‘We have all the documents, thank you, Professor,’ she said with a charming smile that made him feel that she was not such a cold fish as she was assumed to be. Prudence seemed indifferent to the proximity of a dead body in a poor state of preservation, looking more disconcerted by the strange building in which they had to work.
Once again, Richard went through his findings for Millichamp, several times emphasizing that Patrick O’Malley, who hardly uttered a word, was the primary pathologist.
‘I’m afraid after the previous dissections and the passage of time, you won’t have much to look at,’ he said to the visitor. ‘But no doubt your instructing solicitor will have given you copies of the photographs and I can give you a spare set of section of the bruises and the major organs.’
As before, Millichamp worked with considerable speed, not that there was much left to examine. The important bruises had been taken by Pryor for microscopic examination, though he had brought them all in their labelled jars of formaldehyde for the other pathologist to see.
‘You are extremely thorough, Professor Pryor,’ complimented Millichamp as he washed his hands in the porcelain tank that was the only sink. Patrick O’Malley again tried to make himself look invisible, as the two forensic pathologists launched into a discussion of recent research into new methods of dating injuries, both agreeing that the results were not all that helpful.
The two visitors left after delighting the mortuary attendant with a one pound tip for his help. Richard Pryor was left with something that was much more valuable to him, another assurance from the influential Londoner that he would ‘have a word’ with some unspecified authority about getting him onto the Home Office list – and an invitation to visit his department at ‘Barts’ any time he was in the big city.
A few weeks’ routine work followed, Richard Pryor gradually building up his foundation of coroner’s cases which brought in a modest, but steady income. Similarly, Angela Bray’s reputation in the field of paternity testing steadily increased the number of blood tests she was called on to perform. Some of these came from far afield and in some instances, she was asked to go and actually obtain the samples from mother, child and putative father. This mean going off in her little Renault, with a consequent increase in the fee. Sometimes she took Sian with her on these jaunts, if the technician had time, though even here, the number of defence alcohol estimations was gradually increasing.
As well as physical work in the laboratory, both he and Angela began getting case papers for expert opinions on a variety of subjects, both criminal and civil. Lawyers were increasingly demanding a second opinion on autopsy reports, biological opinions and road and industrial accident claims. Even insurance companies were coming to the Garth House partnership, as it was coming to be known, when they wanted to confirm or contest some dubious claim for compensation. By the end of August, Richard and Angela felt confident that their bold venture to go private was going to succeed and decided that they could order some more equipment for the laboratory which would extend the range of investigations that they could offer.
They heard nothing from Agnes Oldfield or her solicitor and one further visit from Trevor Mitchell confirmed that he had been unable find any trace of Anthony being treated in hospital after a climbing accident.
The Gloucester shooting went before the magistrates and, as expected, the local gangster was committed for trial at the next assizes in several months’ time. Richard was called to give evidence at the magistrates’ preliminary hearing, but there was no cross-examination, this being reserved for the later trial. Arnold Millichamp was present in court, sitting behind the defence solicitor, but apart from leaning forwards a couple of times to whisper in the lawyer’s ear while Richard was giving his evidence-in-chief, he seemed to have no contrary opinion.
Afterwards, Arnold waited outside the court with Prudence Mortimer to greet Richard affably and talk about the two cases in which they were involved. Though lawyers generally do not encourage prosecution and defence experts to confer, there was no potential conflict of opinion in either the shooting case or Michael Prentice’s problems, especially as the latter was not facing any charges relating to his wife’s death or injuries.
Even so, they both spoke circumspectly and most of their chat was about the forthcoming November conference in Cardiff, to which Millichamp expressed interest in attending. Before they parted, the London pathologist repeated his invitation to Pryor to visit his department – and also offered to have Sian there for a week or two, to get some experience of a bigger laboratory.
When he took this bit of news back to Garth House, the technician was wildly excited and almost ready to pack her bags for a visit to London, until he calmed her down.
‘But it all helps to get us better known,’ he said to Angela. ‘If I can get onto this Home Office list, we can throw our net even wider.’
The magistrates’ hearing in Gowerton had been a damp squib, as the prosecution wanted more time to prepare their evidence. Ben Evans said it was requested by the document examiners in Cardiff, who were seeking other opinions elsewhere, to decide if they could substantiate their suspicions that Linda had not written the suicide not.
In spite of the objections of the police, bail was extended and Michael Prentice carried on living in Pennard and working at the Jersey Marine premises, though what his colleagues there thought of him, was unknown.
In the meantime, Brian Meredith, the Monmouth coroner, had wrestled with the paperwork and the General Register Office, to annul the death certificate issued for Albert Barnes. Mrs Molly Barnes protested loud and long to him about what she claimed was a ‘denial of her rights’ and threatened to go to the newspapers about it, until Meredith pointed out to her that she had given false evidence about the watch and ring, which could get her into trouble.
