A Life to Kill

by M. R. Hall

  Heaton and White found themselves momentarily at a loss for words.

  ‘And for the avoidance of doubt, I have no intention of suppressing the findings in this report. Very small traces of both alcohol and cannabinoid THC were found in samples taken from Private Green’s body. Whether any of this is significant to ultimate cause of death is something we will explore at the inquest. My officer will provide details of where and when the testing is to take place. I shall see you all again here on Thursday morning.’

  Before anyone could respond, Jenny had risen from her seat and exited the courtroom. As she closed the door behind her she heard an eruption of outraged voices. The loudest was Claydon White’s: ‘What the hell does the mad bitch think she’s doing?’

  Jenny knew precisely what she was doing. She was refusing to be pushed around.

  Alison ignored Claydon White’s haranguing and demands to see the coroner in private and told him to communicate via email. Promising dire consequences for ‘the most shoddy and amateurish behaviour I have ever witnessed’, he swept out of the room with Carrie Rhodes and a bewildered Sarah Tanner. Paul Green attempted to offer soothing words to his wife, but they did nothing to stem Rachel’s anguished tears. ‘They’re trying to rubbish him! How could they?’ she repeated over and over. Meanwhile, Robert Heaton and his team of grey-suited MOD lawyers formed a sombre huddle that included several senior officers including Hastings and Norton.

  Sergeant Price collared Alison as she made her way to the door of the court with a bundle of printed leaflets detailing the time and location of the testing. Every soldier would be required to provide hair samples that would disclose whether drugs had been taken at any stage within the previous few months.

  ‘Did you know about this?’ he asked accusingly.

  ‘I just do what the coroner tells me to,’ Alison said, ‘I’m the coroner’s officer. And as our liaison officer, it’s your job to round up all the men in the platoon and make sure they’re at the camp gymnasium this afternoon. Here, have some leaflets.’

  ‘Sergeant Price!’ Colonel Hastings was calling him over to join the conference.

  ‘I’m busy,’ Price said, and left her to it.

  Alison stood at the door offering a leaflet to every man who left the room. There were no takers. She still had the full pile in her hand ten minutes later when Major Norton approached her. Save for one or two stragglers, he was the last to leave.

  ‘Please accept my apologies,’ he said politely. ‘If you give them to me, I’ll make sure they’re distributed. You can assure the coroner that we will all be there.’

  Jenny and Alison spent a tense few hours in their respective offices making preparations for the start of the full inquest later in the week. But the expected phone calls and emails failed to materialize. There was no furious communication from Claydon White, no threats of appeals to the High Court and no requests to send in teams of highly paid pathologists to overturn Dr Kerr’s findings. The silence was as unnerving as it was unexpected. Sergeant Price excused himself after the morning hearing and said he would be occupied for the rest of the day on other duties. He gave no indication what they might be.

  During her lunch break, Jenny performed a rapid sweep of the principal online newspapers and found several early reports of her inquest’s opening session. All led with the information that traces of alcohol and cannabis had been found in Private Green’s body, but each also went to considerable lengths to explain that the amounts involved were at the threshold of testing tolerance. One article went so far as to suggest that the alcohol residue could have been caused by as little as a teaspoon of cough medicine or by eating fruit that had fermented in the heat. Someone had evidently been working the phones and twisting arms. Whether it had been the MOD, Claydon White or a combination of both, she could only speculate.

  A team of four nurses, provided by the private laboratory Jenny had engaged at great expense to carry out the tests, arrived at the camp shortly after three o’clock. A fifth nurse had been dispatched to Selly Oak to collect samples from Privates Dale Carter and Lee Roberts. Usual protocol would have dictated that Alison oversee the procedure, but she agreed with Jenny that they would need as many pairs of eyes as possible to ensure that there could be no possible tampering with samples. Any question mark over the process – the merest possibility of samples having been mishandled, mislabelled or mislaid – would open the door to a legal argument claiming a break in the evidential chain.

