by M. R. Hall
‘No, Mr Heaton.’
He was momentarily speechless.
Claydon White added his protest: ‘All interested parties are entitled to advance disclosure—’
‘I’m not even sure what the witness has to say,’ she said breezily, ‘so, we’re all at the same disadvantage.’ She turned to Dr Kerr. ‘You’re still under oath, Doctor. I believe you may have something to add to your earlier evidence.’
‘I do, ma’am.’
‘Please sit down, gentlemen,’ Jenny said to the lawyers, who were both still standing.
Like reluctant schoolboys, Robert Heaton and Claydon White obeyed.
‘Carry on, Dr Kerr.’
‘At your request, ma’am, I ordered a specialist examination of the glass fragments I had previously detected in the left breast pocket of Private Green’s tunic top. Early this morning I personally delivered the tunic and the glass sample to Decon Analytics, a forensic laboratory I have employed on many occasions. A little less than an hour ago, I received this response by email from Dr Susan Adler. I am sure Dr Adler would be prepared to appear in person if required.’
‘If necessary, we’ll call her. What has she said, please?’
Dr Kerr read out the short email:
‘A small quantity of glass fragments approximately 8.6g in weight was subjected to microscopical examination along with the fabric of a camouflage tunic pocket in which glass fragments were embedded.
The following findings were made:
1. The sample of glass fragments recovered from the tunic pocket during post-mortem examination were identical in structure to the fragments still embedded in the fabric.
2. The glass was of the alkali-aluminosilicate variety commonly known by its trade name, “Gorilla glass”. This toughened glass is principally used as cover glass for portable electronic devices, most often mobile phones.’
Jenny felt her body greet the evidence with a heart-stopping dose of adrenalin. She sensed similar reactions throughout the courtroom. She reached for her glass and took a large mouthful of water.
‘So the upshot is, Dr Kerr, that Private Green may well have had a mobile phone in his pocket that was shattered by the impact of one of the bullets that was repelled by his Kevlar vest?’
‘That’s certainly how I would interpret it,’ Dr Kerr answered.
‘Was there a phone in his tunic pocket?’
‘No, ma’am.’
‘So from that we can deduce that it was removed at some stage between his death and the body’s arrival at the Severn Vale District Hospital’s mortuary?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘And am I right in thinking that the body had arrived at your mortuary having first been examined by a pathologist at the John Radcliffe Hospital in Oxford?’
‘Yes. It was brought by military transport. As I recall the clothing and effects were contained in a separate bag.’
‘Thank you, Dr Kerr. Does anyone have any questions?’
Claydon White and Robert Heaton exchanged a glance. They’d both been caught badly by surprise. Soldiers at forward command posts were not permitted personal phones. If Private Green had one, it would have been a serious disciplinary offence and a huge security risk for the platoon.
‘No questions at this stage,’ Claydon White said cagily. His face was as pale as Sarah Tanner’s behind him.
‘Likewise, ma’am,’ Robert Heaton said, though with a degree of calmness that took Jenny by surprise.
‘Very well. You can stand down, Dr Kerr.’ Jenny sought out the witness she had decided would be next during the sleepless hours of the previous night. ‘I would like to hear from Sergeant Steven Price.’
The looks of alarm that appeared on several faces in front of her told Jenny that, for good or ill, she had made the right call.
THIRTY-THREE
Sergeant Price remained composed as he recited the oath promising to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth.
‘You are Notifications Officer, is that correct, Sergeant?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘And is one of your duties arranging the collection of the bodies of fallen men repatriated to the UK.’
‘It is.’
‘Did you arrange the transport of Kenny Green’s body first from RAF Brize Norton to the John Radcliffe Hospital in Oxford and from there to the Severn Vale mortuary?’
‘I did, ma’am.’
‘When was the clothing first removed from Private Green’s body?’
‘At the John Radcliffe, ma’am.’
‘By whom?’
‘The mortuary technicians, ma’am.’
‘Were you present?’
Jenny detected the slightest pause before he answered.
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘And was the clothing searched for personal effects?’
‘Yes, there would have been a check.’
‘Did you witness pockets being searched?’
‘Yes. I did, ma’am.’
‘And if we call those technicians as witnesses they will confirm everything you say?’
‘They will.’
‘Sergeant, were you alone with the body at any stage before the clothes were searched by the technicians?’
‘Briefly. Private Green’s body was in a body bag. The undertakers who brought it to the hospital transferred the bag from the casket to a hospital trolley.’
‘Where was this procedure carried out?’
‘In the back of their transport.’
‘A black van. A private ambulance?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘Were you in that van?’
‘No, I followed in my own vehicle.’
‘And then accompanied the body into the mortuary?’
‘Yes.’
Jenny tried a change of tack. ‘Sergeant, is one of your roles to search the clothes and possessions of fallen soldiers to check for things such as the final letters that I know many men write to be read in the event of their deaths?’
‘That would normally happen in theatre, ma’am. Someone would go through a soldier’s kit and notify me of anything that should be handed over to the next-of-kin.’
‘When Private Green’s body was delivered to the Severn Vale his clothing was in a separate bag, but there was no Kevlar jacket or helmet with it. What happened to those items?’
