A Life to Kill

by M. R. Hall

Alison cast Jenny a sly glance as they followed him inside. Too loudly for Jenny’s comfort, she whispered, ‘I wouldn’t say no.’

  Jenny ignored the remark, hoping there would be no more. Alison smirked. Unrepentant.

  Sergeant Price led the way along a corridor painted in a shade of institutional green that had disappeared from the outside world during the previous three decades. Regimental photographs were displayed at evenly spaced intervals and at the foot of the main stairs was a glass case containing medals and other mementos from glorious battles long in the past.

  Colonel Hastings’s office was at the far end of the building on the first floor. Sergeant Price knocked twice on the heavy door then ushered them into a large, airy room with a view over the parade ground and the playing field beyond.

  ‘Good morning.’ Hastings stepped out from behind his desk to greet them. Jenny guessed his age at about fifty. He had greying sandy hair and the lean physique of a man who had kept himself fit. His smile was disarmingly soft and welcoming.

  ‘Mrs Cooper. Mrs Trent. Pleased to meet you. Richard Hastings.’ He shook them both by the hand.

  ‘Good morning, Colonel,’ Jenny said, resisting his implicit invitation to call him by his Christian name.

  He motioned them to four chairs set around a low table on which coffee was already waiting. Sergeant Price filled their cups as they exchanged introductory pleasantries.

  Hastings exuded charm and urbanity, which was quite a feat given that he had returned to the UK from Afghanistan only the previous day. He explained that while the men would have a period of leave after their tour, his would have to wait. There were personnel matters to deal with and a lot of newly returned equipment that needed servicing and repairing. Drudge work, he called it. Jenny suspected that this was an excuse to delay the transition to the slower pace of life at home. She sensed that beneath the controlled exterior, he was still operating with the same keyed-up energy that had sustained him throughout the tour.

  After a decent interval, Jenny steered the conversation away from small talk towards the incident in Helmand. Hastings explained that he had been managing operations from Brigade HQ in Bastion, the temporary mini-city erected piecemeal by US and British forces over the long years of the occupation. The men of C Company were distributed among five forward command posts. Major Norton was the senior officer on the ground and based with 2 Platoon of which Private Green was a member. It was, he said, probably no accident that the incident occurred during the final hours of the occupation. It bore all the hallmarks of an operation timed and planned for maximum publicity. A Taliban coup: the British sent running with their tails between their legs.

  ‘On that issue . . .’ Hastings said, changing the subject slightly, ‘I had a call shortly before you arrived indicating that a DA-notice is in the offing.’

  ‘DA’ was the acronym for Defence Advisory. A DA-notice could be issued by the government’s Defence, Press and Broadcasting Committee requesting news outlets not to report on a story if it risked endangering national security or the lives of individuals. Compliance was voluntary, although in practice orders were seldom breached. Jenny instinctively rebelled against official secrecy of any sort, but in this instance she reluctantly saw the argument in favour.

  ‘Because Private Lyons is still missing?’

  ‘Yes,’ Hastings said. ‘Whether there’s any chance of finding him, we don’t yet know, but between you and me it’s one of the most comprehensive searches the army has ever launched. Drones, satellites, Special Forces. If he’s alive, we’ll find him.’

  ‘I’ve only had sketchy information, but it seems odd that he was abducted from under the noses of his colleagues.’

  ‘Strange things and unexpected things happen in war,’ Hastings said. Price nodded his agreement.

  ‘Presumably you’ve discussed the incident with Major Norton in some detail?’

  ‘We had a session together before we embarked for home.’

  ‘I’ve read your short report. Is that all there is?’

  ‘As far as I can ascertain, there was an ambush, the whole thing was over very quickly and Private Green was unfortunate enough to catch a bullet in the wrong place. Frankly, there’s not much more to it than that. Thankfully, he didn’t suffer. Not much of a comfort, but it’s something.’

  ‘He was a sound lad,’ Sergeant Price said, unprompted. ‘I knew him well.’

  The two men exchanged a look. Jenny sensed a deep bond between them. It surprised her. She had expected more distance and formality between officers and other ranks.