  They joined the nurses – two male, two female – twenty minutes before the doors to the gymnasium were due to open. Prelabelled sample bags had been set out on a registration table. Nearby, two screened-off cubicles had been set up in which hair samples would be taken from each man’s head and body. As far as Jenny could ascertain, the system appeared foolproof.

  She withdrew to a seat at the far corner of the gym and left Alison to oversee the practicalities. A low babble of voices outside the main door indicated that her main fear – that she would have to enlist the civilian police, and perhaps even the military police, to round up unwilling participants – had proved unfounded. Alison unlocked the doors as the bell of St Mary’s church struck four. The men of 2 Platoon, all dressed in identical regimental PT kit of black vests and white shorts, filed in. Major Norton was at their head, Sergeant Bryant at the rear. On Bryant’s order, they formed into two rows.

  Every single man had shaved his head.

  After a moment’s silence, Jenny got up from her chair and walked across the wooden floor, her footsteps echoing off the bare walls. She stopped several feet in front of Major Norton and looked along the row. She could see that it wasn’t just the men’s heads. Arms, legs and chests were all freshly shaved. It was safe to assume the rest of their bodies had been similarly depilated. The twenty-four underweight and hairless men made a disturbing sight: like convicts in a prison camp.

  ‘Who ordered this?’ Jenny said.

  ‘No one,’ Major Norton said.

  ‘Then who suggested it?’ She was dangerously close to losing her temper.

  ‘We received legal advice to the effect that we were entitled not to incriminate ourselves or run the risk of doing so.’

  ‘From Colonel Hastings?’

  ‘I don’t feel at liberty to say. Nor do I believe that it’s required of me.’

  ‘That may be so, Major, but the fact that this happened at all will be evidence at the inquest. What the jury will make of it, I’ve no idea.’

  Norton was unmoved. ‘Will that be all, Mrs Cooper?’

  ‘For now, yes.’

  ‘All right, lads, off we go.’ The informal order was issued by Sergeant Bryant, who herded them out of the door.

  Jenny apologized to the medical team for their wasted afternoon while silently fuming at the connivance of the lawyers and officers who had hatched the plan to frustrate her attempts to collect critical evidence. Meanwhile, Alison was making a phone call to see how the nurse dispatched to Selly Oak had fared. She rang off and shook her head.

  ‘Same story there with Carter and Roberts.’

  ‘Isn’t Carter in a coma?’

  ‘He won’t have been able to object, then, will he?’ Alison said with a shrug. ‘What happens next?’

  Jenny had reached the end of her tether. She knew that if she stayed in Highcliffe a moment longer, she would be in danger of doing something she would later regret. ‘I’m going home,’ she said to Alison. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  Jenny’s temples were still throbbing as she sped across the Severn Bridge. It was only when she had fully plunged into the green folds of the valley beyond that she felt the pressure begin to subside and the angry words that had filled her head give way to softer voices. The late-afternoon sunlight filtered through the branches of the trees that formed an unbroken canopy over the road. Here and there, a glimpse of the river winding through the gorge. The warm air flowing through her open windows carried the musky, mossy scent of the woods. On the last leg of her journe
y she passed a small meadow that was being mown for a late crop of hay and the car filled with the smell of freshly cut grass. Summer was gently ripening into autumn.

  Michael’s car was parked outside the cottage but there was no sign of him in the house. Jenny changed and showered and took some tea out into the garden. She was determined to savour a few minutes’ peace before daring to look at her emails and deal with the fallout of the day.

  He appeared a few minutes later. He’d been out for a walk, he said, but seemed preoccupied. There was no trace of the smile that he had worn all weekend.

  ‘Thanks for the text,’ Jenny said, sensing there was something amiss. ‘It came just at the right moment. You’ll never guess what happened, though.’

  He sat in the chair alongside her. ‘They were never going to do what you asked.’

  ‘They shaved themselves. Every last one of them.’

