Pathologist Michael Bailey described Jane Lomax as a woman in general good health, apart from some pancreatic atrophy consistent with the history from childhood of her diabetes. His autopsy had also disclosed the evidence of impending ulceration suspected by Dr Green-away, which again resulted from her condition. Her blood sugar level was radically out of balance which would have inevitably caused shock, not just to the virtually inoperative pancreas but to the liver and heart. Forensically that imbalance was caused by an excess of insulin, compounded by alcohol and the lactose and sucrose ingredients of the specific meberevine hydrochloride tablets that had been prescribed. It had been impossible for him to calculate with any accuracy the excess of insulin that had proved fatal. He understood her daily dosage to be twenty units, twice a day. The discarded ampoules represented twice that amount and should not, additionally, have been present during what had evidently been a night-time period. He had found substantial traces of temazepam in Mrs Lomax’s body and agreed with the coroner that a dangerous but common side effect of sleeping pills was for someone to awaken, forget they had already taken some and ingest more.
‘In your opinion, could this have happened in this case and further disorientated Mrs Lomax so that she self-administered a totally unnecessary and lethal injection of insulin?’ the coroner had asked.
‘I consider that the most likely explanation for what happened,’ replied the pathologist. His phrase – a fatal cocktail – had provided the headline in two separate newspapers.
It had also been used – and justified the headline – by James Davies in his summing up, although not part of the quote that appeared. There are many facets of this tragedy for which I cannot find a satisfactory explanation – because of which I feel I am prevented from anything other than an open verdict – but all the evidence before me indicates an unfortunately afflicted woman neglecting, through familiarity, the medical condition with which she had been born. Mr Lomax is a new but already respected member of the local community and to him I express my sympathy in his sad loss.
Jeremy Hall was swamped with pointless, unresolvable frustration. At once – objectively, reminding himself of what he was trying to achieve – he suppressed the distraction, as he would have suppressed a flicker of anger in a court. The coroner’s remarks had done more than sum up the inquest: indeed, the concluding words had thrown up in neon-bright clarity the entire formularized direction of the inquest. Sadly bereaved – there were three photographs of a darkly-bespectacled, black-suited, head-bent Lomax hurrying from court – charity supporting pillar of the local community robbed of an adored, medically afflicted wife through a combination of small but fatal misjudgements by a past-his-prime country doctor who himself had died six months later and an occasionally wilfully-challenging woman prone to disregarding her illness. All the statements read and filleted beforehand. A verdict determined (‘Sorry, Gerry: accidental or misadventure just wouldn’t have been right,’) in advance to get the legally required but painful official business over and out of the way in the shortest acceptable time.
In his eagerness he was making the mistake of examining the inquest evidence as he would have done in a far more rigidly structured Court of Law. But the inquest hadn’t done that. Inquests rarely did. Nine times out of ten – maybe slightly less – they were occasions of commiseration. Which is what Jane Lomax’s had been. Her death had been investigated and decided upon in the familiar, non-adversarial surroundings of a village hall, with flower show and horticultural exhibition flyers on a tattered notice board and fold-away chairs stacked at the back amidst smells of paraffin and dust and chalk.
He had to come from the totally opposite direction, the criminally minded, suspicious, believe-nothing direction. The way of John Bentley and Malcolm Rodgers, thinking the worst of everybody and every situation until proven wrong: sometimes not even then.
Jeremy Hall determined upon a middle course, refusing the easy criticism of a country inquest but rejecting, too, a guilty-until-proven innocent approach. As he picked his way with methodical care through the written statements he had consciously to keep that determination in mind, so easy would it have been to veer wildly across both self-imposed guidelines. When he finished he had seven closely handwritten pages of reminders, believed anomalies, seeming contradictions and outright inconsistencies. It had taken most of the day and occupied a further hour separating his own uncertainties into a list of positive requests to Humphrey Perry. They still occupied four pages and after telephoning to ensure the man would be at the receiving end, preventing anyone else identifying the source, Hall faxed them for convenience and to ensure there was no verbal misunderstanding between himself and the solicitor.
Hall allowed a further hour for Perry to read everything before he telephoned London for the second time.
‘You sure you want all this?’ demanded the solicitor, at once.
‘I wouldn’t have asked if I hadn’t been.’
‘I’ve read the same file, as closely as you have. It was a scarcely adequate inquest but then a lot of inquests are scarcely adequate. None of the statements – not even of witnesses who weren’t called – incriminate Lomax in any way whatsoever. And it doesn’t take you one step further to what you’re trying to prove: Jennifer isn’t involved at all.’
‘That’s what I’m trying to prove?’
‘That wasn’t what I meant and you know it,’ said Perry, irritably.
‘There were a lot of questions that should have been asked but weren’t.’
‘Six years ago!’
‘That’s when Jane died. The time we’re talking about.’
‘The time you’re talking about.’
‘I’d like the answers as soon as possible.’
‘Bert called me. He wants to know where you are.’
‘Did you tell him?’
‘I promised you’d call.’
‘I will,’ agreed Hall.
‘I’ve got five more offers, all for books. Three are repeats, upping their first offers.’
