by M. R. Hall
She hesitated just long enough for her resistance to crumble. Leaving the message to Danny unsent, she followed him back to the bedroom.
Jenny approached the entrance to Kathleen Lyons’s block to find Sergeant Price standing looking at the dozens of bunches of flowers and numerous cards heaped either side of the front door. Price looked up with a sombre, pained expression. He had briefly allowed the military mask to slip.
‘Good morning, Mrs Cooper. Quite something, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, it is,’ was all Jenny allowed herself to say. She tried not to let her gaze linger on the messages of love and grief lest she embarrass herself.
‘May I ask how long you intend this visit to take?’ Sergeant Price asked.
‘As long as she likes, but not long. It’s a courtesy, really – to tell her what to expect.’
Sergeant Price nodded, then glanced away.
Jenny felt a pang of pity for him. Until this moment she had seen him only as an obstructive functionary. It had hardly occurred to her that the subjects of her inquests were his close friends and comrades.
‘Are you all right, Sergeant? I can do this alone, if you prefer.’
‘I’ll be fine. I should be used to this by now. Funny how it takes you sometimes.’
‘Did you know Private Lyons well?’
‘Since before he joined up. Probably wasn’t even sixteen.’ He cut the train of memory short and raised his hand to the doorbell. ‘Shall we?’
‘Go ahead.’
They ascended the stairs in silence. Jenny noticed the dirty yellow walls and the footworn carpet. The common parts of the building felt lonely and unloved.
Kathleen answered the door already dressed for work with the supermarket’s blue tabard pulled on over her cardigan. She gave the instant impression of not wanting them to linger. They exchanged formal greetings on the doorstep and Kathleen led them through to the sitting room.
Taking the lead, Jenny explained that she was intending to consolidate the inquest into her grandson’s death with that into the death of Private Green. Her job was to determine the cause of death as precisely as she could. This would involve exploration of all the surrounding circumstances. She hoped to discover how Private Lyons had managed to be separated from the rest of his platoon, but there could be no guarantees. All she could offer was her word that she would pursue every possible avenue of inquiry.
‘You should also know that a post-mortem was carried out last night,’ Jenny said. ‘If you wish, I can forward you a copy of the pathologist’s report.’
Kathleen glanced briefly at her flat brown shoes, then looked up, still with her emotions fully in check. ‘I suppose I had better see it.’
‘Of course. And can I ask if your grandson wrote to you at all during the tour?’
‘I had a couple of letters. He wasn’t one for writing very much.’ She smiled for the first time. ‘Took after his mother like that. They weren’t allowed to say much, of course, not even where they were.’
‘He didn’t mention receiving an injury of any sort?’
Kathleen’s eyes hardened. ‘What kind of injury?’
Jenny glanced at Sergeant Price and saw that her question had caught his attention. ‘He had a fractured rib. Not serious, but he’d taken a knock of some sort. It’s even possible he was struck by a bullet through his Kevlar vest. It may not be significant, but I have to ask.’
‘No. He didn’t mention anything.’ She turned to Sergeant Price. ‘But he wouldn’t have been allowed to, would he?’
‘Maybe not.’
There was a moment of tense silence. Jenny sensed something passing between Kathleen and Sergeant Price that she didn’t understand.
Reacting to Jenny’s puzzled glance, Kathleen said, ‘I don’t suppose you’ll be asking whether it’s right for sixteen-year-old lads to be sucked into the army and shoved out onto the front line as soon as they turn eighteen?’
‘I think that would be considered outside my terms of reference,’ Jenny said. She glanced again at Sergeant Price and saw the colour draining from his face. ‘Although, he was very young and questions surrounding his experience and training may be relevant.’
‘If you get them young enough they’re not really making a choice, are they? If you take a kid for rides in a tank and give him a trip to the firing range he’s bound to think it’s all fun and games, isn’t he?’ There was no question that her remarks were aimed squarely at Price.
‘I was helping with recruitment, Mrs Lyons. I was just doing my job.’
‘Tell me you believed he was cut out to be a soldier.’