  Michael smiled. ‘What did you expect? Anyway, so what if they had the odd joint? Would you really hold that against them? You’d want something to take the edge off if you were stuck out there.’

  ‘No one made them. They are volunteers.’

  ‘Moot point. I never felt I had much choice. My dad had me signed up from birth.’

  Jenny reached for his hand. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘I feel fine,’ Michael said. He sighed. ‘But apparently there were “possible anomalies” in my ECG that require “further investigation”.’

  ‘Anomalies? What does that mean?’

  ‘Couldn’t – or wouldn’t – tell me. I had a phone call this afternoon – not from the doctor, from some receptionist or other. Apparently, my licence is suspended until further notice. I’m to see a consultant sometime in the next few weeks.’

  ‘Have you told the company? What do they say?’

  ‘They’re making all the right noises for the moment, but when you’re on a monthly contract you’re as easy to let go as the window cleaner.’

  ‘It’s bound to be all right. You’ve never had anything wrong before.’

  Michael nodded as if trying to convince himself. He gazed out at the garden, keeping his thoughts locked inside.

  ‘There’s something you’re not saying,’ Jenny said.

  ‘You have to admit – there’s something odd about the timing.’

  ‘You think your medical is connected with my inquest? I know how pressure can be brought to bear, but it’s a bit of a stretch to interfere with your medical, don’t you think?’

  ‘You’ll know better than most, Jenny.’

  ‘Can’t you see another doctor – get this sorted out?’

  ‘There’s a procedure. It could take weeks.’

  They looked at each other, sharing the same irrational but nevertheless potent fear.

  ‘If you can make your opponents doubt their sanity, you’re most of the way to winning,’ Michael said matter-of-factly.

  Inside the house, the phone rang.

  ‘I’ll go,’ Jenny said.

  The pressure inside her skull had returned, and more powerfully than before. For once she answered the phone begging for it to be a sales pitch.

  ‘Jenny? It’s Simon.’

  She braced herself for a rebuke and wondered why it hadn’t come sooner. But he made no mention of the abortive drugs test.

  ‘There’s been a development,’ he said. ‘This isn’t yet for public consumption, but the body of the missing soldier, Private Peter Lyons, has turned up. Dumped at some crossroads. In several pieces, from what I can gather.’

  ‘I see,’ was all Jenny could find to say. It wasn’t unexpected news, but she realized that she had held a picture of Lyons in her head – assembled from fragments of information she had gathered over the previous ten days – as a cheerful, mischievous boy. The thought of another young life snuffed out, another grieving family, filled her with despair.

  ‘It obviously changes things somewhat. It would make sense to combine the inquests, of course. We can’t think of any good reason not to. The Chief would like a word with you in the morning. The earlier the better. Maybe you could jump on a train tonight? We’ll stand you a room at the Langham. I might even join you for a nightcap.’

  Standing barefoot in her cottage kitchen, Jenny couldn’t have felt less like embarking on an evening dash to London, less still like enduring an awkward date with Simon Moreton. But however politely it had been put, she realized this wasn’t a request she was at liberty to turn down.

  ‘I could probably make the eight o’clock train,’ Jenny said. ‘And just about be on parade at ten.’

  ‘I’ll be in the bar at five past. See you later.’

  She set down the phone and turned to see Michael in the doorway.

  ‘The body of the missing soldier’s been found,’ Jenny said. ‘It looks like I’ll be conducting a double inquest.’

  ‘And you’re willing to take it on? You’re shooting off to London the moment they snap their fingers? I thought you were meant to be independent. Why don’t you say no?’

  Jenny couldn’t answer.

  ‘I’ll tell you why – you don’t think you could trust anyone else,’ Michael said. ‘And they know that.’

  ‘Michael, we’ve both had difficult days. Now’s not the time.’

  ‘You think today’s been difficult? If my medical was a shot across the bows, I don’t like to think what the main event is going to look like.’

  ‘You’re reading too much into it,’ Jenny said. ‘You’re upset. Of course you are.’