‘I took them back with me to Highcliffe.’
‘Really? So they were there, in the coffin when it was opened?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘And he was wearing the Kevlar vest?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
Jenny considered the multiple possibilities. Green’s pockets could have been searched on the ground in Shalan-Gar, in the medevac helicopter, or at Bastion. There was no point wasting any more time with Price: she cut to the chase.
‘Sergeant, did you or did you not recover a phone or any other items from Private Green’s tunic pocket?’
‘No, ma’am. I did not.’
‘Did you receive any notification that a phone or a notebook had been found in his clothing or in his kit?’
‘No, ma’am.’
‘Did the absence of a notebook seem odd to you?’
‘I didn’t give it much thought.’
Jenny looked to the lawyers. ‘Any questions for this witness?’
Claydon White was quick to his feet. ‘Would some soldiers have had devices with which to listen to music – iPods, for example?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Would you agree that Private Green was more likely to have had an innocent device such as an iPod in his pocket than a phone?’
‘Yes, I would, sir,’ Sergeant Price said with evident relief.
He glanced at Sarah Tanner and smiled.
‘Thank you, Sergeant.’ Claydon White sat, safe again. Without proof of where it came from, the glass was irrelevant.
Jenny had found herself briefly distracted during Claydon White’s short run of questions. She had been wat
ching a flurry of activity taking place at the other end of the advocates’ bench. A note had been passed forward from somewhere in the rows behind and had arrived with Robert Heaton. Its contents seem to shock him. He turned to the three behind him for verification then seemed to glance all the way back to Colonel Hastings, who nodded, like a discreet bidder at an auction.
‘Mr Heaton?’ Jenny said, as he continued to ponder in silence.
He looked up at her, then at the witness, then over at Sarah Tanner. The aura of unflappable calm and authority had evaporated. As he rose uncertainly to his feet, it was with an expression of genuine shock.
‘Sergeant Price, while 2 Platoon was on tour, were you conducting an affair with Private Green’s fiancée, Sarah Tanner?’
The question was met with stunned silence. Rachel Green, whose gaze hadn’t lifted all afternoon, looked up sharply. Anna Roberts’s mouth fell open. Claydon White froze as he tried to compute what was coming next.
‘No, sir,’ Price said.
‘You’re absolutely positive about that, Sergeant?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Because, if for example, Private Green and his fiancée had exchanged illicit messages that revealed the fact – well, you would have had every reason to search his clothing.’
‘It’s not true, sir. They were due to get married.’
‘Quite. Sleeping with a colleague’s fiancée would, as I understand it, be a disciplinary offence.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Heaton nodded regretfully. ‘We’ll see what Miss Tanner has to say about it, shall we?’ He looked to Jenny. ‘I think it only right that we call her, ma’am.’
‘I agree, Mr Heaton,’ Jenny said, feeling herself reeling from the allegation.
Claydon White let out an audible groan of despair as Jenny called Sarah Tanner to the witness box.
She stood up from her seat and looked to her lawyers for help but there was none they could offer. Carrie Rhodes gestured her to comply.
Sarah climbed unsteadily into the box. Heavily pregnant and ashen, she looked as if she might faint at any moment. All of Jenny’s better instincts cried out to her to show compassion, but there was no avoiding what needed to be done.
‘I don’t, I don’t understand what’s going on . . .’ Sarah said as Alison handed her the oath card.
‘Just a few questions, Miss Tanner. Please read the oath.’ Jenny tried her best to sound soothing.
Sarah stumbled through it, her voice cracking with emotion. There was little sympathy coming her way from the soldiers in the courtroom. Rachel Green fixed her with a look of pure venom.
‘Miss Tanner, please answer my questions truthfully. Failure to do so is a serious matter, do you understand?’
She nodded, sniffing back tears.
‘Did your fiancée, Private Green, have a phone with him during the tour?’
‘I don’t see why this is . . .’ She faltered and sobbed.
‘Please answer the question, Miss Tanner.’
‘He hardly ever . . . he hardly ever used it. Five or six times, that’s all . . . Only texts. Just to say he was thinking of me.’
‘Do you have the phone on which you received these messages?’
Sarah looked at her with startled, frightened eyes and shook her head.
‘What happened to it?’
‘I . . .’ Her mouth moved noiselessly.
‘Did Sergeant Price advise you to get rid of it?’
‘I didn’t want to get Kenny into trouble . . . What does it matter anyway?’ Her desperate plea echoed around a silent courtroom.
Anxious to end Sarah’s ordeal as quickly as possible, Jenny followed her instinct: ‘Did you send Kenny a message before he died indicating that he might not be getting the homecoming he was expecting?’
Sarah broke down and wept. Jenny waited nearly a minute for her to collect herself.
‘All I said . . . All I said, was that we needed to talk.’
‘And when did you send this message?’
‘About midnight . . . on the twenty-first . . . I shouldn’t have. I was feeling . . . It was over with Steve anyway . . . I would have married Kenny. I know I would.’
‘So about three thirty a.m. on the night Private Lyons went missing. Did he respond?’