‘Hold them.’
‘Have you discussed any with her yet?’
‘That’s way down the list.’
‘We’ve got a bill for police time. And for damage to equipment. Twenty-three thousand.’
‘Ignore it. If they issue a writ, file a necessity defence under the Public Order Act. Anything else?’
‘You tell me.’
‘Not for the moment.’
Colin Dawson perfectly suited the opulence and ambience of his surroundings, a white-haired, pink-faced avuncular gentleman priest of independent means who had never believed his genuine religious piety needed to be reinforced by secular hardship. He rode to hounds on one of his two hunters, favoured burgundy over claret in a wine cellar the envy of the county and donated his entire church salary to Save the Children. His cassocks were tailored.
He came curiously but sincerely concerned into Jennifer’s suite, made totally unafraid of encountering a woman possessed by a murderous ghost not just by his belief in the protection of God but by never having known a life without a financial armour through which no harm or ill had ever penetrated.
‘ The Jesus jockey,’ Jane greeted.
The man had been well briefed by Julian Mason. He said, ‘It doesn’t matter what she makes you do or say. She can’t frighten or shock me. I’m stronger than she is, because I have God and she is evil, the Devil incarnate. Let her fight me. I’ll fight her back and I will win.’
‘ The fuck he will.’
Jennifer had found it easier – a relief even – simply to be the conduit between Jane and Jeremy Hall and she did it now with Dawson, too exhausted, too apathetic, any longer to censor the words.
Dawson laughed at the obscenity. ‘And St Matthew said “The blasphemy against the Holy Ghost shall not be forgiven unto men”.’
‘ And Exodus teaches “Life for life. Eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot, burning for burning, wound for wound, stripe for stripe. ”
’
He laughed again. ‘And the Prayers say “Keep thy tongue from evil: and thy lips, that they speak no guile. Eschew evil and do good: seek peace and ensure it.” Which is what I’ll do, if you help me, Jennifer. I’ll eschew the evil that possesses you and give you peace.’
‘If only you could,’ said Jennifer.
‘ Verse 8. Romans. ’
‘Ah!’ said the priest. ‘Interesting!’
‘ Forgotten it? ’
The man shook his head. ‘“Let us do evil, that good may come.” So you know your Bible, Jane? Therefore you must believe? Or did believe, once. Philippians, 26?’
‘ Be ye angry and sin not: let not the sun go down upon your wrath ,’ Jane recognized, immediately.
‘All right,’ accepted Dawson. ‘So I have a formidable adversary.’
‘ You’d better believe it. I can out-argue you creed for creed, ritual for ritual.’
‘When did you lose your way, Jane?’
‘ When I lost my fucking life! ’
‘Become a catechumen again, Jane,’ said the priest, urgently. ‘Be my pupil. Learn to believe again. To love again. And leave this child whose mind you occupy and whom you want to destroy.’
‘ This “child” conspired to kill me! Took part in it…’
‘Then hers will be the punishment on the terrible day of judgement.’ He was sweating, his face pinker than usual.
‘ No way, pops. I’d rather do it myself. My way.’
The psychiatrist’s briefing had been total. Dawson said, ‘You’ve chosen judgement without proof.’
‘ Been talking to people, haven’t you? ’
‘Will you listen to me?’
‘ Until I get bored.’
‘Will you listen to the lawyer who’s trying to prove you wrong?’
‘ He won’t.’
‘Will you go, leave her, if he does?’
‘ That’s the deal. Easy one for me to make. ’
‘Maybe I’ll persuade you to leave first.’
‘ Then again, maybe you won’t.’
‘Jennifer, could you learn to believe in God? Love God?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Will you go through the services with me? Pray with me? Try?’
‘Yes.’
‘ Hypocrite.’
‘“Though ye believe not me, believe the works”,’ retorted the man.
‘ OK pops. Show us the works.’
‘I will,’ said Dawson, sincerely. ‘I’ll make you believe again, even if I can’t make Jennifer.’
‘ Nah! ’
‘“Rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth”,’ said the priest, quoting again.
‘ Corinthians,’ identified Jane, as quickly as before.
‘I can guide you back.’
‘ Let’s make it a challenge, like it is with Jeremy Hall! ’
It was in the lawyer’s rooms, thirty minutes later, that Dawson, who could find his way around the establishment’s wine list with the sure-footedness of a tightrope walker crossing Niagara Falls, selected the Roederer Crystal (‘the Krug they’ve got is too buttery,’) and announced, ‘I’ve found the weakness.’
‘What?’ demanded Mason and Hall, almost in unison.
‘Jane believes in God. Or did, very devoutly.’
‘Her father was an Episcopalian bishop,’ remembered Hall.
‘Ah!’ exclaimed the man, a mystery solved. ‘This might not be as difficult as we thought it was going to be.’
‘You think you can do it?’ demanded the lawyer.
‘I’m more confident now than I was an hour ago.’
‘Which only leaves me to do what I have to do,’ accepted Mason.
Dawson nodded. ‘And Jennifer will be saved.’