‘He was as good as the next man.’
‘He was a scrap of a boy.’
Another, more awkward silence descended. Jenny fought the urge to smooth things over. She wanted to hear what Kathleen had to say.
The grandmother turned her accusing gaze away from Sergeant Price and spoke in a level voice to Jenny. ‘I mostly hold myself responsible, Mrs Cooper. I knew it would be prison or the army, but it was the wrong choice. I was weak. I let him go to save myself the hard work and the heartache. I work on a till where I have to ask anyone who doesn’t look twenty-five for ID before I can sell them a bottle of cider. We treat grown men like babies while boys like Pete are expected . . .’ The words caught in her throat. She swallowed and managed to recover herself. ‘While boys like Pete are expected to fight for their lives in a country he couldn’t even find on a map. They call them volunteers. How can you volunteer for something you don’t understand? And what if you change your mind? What then?’
‘I’m sorry for your loss, Mrs Lyons. I truly am,’ Sergeant Price said quietly. ‘Skip was like a little brother to all of us.’
The silence was broken by the sound of the doorbell. Kathleen looked up in alarm.
‘Is that something to do with you?’
‘No,’ Jenny said.
Kathleen got up from her chair and crossed to the window overlooking the street. ‘There’s a big black car . . .’
Sergeant Price came to her shoulder and followed her gaze. ‘They’re lawyers. You don’t have to speak to them.’
‘What do they want with me?’
‘I really shouldn’t—’
Jenny cut Sergeant Price off mid-sentence. ‘We can’t tell you whether to speak to them or not, Mrs Lyons. You’re fully entitled to representation at the inquest. It’s up to you.’ She rose to her feet. ‘We should be going.’ She handed Kathleen a card as she headed for the door. ‘Call my office any time. We’ll do our best to help.’
Claydon White and Carrie Rhodes were waiting in the entrance hall. White ignored Sergeant Price’s hostile glance and addressed Jenny warmly. ‘Good morning, Mrs Cooper. Mrs Lyons mentioned you were on your way down. Could we have a brief word?’
‘It’s all right, I’ll deal with this,’ Jenny said to Sergeant Price.
He reluctantly exited the building.
‘I was wondering what you intend to do about what happened yesterday?’ Claydon White said.
‘There’s not a lot I can do,’ Jenny said, ‘except infer that those involved may not be inclined to tell the whole truth.’
‘You’ll say that in court?’
‘I intend to, yes.’
‘I call it perverting the course of justice.’
It occurred to Jenny that any operator as sharp as Claydon White would have taken care to have the voice recorder on his phone picking up this off-the-record conversation. If he was hoping to trick her into making a compromising remark, he was out of luck.
‘Well, how about locking Norton up for contempt? Show him you mean business,’ White goaded.
‘If I thought for a moment it would get me closer to the truth, I would give it serious consideration.’
‘I’m going to let you in on a secret, Mrs Cooper – in the few short days we’ve been acting for the fiancée of Private Green, my firm has had its email system go down twice and this morning we’ve had notice from Revenue and Customs that we’re ab
out to be audited. If I were a suspicious man, I might be tempted to think these events were not unconnected.’
‘Lawyers owe their clients a duty to be fearless, Mr White – as do coroners.’ She turned to the door.
‘If we’re getting the treatment, I’ll have to assume you’re getting it too. That has implications.’
Jenny paused and looked back. ‘It’s a little soon to be attacking my integrity, don’t you think?’
Claydon White was unabashed. ‘I’m just getting it all out in the open, Mrs Cooper. Less than a week old and this whole thing stinks like a barrel of turds already.’
Jenny kept her cool. ‘Then you and I must do our best not to make the smell any worse.’ She smiled pleasantly at Carrie Rhodes, thinking that she looked too innocent a young woman to be working for a man like White – which, she guessed, was exactly why he had chosen her. ‘I’ll see you both later in the week.’
Sarah Tanner lay on the couch in the consulting room and winced at the coldness of the gel Dr Pauline Keller was applying to her midriff.
