked after. But sometimes one has to stop and remind oneself that we live in a fallen world.’
‘Did she receive much negative attention?’ Jenny asked.
‘Quite the opposite,’ Christine Turnbull said. ‘We had piles of letters and emails for her every day, from well-wishers all over the world.’
‘No threats? She can’t have had many admirers in the pornography business.’
‘There were a few,’ Michael Turnbull said, ‘but nothing particularly sinister as far as I’m aware.’
‘What about close friends? Was she seeing anyone?’
Husband and wife exchanged a look.
Christine Turnbull shook her head. ‘No boyfriend as far as I know. I don’t think she had much time for a social life beyond what she had here. You’ll have to ask Lennox, he was probably the closest to her of all of us.’
Ed Prince glanced impatiently at his expensive wrist-watch, no doubt anxious to get on the phone to the office and hear what they’d come up with to torpedo her.
Jenny said, ‘One final thing: her computer. She’d shut down her email in February and there was no sign of her laptop at her house. Do you know what happened to it?’
Ed Prince turned to her. ‘All those connected with the campaign were advised to take steps to secure their personal communications. From what I saw of Eva, she was a sensible young woman who would have taken the advice to heart.’
It was Christine Turnbull who showed Jenny to the door. Over the course of their interview, Jenny had gradually warmed to her. She had expected a beautiful woman in what she suspected was a Dior suit to be aloof and judgemental. In fact, Christine gave every impression of being eager to assist and appeared profoundly saddened by Eva’s death.
As they parted at the door, Christine Turnbull spoke quietly, ‘I’m sorry if we seem agitated, Mrs Cooper. We’re nearing the end of a long road, and what happened to Eva . . .’ She shook her head, at a loss for words. ‘When you see how much good has been achieved you know evil’s never going to be far away. Eva was like a light in the darkness, and even though she’s not here for us, she’s still shining.’
‘I can see that,’ Jenny said, and bid Christine Turnbull a warm goodbye.
Walking back across the lobby skirting the busy bookshop, Jenny felt the last vestiges of cynicism dissolve. The people browsing the shelves were young, keen and intelligent. They were looking for meaning beyond themselves while most of their peers, her son included, would currently be alone in front of a computer or a TV screen, part of a vast global generation too over-stimulated and self-obsessed to muster any idealism or sense of greater purpose.
She stopped to study the big plasma screen above the closed door to the auditorium. Bobby DeMont and Lennox Strong were laying hands on some teenagers who had come up onto the stage. Lennox was saying, ‘In the name of Jesus, we call upon you, Lord, to fill this young man with your spirit, to guide him to do your will and to give him strength to resist temptation.’ The kneeling subject rose to his feet and turned to face the audience. It was Freddy.
‘Can I tell them something, Lennox?’ Freddy said.
‘Sure.’
Gripping his cuffs in his clenched fists and rocking up onto his toes with excitement, Freddy addressed the crowd. �
��When I first came to this church I was sick. I was drinking, taking drugs, most of the time I didn’t know who or where I was. The doctors said I was depressed, but there was nothing they could do to help me . . . I tried to kill myself twice. I mean, really tried. All I wanted was for the pain to end. But then a friend told me about this place. No way did I want to come to a church. I thought that’s somewhere for old people and weirdos –’ Bobby DeMont threw back his head and laughed uproariously – ‘but something said to me just try it, just once.’ Freddy’s face cracked into a grin so wide he could hardly force out the words. ‘That day changed my life. When Lennox called for people who were ill or suffering to come to the front, it felt like a hand was guiding me. And when he prayed over me – you know the feeling when you jump off a high diving board? It was like that, only angels caught me in the air. From being in so much pain, I felt like I was flying, I was so light, so happy—’
‘Here.’ Lennox handed Freddy a Kleenex to wipe his streaming eyes. The young congregation cheered.