  ‘In your report of the incident you said that there would be a detailed lessons-learned inquiry to follow,’ Jenny said. ‘Has that already taken place?’

  ‘That would be an internal matter,’ Colonel Hastings said. His tone and expression were diplomatic but Jenny sensed she had hit a significant obstacle.

  ‘If a formal inquiry has taken place and evidence gathered, that would be something that I would need to know about. Whether or not your findings would be made public, I would certainly expect them to form part of the evidence at the inquest.’

  Colonel Hastings gave a polite but non-committal smile that said that it was not a discussion he was prepared to enter into. ‘Sergeant Price will be serving as your liaison officer. He’ll be on hand to assist you in whatever way he can,’ he continued, attempting to brush the issue aside. ‘All the men and their families know him, so his presence should help oil the wheels, as it were.’

  ‘I’m sure it will,’ Alison said, having apparently forgotten her previous objections to having to share her role as coroner’s officer.

  ‘We’ve set two offices aside for you along the corridor here. Sergeant Price will show you to them in a moment, and then he’ll take you over to have a look at the regimental hall, where Mr Moreton suggested you conduct your inquest.’

  Jenny had decided overnight that Simon’s suggestion that she hold her hearing at the camp was a step too far. ‘The offices will be very useful, thank you,’ she replied, ‘but I’ve decided that the inquest itself will be conducted elsewhere in the town. It’s an independent inquiry and has to appear to be so.’

  Hastings was unfazed. ‘Of course. I thought you might take that view. Sergeant Price tells me that the local magistrates’ court was mothballed a few years ago – if we grease the right palms I believe we might be able to bring it out of retirement.’

  ‘It sounds ideal,’ Jenny said. She resisted the urge to return to the issue of Hastings’s internal inquiry. She wanted to leave him in no doubt that she would insist on seeing every relevant piece of information, but at the same time she had the sense that this was what he wanted of her; that he would have welcomed the opportunity to lock horns and assert himself at the outset. She wouldn’t do that. Better to keep him guessing.

  Hastings seemed to sense something of Jenny’s thoughts. Behind the benign smile that carried a vague hint of amusement, his eyes were constantly assessing. He seemed to enjoy the game of silently jousting with her.

  ‘Have you spoken with Green’s family?’ Hastings asked. ‘The father used to be a sergeant in the regiment. Served with him in Iraq. He’s a good man.’

  ‘We haven’t yet,’ Jenny confessed. ‘We intend to make contact today. Doubtless they’ll want to know about the body, perhaps wish to view it. I’ll talk with the pathologist at the John Radcliffe and see what the position is before we meet. Hopefully we can get the post-mortem out of the way today.’

  Another glance passed between Hastings and Sergeant Price. ‘That’s already happened, as far as I know,’ the colonel said cautiously.

  ‘The post-mortem?’

  ‘The body was transferred to the mortuary at the Severn Vale Hospital late last night. We like to bring them back close to home as soon as possible.’

  Jenny failed to conceal her surprise. ‘On whose instruction was this post-mortem carried out?’

  ‘Mine,’ Hastings said. ‘I thought you’d want to get things
ticking along.’

  Jenny’s first instinct was to tell him that she considered this a gross intrusion on her authority, but she stopped herself. Starting off on a sour note would only hinder her. If she was going to mount an effective inquiry, she was going to need the army’s cooperation.

  She did her best to strike a conciliatory tone, ‘Well, it’s not how things are normally done, but I’m sure you were operating from the best of motives. Has there been a report from the pathologist?’

  ‘Her name is Dr Langham. Fiona Langham. She has your details. I’m sure she’ll be in touch.’ Hastings glanced at his wristwatch, suddenly keen to bring the meeting to an end. ‘Is there anything else I can do for you, Mrs Cooper?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so.’

  ‘Call me any time or have a word with Sergeant Price. Anything we can do to help. I’m told this may only take a matter of days if all proceeds smoothly.’

  ‘Really? By whom?’ This time Jenny couldn’t conceal her annoyance.

  ‘Moreton? Is that his name?’

  ‘Coroners’ inquests take as long as they take, Colonel. When I’m satisfied that we have statements from all relevant witnesses we’ll proceed to a hearing, but not until then.’