Chapter Thirty-one
The well established and practised discretion of the clinic extended to a pool of cars registered to Henot House, which avoided Jeremy Hall having to hire one in his own name and risk disclosing their whereabouts. He had to identify himself by telephone, though, to get the meetings he wanted and from the quickness with which people – even the police – agreed he decided the danger of being publicly recognized was outweighed by the speed with which every door opened to him. And he was in a great hurry.
Despite the psychiatrist’s warning of Jennifer’s dependence upon him, he’d been confused by the strength of her reaction to his leaving. He only bothered to tell her at all at Julian Mason’s urging and was glad the psychiatrist was with him when he did. She at once came close to tears – which he realized for the first time she’d rarely done during a lot of the horror she’d suffered – and needed the hand-holding assurance repeated several times that he was not abandoning her but would return immediately from talking to people it was imperative he see.
‘Today. Tonight,’ she’d insisted.
‘It should be tonight. Everything’s arranged.’
‘You’re not sure?’
‘If I don’t manage to see everyone I’ll come back and go again tomorrow.’
‘Don’t leave me!’
‘I told you I’m not leaving you: and where and why I’m going. Which you know I’ve got to.’
Hall had been disconcerted but Mason had called it valuable. ‘Think what she’s gone through, without breaking. That showed me just how deep the depression is.’
‘Can you lift her out of it?’
The psychiatrist pulled an uncertain face. ‘I’ve probably got a more difficult job than either you or the priest.’
The incident delayed him but he still arrived in good time for his first appointment, uncomfortable in the jacket he’d had to buy from the clinic outfitters which didn’t stock clothes in his chest size. He was unhappy, too, that Michael Bailey had decreed somewhere as public as Winchester hospital, although the nearby railway station car park was convenient to hide the hire car against its number being noted at the hospital and traced to the Hertfordshire clinic. He walked the intervening distance and grew unhappier at the obvious attention from the suddenly busy corridors, with their open-doored offices, along which he had to pass to get to the pathology department. There was a lot of activity there, too. It had been wise to abandon the car.
Bailey was a tall, gangling man with a stutter, which worsened with the intensity with which he leaned forward to get the blocked words out. Jeremy Hall went through the quadrille of thanking the pathologist for seeing him so promptly and being told in return it was in no way inconvenient: Bailey patted the dossier in front of him and said he had recovered his original statement from the archives at Humphrey Perry’s pre-trial request and of course he’d followed the sensational events.
It took longer agreeing the case of Jennifer Lomax was absolutely incredible – ‘earth shattering’ was the phrase it took the pathologist three attempts to say – threatened the very foundations of conventional imagination and even religious belief. Hall went through the routine recognizing that it was indeed every one and more of those things but that, perhaps most incredible of all, he’d become so closely involved that he’d ceased thinking so and was now accepting the totally abnormal as the totally normal. He invoked professional confidentiality to avoid talking about Jennifer personally, supposing this encounter to be a rehearsal for those to follow.
‘You want to reopen the inquest?’ anticipated Bailey.
‘I don’t know that would be possible. Or whether any useful purpose would be served.’
‘What then?’
‘It is, as you say, an astonishing case,’ said Hall, the lie carefully prepared. ‘Everything about it has to be compiled and assessed for legal and academic study. And that includes any reassessment that might be necessary of what happened in the past.’
‘I understand,’ assured Bailey, getting stuck halfway through the word.
‘All I’ve been able to do is compare newspaper reports with written statements. It’s not clear to me how much of those written statements were actually introduced as evidence or
how much the coroner took as read, from access to the statements beforehand.’
‘The usual way,’ smiled the pathologist, uncertainly. ‘He just picked the relevant points to put to me, from my statement.’
Everything decided in advance, Hall thought again. ‘In your report you refer to aspects of the puncture wounds, where Mrs Lomax injected herself. Was that finding examined or taken as read?’
‘Actually I discussed it with Mr Davies before the inquest began,’ admitted the pathologist. ‘He felt it would be distressing for Mr Lomax for us to go too deeply into it at the hearing itself.’
Hall swallowed the sigh. ‘Go through it with me, if you would.’
‘The puncture mark in the left arm was larger than the others on the body and was dangerously close to the vein. The other three were much smaller and properly injected subcutaneously.’
‘What did you think about that?’
‘The largest puncture mark would have been the last injection she self-administered. By then, I believe, she would have already overdosed on insulin. And additionally have taken one lot of temazepam after another. She would have been extremely unsteady.’
‘The majority of the injections were to the right of the body: two to the right arm, one in the right thigh?’
‘That’s right.’
‘You referred to skin hardening, because of the length of time Mrs Lomax had been injecting?’
‘Yes. It happens to diabetics, particularly those who take soluble insulin, which she did.’
‘In which side of the body was that hardening most prevalent, the right or the left?’ Into his mind, abruptly, came a fact that could have greatly contributed to Jennifer’s innocence at the trial, if the other evidence hadn’t been so overwhelming.
Bailey frowned, needing for the first time to go back to the file on his desk. It was several moments before he looked up, smiling. ‘Not a great deal in it, really. But on balance the right.’
A Mind to Kill Page 35