‘When did the cramps start?’
‘Sometime in the night,’ Sarah said. ‘I’m not sure what time.’
‘Do they come and go or are they constant?’
‘Come and go. It’s not so bad now.’
‘OK. Hold still.’
Dr Keller switched on the ultrasound scanner and moved the probe slowly over her abdomen. Sarah looked over at the grainy image appearing on the screen. It was a little shadowy at first, but then it became clearer: arms, legs, head. It was all curled up in a ball like it was midway through turning a somersault.
Dr Keller glanced across at Sarah’s notes displayed on her laptop. ‘You’ve had no other scan since twelve weeks?’
‘No.’
‘Any bleeding or spotting?’
Sarah shook her head.
Dr Keller took her time, looking at the baby from every angle. Sarah searched for signs of alarm on her face but didn’t spot any.
‘I don’t know if you want to know if it’s a boy or a girl?’ the doctor said.
Sarah thought about it. ‘Go on, then.’
‘It’s a boy. And he looks fine.’
A boy. Sarah realized that somehow she already knew this. It’s what she had felt all along.
‘Are you all right?’ Dr Keller asked.
‘Just thinking,’ Sarah said. ‘It suddenly seems real.’
The doctor smiled. ‘The baby’s heart rate is normal. So is yours. And you’ve no temperature, so it doesn’t look like you’ve got an infection. We’ll take some bloods to double-check, but my guess is that it’s nothing serious. Sometimes stress can bring cramps on. That’s the most likely cause.’ She reached for some antiseptic wipes and started to clean the probe. The baby vanished from the screen. ‘How are you feeling otherwise?’
Sarah shrugged. Tears leaked out of the corners of her eyes.
‘Silly question, I guess,’ the doctor said. She handed Sarah a paper towel to wipe off the remaining gel and glanced at the clock. They had already run five minutes over their allotted time. ‘Did I hear that there’s an inquest coming up?’
‘Later this week,’ Sarah said, using a corner of the towel to dry her eyes.
‘I don’t normally like to give a pregnant woman too many drugs, but I think maybe I ought to give you something to help your mood. Would you like that?’
Sarah nodded. Anything to take away the pain. It seemed to get worse every day, not better. At first she had just felt numb, but now it was gnawing at her constantly, never allowing her a moment to forget.
‘Here, I’ll get you a picture.’ Dr Keller hit some keys on her laptop and as Sarah climbed off the couch, a page emerged from the printer on her desk. She fetched it and handed it to her. ‘You can pick the prescription up from the dispensary. It may not feel like it now, but it will get better.’ Another glance at the clock. ‘Straight on the phone if it gets any worse, all right?’
Sarah walked out of the medical centre clutching her printout and a paper bag containing her tablets. The sun had come out but it did little to lift her spirits. She felt empty and exhausted and the thought of being cooped up in the house trying to avoid Rachel all day filled her with dread. She decided to head into town and sit in a cafe. Maybe later she would have a look around the shops. If the lawyers were right and she came into some money, she might at least be able to buy the baby some nice things.
She turned left towards the bus stop, barely noticing the three young women, one of them pushing a toddler in a buggy, heading her way. Only when she was a few feet from them did she see them looking at her and exchanging glances.
‘Bitch.’
The one with the buggy said it, and then the one nearest her, the girl with the waist-length leather jacket, spat in her face. As Sarah recoiled, bringing her hands up to her face, the one in the middle slopped Coke from an open bottle over her shirt.
‘Fucking bitch.’
They walked on, gloating and laughing, leaving Sarah standing bewildered and humiliated at the kerb. She wanted to say, ‘What was that for?’ but the words wouldn’t come. She started to sob. Choking back tears, she stumbled across the road and with her hands crossed over her stained shirt hurried towards home.
She saw the police car immediately as she turned the corner into their road. It was double-parked outside the house with the blue lights still silently flashing. As she drew closer she saw Paul on the front path talking to two constables. He had a hand pressed to his face and blood running between his fingers. He was saying: ‘They came out of a van, just came straight at me, didn’t say a word . . .’ Then, in answer to a question: ‘They could have been army. Couldn’t tell – they had their faces covered.’