  Hastings flashed another of his disarming smiles. ‘Understood, Mrs Cooper. I’m sure we both suffer with men in grey suits telling us how to do our jobs.’ He stood up from his chair, bringing the meeting to an end. ‘Sorry about the post-mortem. I must have got a bit too used to barking orders.’

  Jenny responded with a smile of her own. As they parted company she decided that on balance she liked him, but would have to be on her guard. He was a hard man not to trust.

  Sergeant Price led them out of the office and along the corridor to the far end. Two adjacent doors had fresh name cards in their polished brass holders. For a third time, Jenny’s name appeared as Jennifer. The second bore Sergeant Price’s name alongside Alison’s.

  ‘The two offices are interconnecting,’ Sergeant Price explained.

  He showed them through the first door into the large office that Alison and he would share. It was fully equipped with phones, computers and photocopier. Besides the two desks, there was a table and chairs they could use when speaking to witnesses or relatives.

  ‘I feel very privileged,’ Alison said. It was considerably roomier that the small set of ground-floor offices from which she and Jenny operated in central Bristol.

  Sergeant Price opened the connecting door into the smaller but rather more plushly furnished office reserved for Jenny. A large, important-looking desk was equipped with a sleek new computer. A pair of leather armchairs was arranged in one corner. A glass-fronted cabinet contained several decanters and a selection of crystal glasses.

  ‘If you require coffee or any other refreshments, dial nine on the desk phone and inform the batman what you require. You’re invited to lunch in the officers’ mess any time between midday and two p.m. Would you like me to show you where it is?’

  ‘In a moment,’ Jenny said. ‘If you wouldn’t mind, I’ve a quick call to make.’

  ‘Certainly.’ He turned to the door.

  ‘Maybe you can show me how to use the computers?’ Alison suggested.

  ‘Of course.’

  Sergeant Price took her through and closed the door behind him.

  Jenny took a moment to orientate herself in her new surroundings. The office could have belonged to a general, except now that she observed a little more closely she detected some feminine touches: a discreetly positioned vase of flowers, tissues in a decorative silver box, a framed mirror hanging on the wall that looked suspiciously new. Someone had gone out of their way to make her feel comfortable. But who? It was an intriguing question. She very much doubted that Simon Moreton would have had an eye to such detail.

  Deciding not to trust the switchboard-routed landline for sensitive communication, she called through to the John Radcliffe Hospital on her mobile phone and asked to be put through to Dr Langham as a matter of urgency.

  It took several minutes before the pathologist came on the line. She was terse, bordering on the irritable, and immediately let Jenny know that she was in the middle of a very tricky post-mortem.

  Jenny ignored her rudeness and got straight to business. ‘I understand you carried out an autopsy on the body of Private Kenneth Green, yesterday? Can I inquire why you went ahead without my instruction?’

  ‘I assumed it was on your instruction. I was told you needed a report by the end of today.’

  ‘Colonel Hastings told you this?’

  ‘The first call came from the MOD, even before the body had been repatriated. I was told this was a matter of urgency.’

  ‘May I ask what you found?’

  ‘A single bullet wound. It entered behind the right ear, exited through the left temple. A few other cuts and bruises, but that was it.’

  ‘Are there any personal effects?’

  ‘There were a few items of uniform. They were transported along with the body. It’s very straightforward. There’s no doubt it was a fatal shot. You’ll get the paperwork this afternoon. Is that it?’

  ‘Yes. Thank you.’

  Jenny rang off, tapped the internet icon on her phone screen and ran a search on Dr Fiona Langham. It took only a few moments to learn that she had appeared as an expert witness on behalf of the MOD in several high-profile inquests and civil actions. Her name occurred repeatedly in newspaper reports of the case of two young British helicopter pilots who had crashed while flying a mission at night in the latter part of the Iraq War. The pilots’ families claimed they had repeatedly complained that poor maintenance was putting their lives at risk. Dr Langham testified that she had detected small but significant traces of an antidepressant drug in the pilot’s body which suggested he was suffering from an undeclared condition that would have rendered him unfit to fly. The court found for the MOD and decided that the pilot had contributed directly to his death and that of his colleague. His widow was left with nothing but a hefty legal bill.