His voice cracking with emotion, Freddy continued, ‘I’d never heard of the Holy Spirit. I hadn’t even read the Bible. But from that moment I knew I was saved. That’s the power of the spirit. It doesn’t matter who you are, it doesn’t matter what you’ve done, just open your heart the tiniest crack and I promise you, it’ll come rushing in. And if I can be saved, anyone can.’
Bobby DeMont stepped up to his side and clapped a powerful arm around his narrow shoulders. ‘Thank you so much for that, Freddy. You see, folks? God does not judge you on your past sins. Some of the greatest Christians of them all have been evil men, persecutors, slave traders, even murderers. That is the miracle of grace, my friends. When you ask to be born again Jesus lifts that sin from you in the twinkling of an eye.’
‘How many of you out there haven’t been born again?’ Lennox chimed in. He scanned the hands going up in the audience. ‘OK. Well, if you people want to change your lives for ever, all you have to do is join me in this prayer.’ He pointed a finger to the big screens above the stage. ‘Say after me: Dear Lord, I recognize that I am a sinner, and I truly repent . . .’
Jenny turned to see Ed Prince approaching. He stopped alongside her, following her gaze to the screen. The camera picked out individual young men and women earnestly mouthing their prayers of commitment: ‘I believe that He is risen from the dead, and I accept Him as my personal Lord and Saviour . . .’
‘Are you a believer, Mrs Cooper?’ Prince said.
‘After a fashion.’
‘See all those young black kids, boys who’d have been out with knives, girls who’d have been pregnant? Lennox Strong has led them here like Moses through the wilderness. And the white kids looked up to Eva.’
‘I’ve no intention of harming your good work.’
Focusing his deep-set eyes on her, Prince said, ‘Do you know who our greatest enemies are? People who call themselves Christians but don’t believe it should be happening like this. You know who I mean?’
Jenny shook her head.
‘Oh, I think you do, Mrs Cooper. I think you know perfectly well.’ He glanced briefly at the screen – born-again faces overcome with emotion – and headed for the exit.
‘Ha-le-lujah!’ Bobby DeMont’s cry blasted out through the auditorium doors and into the lobby. Freddy Reardon and two young women were convulsing on the floor of the stage.
TEN
CREEPING THROUGH STOP-START TRAFFIC Jenny checked her answerphone. Alison had called to say she’d spoken to both Patrick Derwent and Deborah Bishop and that Father Starr had been phoning the office badgering for Jenny to get in touch. The only other caller was Steve, saying that he’d found some information about her cousin that she might find interesting. His message sent a shot of panic through her. She dialled his number with clumsy fingers.
‘Steve, it’s Jenny.’
‘Hi,’ he said, sounding perfectly relaxed.
‘What is it?’
‘I dropped into the library at lunchtime and looked up the local newspapers from those dates we turned up.’
‘And?’ She struggled to control the steering wheel, her palms slippery with sweat.
‘You sound like you’re driving. Why don’t I come round this evening?’
‘Where are you now?’
‘Just leaving the office.’
‘Then meet me in town. Do you know Rico’s?’
‘Around the corner from your office.’
‘I’ll be there in ten minutes.’ She rang off before he could make any excuse and dialled Alison’s number, her heart pressing hard against her ribs.
Alison answered from what sounded like a busy wine bar.
‘Hello, Mrs Cooper,’ she said agitatedly.
‘How did you get on with Derwent?’
‘He’s adamant Jacobs was trying to convert his daughter, but he hasn’t got a lot of evidence. He found the text of a prayer in her belongings that he’s convinced Jacobs gave her, and the rest is just suspicion. He says that in the three days she was off the drugs she was experiencing some sort of religious euphoria. He claims he didn’t put all the pieces together until he read about Jacobs’s death.’
‘What sort of prayer was it?’
‘One for healing.’
‘Catholic?’
‘I wouldn’t know, but there’s no mention of Our Lady.’
‘What did Bishop say?’