  ‘Well, you’ve clearly made up your mind,’ Michael said. He shrugged. ‘Let’s hope I’m wrong.’

  EIGHTEEN

  Anna Roberts was in no mood to be told that visiting hours were over. It had taken her nearly five hours to travel a hundred miles: a local bus from Highcliffe to Bristol, a National Express coach to Birmingham and another bus to Selly Oak. She would have half an hour with Lee at most before having to do it all again in reverse. If she missed the last coach, her bed for the night would be a bench somewhere in Birmingham city centre. The nurse listened to her story but repeated the line that relatives weren’t admitted after seven thirty. She was very sorry, but if they bent the rules for everybody the patients would never have any peace.

  Anna tried explaining that she wasn’t asking for the rules to be bent for everybody, just for her, and just this once, but her words fell on deaf ears. Anger and frustration overwhelmed her. She gave up trying to be reasonable and simply walked on past her towards the ward.

  ‘Madam—’ the nurse called after her.

  Anna ignored her and pushed through the door.

  There were eight beds in the room. Lee’s was at the far end on the left. Anna headed for it, then stopped halfway across the floor, not recognizing the shaven-headed man propped up on pillows. Only when he turned to look at her did she realize that it was him. Everything was gone – even his eyebrows.

  She hurried over and pulled the curtain to give them some privacy. ‘What the hell happened to you?’ she whispered, unable to disguise her shock.

  Lee looked at her with absent eyes.

  ‘It was an order,’ he said. ‘Something to do with the inquest and tests.’

  ‘She wants every man in the platoon tested for drugs. I was there. Something showed up in Kenny’s body – alcohol and cannabis.’

  Lee gave a slight shake of his head. He looked strange. Not all there. Anna wondered if he might be heavily drugged.

  ‘That’s why I came,’ Anna said. ‘I knew something was going on. Melanie Norton looks stressed out and no one down in the WAGs Club is talking about Kenny or what happened. It’s like a taboo.’ She noticed a wheelchair parked at the far side of the bed. ‘Is that yours?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘You’ve been out of bed again?’

  He nodded, but his mind – if it was working at all – was elsewhere.

  The nurse thrust her head between the curtains. ‘You can have ten minutes,’ she hissed. ‘There are people in he
re trying to sleep.’

  ‘OK. Thanks.’ Anna struggled to remain civil.

  The nurse finally left them alone.

  ‘They treat you like kids. It’s worse than the army,’ Anna said.

  Lee hadn’t seemed to notice.

  ‘You look sleepy. Is it the morphine?’

  ‘I suppose.’

  Anna took his hand and squeezed it. He made a feeble attempt to squeeze hers back.

  They sat in silence. Anna’s mind was racing, churning over why a man who had had his legs blown off would have been treated this way. What were they trying to hide? Something was badly wrong. Lee seemed more depressed now than he had days ago. She could see it in his face. He looked like the life had been sucked out of him, as if he had given in. He hadn’t even asked after Leanne.

  ‘Leanne’s over at Sue and Mike’s,’ Anna prompted. ‘She’s staying the night.’

  No response.

  ‘What’s going on, Lee? You’ve got to talk to me. It took hours to get here and they’re kicking me out any minute.’

  ‘Skippy’s dead. The sergeant here told me they found him on the road.’

  Anna absorbed the news and tried to use it to remind herself that things could have been so much worse. Then she thought of Kathleen alone in her flat. As far as she knew, she was Skippy’s only family.

  ‘You knew though, didn’t you?’ she said. ‘You knew he was dead.’

  Lee nodded.

  She decided to ask the question that had been weighing on her mind for days. ‘How did it happen, Lee? How did he get snatched from under your noses?’

  He remained still and silent, then shrugged.

  ‘You do know something. I know you do. Why can’t you tell me? . . . Lee? . . . Please?’

  He turned to her, his empty eyes looking at her and through her at the same time. ‘I shouldn’t be here. I should be dead.’