Sarah arrived at the gate. She and Paul looked at each other. A deep purple bruise was spreading from the bridge of his nose outwards to his eyes. The blood was from a gash on his cheekbone. Through the open front door she could see an emotional Rachel being calmed by a young female officer.
‘Sarah?’ the constable said.
She nodded.
He saw that she’d been crying. ‘There’s been an incident. We think maybe this isn’t the safest place for you to be right now.’
TWENTY-TWO
Colonel Hastings seemed almost pleased at the turn of events. He looked at Jenny from behind his desk with the smiling satisfaction of one who was enjoying the feeling of being truly vindicated.
‘I was told you would be especially sensitive to the requirements of a military inquest, but clearly not.’
‘Requesting relevant evidence hardly amounts to provocation,’ Jenny countered. ‘I thought this meeting was to discuss your press release.’
Hastings refused to be deflected. ‘Whether you intended it or not, you have given the impression that Private Green was drunk while on guard duty and that it contributed directly to the fate of Private Lyons. Perhaps you don’t understand the implications of that among a community of men whose lives depend on absolute mutual trust?’
‘I was very clear about the nature of the evidence.’
‘Sophistry will get you nowhere, Mrs Cooper. You’re dealing with private soldiers, not highly educated lawyers.’
‘If you’ll pardon me for pointing out the obvious, Colonel, it’s my job to unearth the evidence and yours to deal with military discipline.’
‘That’s one approach, but I’ll give you fair warning, the atmosphere in camp is febrile. An eighteen-year-old soldier has been decapitated. There’s a natural human desire to take revenge for that sort of thing. And the object of that revenge may not be rationally arrived at.’
‘I’ll do my best not to be inflammatory,’ Jenny said with thinning patience. ‘Do you want to discuss the press release or not?’
Hastings pushed a single sheet of paper across the desk. ‘I don’t like having to do this, but it’s better than leaving the press to speculate. It’s expressed as coming from Chris Norton. He’s agreeable.’
/> Jenny read through the two paragraphs written as if by the major. They stated that he would be telling the inquest that there were no discipline problems whatever in his platoon and that it enjoyed an unbreakable spirit of comradeship. He was deeply saddened by the circumstances of Private Lyons’s death and urged all concerned not to prejudge the findings of the inquest, which, he was sure, would examine every relevant piece of information. With hindsight, he regretted frustrating the coroner’s attempt to take hair samples from him and his men. He had done so out of concern that doubtful evidence, which in any other context would be dismissed out of hand, might nevertheless be used to undermine the credibility of young soldiers who had consistently proved their bravery and in whom he had entrusted his life.
‘It doesn’t meet with your approval?’ Colonel Hastings said.
Jenny handed it back across the desk. ‘What are you asking me to do?’
‘I’m sure you’ll be asked to comment.’
‘I’ll decline.’
Colonel Hastings studied her with his soft, disingenuous eyes. ‘I need you to know that Chris Norton is one of the bravest, most committed soldiers I have ever had the pleasure of working with. He will never blow his own trumpet, so I have to do it for him. He is probably responsible for the apprehension of more enemy insurgents in both Iraq and Afghanistan than any other soldier in the British Army. He has not only risked his own life on countless occasions, he has saved thousands, maybe tens of thousands. His behaviour over your order was an error in judgement explicable entirely in terms of the fierce loyalty he has to each and every man under his command.’
‘I can’t endorse what he did, Colonel.’
‘I understand that. I’m just making you aware of who it is you’re dealing with. The rest is between you and your conscience.’
Jenny sensed that he was trying to send her a message that she was failing to interpret. Was he issuing a veiled threat? Or was his obliqueness simply a means of maintaining an air of mystery designed to intimidate her? The more time she spent in his presence, the more unsettled she felt. He was a skilful manipulator – of that much she was certain – but of whom or what, she wasn’t entirely sure.