‘No change from her evidence at the inquest. There was no official complaint, and as far as she knew Jacobs never pressed religion on any of his patients. She admitted some pamphlets from the Mission Church of God were found in the reading room, but she didn’t think there was a problem. As long as it’s not pornographic or racist, the kids are free to read what they like.’
‘Do you think she’s telling the truth?’
‘I couldn’t say. To be honest, I don’t think she’s got much of a clue about what goes on on the shop floor. Her office isn’t even in the unit, it’s over the other side of the road.’
‘I suppose I’d better have another talk with his wife.’
‘What for, Mrs Cooper?’ Alison said. ‘We know what the poor man’s problem was. Shouldn’t we just leave it at that?’
Jenny considered the prospect of knocking on Ceri Jacobs’s door once more and felt her determination to dig out every last grain of truth quickly fade. In the weeks before his death Alan Jacobs was clearly upset and confused; the pressure cooker was starting to blow. Even if she could place every event in sequence they might not add up to a logical picture. All she would have achieved would be yet more agony for his humiliated widow.
‘Maybe you’re right,’ Jenny said. ‘What would it achieve?’ ‘You’ve done all you can,’ Alison said, sounding relieved, and anxious to end the call. She had rung off before Jenny had a chance to ask what Father Starr wanted, but he could wait. There was something far more daunting about to confront her.
Steve was waiting for her at a table in the little cobbled yard at the back of the cafe, where you could smoke a cigarette with your cold beer and tapas. Despite the warm evening they were the only ones sitting outside. Jenny was glad they were alone. She felt fragile enough without having to worry about who might be listening. If she hadn’t been so on edge it would have made for a pleasant date: gentle samba music playing on the stereo and Otavio the handsome waiter treating her like a princess.
‘You didn’t tell me you were going to dig around in my past,’ Jenny said, reaching for Steve’s tobacco tin and helping herself. One of these days he would decide he could afford cigarettes that came in a packet.
‘It was almost an accident.’
‘Yeah, right,’ Jenny said.
He unbuckled his briefcase and brought out a handful of photocopied newspaper articles.
‘They’re from the Weston Mercury, October 1972.’ He looked at her hesitantly. ‘Do you want to see or not?’
‘Give them to me,’ Jenny insisted.
The first headline read: Girl
Dies in Fall. In three short paragraphs the article stated that five-year-old Katy Chilcott had been killed in an accidental fall down the stairs of the family home at Pretoria Road. Her parents, named James and Penny Chilcott, were said to be being comforted by relatives.
Feeling numb, Jenny quickly turned to the next article. A photograph of her father in his early thirties sat beneath the words, ‘Weston Man Questioned Over Girl’s Death’.
Following the death last Thursday of five-year-old Katy Chilcott in what was initially thought to be a tragic accident, detectives yesterday arrested the dead girl’s uncle, Brian Chilcott.
The owner of Chilcott Motors was taken from his home on Sunday afternoon and is believed to have spent the evening helping officers with their enquiries. He was later released on police bail. Detectives are said to be awaiting the results of a post-mortem examination.
Neighbours of the dead girl’s family saw Chilcott arrive at the address at approximately 5 p.m. on Thursday afternoon. Shouting was afterwards heard coming from inside the premises. Chilcott was seen leaving with a young child believed to be his daughter shortly before an ambulance arrived.
A hospital spokesman said that Katy Chilcott died as a result of ‘significant trauma’ to the head.
‘Does it bring anything back?’
‘The arrest bit does. It’s what I was remembering with Dr Allen.’
‘What about what happened inside the house?’
Jenny shook her head. It was a blank.
She looked at the final article. It was dated Friday, 24 November. Under the headline, Girl’s Death Ruled Accidental, was a brief report of the coroner’s finding that Katy had died as a result of falling down the stairs at the family home, striking her head on the tiled floor. The coroner, Mr C. R.