  Having read enough, Jenny called the mortuary at the Severn Vale and established that Private Green’s body had indeed arrived very late the previous night. She informed the mortuary technician that she would be along to view it shortly and that it was not to be touched until she arrived.

  Jenny found Alison sitting at a computer with Sergeant Price leaning over her shoulder looking less than entirely comfortable as he guided her through the system.

  ‘I’ve told the Vale we’re on our way to view the body.’

  She had addressed her remark to Alison, but it was Sergeant Price who answered first, ‘I can drive, if you like.’

  ‘Thank you, but that won’t be necessary,’ Jenny said firmly. ‘Alison?’

  Alison prised herself away, thanking the sergeant for being so patient.

  ‘It’s really no trouble to drive you, Mrs Cooper.’ Price wasn’t to be easily deterred.

  ‘We’ll see you later, Sergeant.’

  Jenny shepherded Alison out of the office and headed for the stairs.

  ‘What’s the hurry?’ Alison said. ‘I was just getting to grips with it all.’

  Jenny’s patience was wearing thin. ‘If you’re not careful, he’s going to think . . .’ She paused briefly to rephrase a sentence that was at risk of sounding cruel. ‘Well, let’s just say he may not take you as seriously as he ought to.’

  Alison gave a mischievous grin. ‘Isn’t that what we want, Mrs Cooper?’

  Colonel Hastings looked up impatiently from the pile of paperwork that had landed on his desk to see Sergeant Price stepping through the door. He seemed preoccupied.

  ‘Yes, Sergeant?’

  ‘Mrs Cooper and her officer have gone to view the body, sir. They preferred to go alone.’

  ‘What about the family? Has she spoken to them yet?’

  ‘Not as far as I know, sir.’

  ‘Well, you’d better phone them. And if Mrs Cooper hasn’t already been in touch, you
probably ought to apologize on her behalf. And let them know that we’re eager to get things resolved as soon as possible.’

  ‘Will do, sir.’

  Hastings gazed distractedly out of the window for a moment. ‘What do you make of the blonde one – the officer? Bit batty, don’t you think?’

  ‘Mrs Trent. She’s harmless enough. She told me she’d been in a car accident a couple of years ago – hit her head.’

  ‘Sounds like you’re getting on famously.’ He gave an amused smile. ‘Try and stay close to her – well, within reasonable limits. And make sure to keep me regularly informed. I don’t want any unpleasant surprises.’

  ‘Yes, sir. Understood.’

  Hastings returned to his paperwork and Price turned to go with a weary sense of resignation. Being lumbered with a desk job was bad enough, but being asked to cosy up to a sixty-year-old woman with a penchant for young men in uniform was definitely not his idea of soldiering. The only speck of light was Colonel Hastings’s promise that if he performed well he would put in a good word with the Promotions Board. With a bit of luck he would quickly make staff sergeant, and with a fair wind, warrant officer not long after that. A crown on his sleeve instead of stripes.

  Hastings called after him as he was leaving. ‘Actually, Sergeant, I’d like you to offer to drive the family to the Vale yourself. I’m sure they’ll want to go.’

  ‘Now, sir?’

  ‘Yes. You can take my car. I want them to feel looked after. And I want Mrs Cooper to understand that the army looks after its own.’

  ‘I’ll do my best, sir.’

  As he pulled the door closed behind him, Sergeant Price began to wonder what it was about the circumstances of Kenny’s death that was making the colonel jumpy. Price had already seen the body at the John Radcliffe when he had arrived to oversee its transfer. It was obvious what had happened – he’d taken a shot in the wrong place. All he could think of was that Kenny hadn’t died the way you were meant to – bravely, facing down the enemy. If Price had been forced to predict which members of 2 Platoon might not come home, Kenny would have been near the top of his list. He was a nice lad, sweet natured, but lacked the killer instinct. To survive, a soldier needed a ruthless streak. Whatever had happened to him out there, Price doubted very much that Kenny had died in a way to make the regiment proud.