‘No.’ Sarah broke down again. This time there was no hope of her recovering.
Jenny gestured to Alison to see her out. Sarah’s wrenching, painful sobs continued all the way to the back of the courtroom. The female police followed them out. Anna Roberts, Jenny noticed, remained in her seat. There was a moment of silence, then Sergeant Price shot up from his seat and marched out of the courtroom too. The soldiers of 2 Platoon stared contemptuously after him. He had transgressed in one of the most unforgivable ways and compounded it by lying. His career was over, along with any chance of walking safely through Highcliffe again. If Colonel Hastings felt any emotion at having thrown him to the wolves, he didn’t let it show. A hint of a smile played across his soft features. Jenny glanced across at Lieutenant Gallagher and remembered what he had told her during their first meeting in the tea room: ‘Shit rolls downhill.’ She couldn’t have put it more succinctly.
It was late in the afternoon at the end of a long week. Everyone in the room was desperate to leave, draw breath and take stock, but Jenny had something to say that couldn’t wait. She addressed herself to the rows of soldiers, to Sergeant Bryant and Major Norton and to the wives, girlfriends and family members scattered throughout the room.
‘There are many people present who have proved themselves immeasurably brave. They have confronted dangers the rest of us aren’t able to comprehend. But I now know that not all of them have told the whole truth. I want all of those people, and those who love them, to ask themselves just who and what it is they are serving. What did those two young men give their lives for? If you have something more to say, it is your duty to say it.’ She surveyed the ranks of faces looking back at her. ‘We’ll resume at ten a.m. on Monday morning. If you have anything you would like to tell me in the meantime, please contact my office over the weekend.’
As Jenny left the courtroom, Anna Roberts jumped up from her seat and caught up with Melanie Norton as she hurried to be one of the first out of the door.
‘Melanie. I need to talk to you.’
Melanie kept walking. ‘I’m in a hurry.’
Anna grabbed hold of her arm as soldiers pushed past either side of them.
‘Anna, please.’ She tried to shake free but Anna had a tight grip on her.
‘He knows something. Your husband knows something. Look at these men. Look at them all – they’ll do anything for him.’
Kathleen Lyons appeared at Anna’s shoulder. ‘We all share some of the blame, Mrs Norton,’ she said. ‘We’ve all lived the same lies.’
Cornered, Melanie glanced across the room and saw her husband making his way along the row behind Sergeant Bryant. He looked back and saw her with Anna and Kathleen.
‘Leave her,’ Kathleen said, and steered Anna towards the exit, leaving Melanie in the emptying aisle.
Major Norton came to the end of the row and sent Bryant on his way. He waited for a while, making no move towards Melanie as the last of his men trickled out of the door.
Melanie opened her mouth to speak.
‘Not here,’ he said, nodding towards the front of the courtroom, where the lawyers were still in huddles and Claydon White was attempting to console a distraught Rachel Green. ‘No need to look so distressed. We’ll find somewhere private.’ He started towards the door.
‘No.’
He turned. Her voice had carried and turned the heads of Carrie Rhodes and one of the MOD lawyers.
‘Calm down, Melanie. Please.’
‘You can tell the truth or you can say goodbye to me and the girls.’
‘I had no idea Green had a phone . . .’
‘I mean it, Chris. Cowards lie. You may be many things, but I never thought you were that.’
Melanie let him go. Finally, she thought, she had got to him.
Jenny had made a swift getaway. Knowing that Simon Moreton would be desperate to collar her, she had dashed straight from the courtroom, down the back stairs and out of the building, pausing only to grab her briefcase from her chambers. Whatever the fallout from the afternoon’s revelations, it could wait until tomorrow. It was Friday night and were it not for the adrenalin still coursing through her veins, she would be close to exhaustion. She planned on buying some wine and a takeaway meal and blotting out the world for the rest of the evening.
She was ten miles out of Highcliffe with the stereo turned up loud and the wind blowing through the open window when the music stopped and the ringtone from her phone sounded through the speakers.
She looked at the caller display on the dash, begging for it not to be Simon. It wasn’t. It was an unknown number. She resisted the urge to shut the phone off altogether and hit the button on the steering wheel to answer the call.
‘Hello? Jenny Cooper.’
‘It’s Major Norton.’ He sounded hesitant. Strangely unsure of himself.
‘Major. How can I help you?’
There was a pause. She heard him swallow: every tiny sound was grossly amplified by the six high-quality speakers channelling the call. ‘I know it’s not the most convenient time, but I wondered if we might meet briefly. I feel I may have something to say.’
THIRTY-FOUR
The windscreen spotted with rain as Jenny pulled over into a lay-by and keyed the location Norton had given her into the satnav. It was a coastal car park, situated several miles outside Highcliffe at the end of a single-track lane that led down to the sand dunes of Whitehorse Bay. She had a vague memory of once having visited there with her parents. Norton had explained the location on the grounds that he needed to be assured he could speak to her privately and that wasn’t possible in Highcliffe. Jenny said she understood, but left him in no doubt that anything he told her could potentially be used in evidence. Norton said that he had anticipated that would be so. They had arranged to rendezvous in forty-five minutes.