He had taken legal advice and found that he needed to hold another inquest, as the remains buried in a corner of the Monmouth municipal cemetery were now of an unidentified person, which required an inquest with a jury. This was a formality, after all the futile efforts to establish to whom they belonged had failed.
Richard Pryor and Angela were called as witnesses, merely to get the physical facts and the blood group put on official record, but the outcome was inevitably another open verdict.
In early September, the delayed court appearance of Michael Prentice took place in Gowerton. The dreary magistrates’ court was invaded by a clutch of lawyers and local journalists, but as the charges had been reduced to ‘obstructing the coroner in the pursuance of an inquest’, it was not a very newsworthy event. Linda’s father, Leonard Massey and his wife were there, as well as Marjorie Elphington, the friend who set all this in motion. There was no sign of the other woman, Daphne Squires and Ben Evans suspected that she had rapidly distanced herself from her former lover and his troubles.
In the entrance hall of the old building, where witnesses congregated, Ben Evans was holding forth to his inspector.
‘The bugger should be up on a murder charge, not this piddling offence that will only get him a couple of months in the nick and a big fine!’ he growled. ‘If only those forensic people could have come down definitely on that letter and said it’s a fake, we’d have had him, because there’s no other reason for writing it unless he did her in.’
‘Craddock’s not calling either of the doctors,’ said Lewis Lewis. ‘I suppose there’s nothing useful they can say, as nobody denies it was drowning.’
‘It’s not part of the charge, anyway. Doesn’t matter what she died of, as all Prentice is being done for is mucking up the coroner’s inquest procedure.’
This is exactly what was presented in court. Though the defendant had a barrister to represent him, the prosecuting solicitor went at it alone, given the relatively minor nature of the offence, compared with assault or murder.
The committal proceedings were heard before three Justices of the Peace, as there was no stipendiary magistrate in that jurisdiction. One was a dour ste
elworks manager, another was a fat and florid butcher and the third, who sat in the middle and acted as chairwoman, was an angular female head teacher with a particularly ugly hat. They were guided – or rather harassed – by the Clerk of the Court, a sergeant-major figure who sat below them, but kept bobbing up and down to hiss instructions at them.
Michael Prentice appeared in the dock, his counsel’s application to have him sit in the well of the court rejected. He was soberly dressed in a dark suit and appeared totally composed and in control of himself.
Somewhat to everyone’s surprise, he pleaded guilty to the single charge against him. On his lawyer’s advice, he knew that there was no chance of evading the fact that he had suppressed the existence of the note when called to the inquest.
Maldwyn Craddock had considered Ben Evans’s contention that as Prentice had been on oath in the coroner’s court, this amounted to perjury – but as Prentice had not said that there was no note, because there was no reason to ask him, the omission to mention it was probably not enough to succeed with the more serious charge.
Even though the defendant had pleaded guilty, the magistrates had no power to sentence him, as the offence was one which inevitably had to be committed to the Assizes, in a few months’ time. There a judge would hear the guilty plea and be responsible for deciding on the sentence. No doubt the expensive defence counsel would then earn his fee by an impassioned address in mitigation. But at the Gowerton magistrates, he employed the same skills in seeking an extension of bail, to try to keep Michael Prentice out of prison until his appearance at the Assizes.
The barrister, a rather gaunt figure in the legal uniform of black jacket and striped trousers, waxed lyrical on behalf of his client, in front of the stony-faced trio of justices.
‘Above all else, my client was anxious to avoid the stigma of suicide falling upon his much loved wife and saw no harm in allowing her memory to remain unsullied by the assumption that this was a tragic accident.’
In the public seats at the back of the court, Leonard Massey almost burst with indignation at the ‘much-loved’ reference, but there was nothing he could do about it. By the nature of the narrow charge against his hated son-in-law, none of the peripheral evidence was relevant; it would have been a very different matter if the alleged domestic violence or the death was in issue.
The barrister was an experienced man and played upon the distress, confusion and grief that had beset Michael on finding the note and then her body on the beach.
‘It is evident that he hardly knew what he was doing, such was his mental state,’ he pleaded before the stony-faced JPs. ‘Why else would he have carried his wife’s body in his arms up that difficult track – and why would a temporary dislocation of his behaviour cause him to put her back in the water at a different place?’
There was much more of this, sometimes repetitious. The butcher on the bench was anxious to get back to his shop and as the bloody defendant had pleaded guilty, grumbled under his breath as to why they had to hear ‘all this stuff’.
Eventually, after pleading for an extension of bail, mainly on the grounds that this was a one-off lapse of behaviour which would – indeed, could – not be repeated, Prentice’s barrister felt he had done enough to earn his fee and sat down.
The clerk bobbed up and said something and the three magistrates retired into their room behind for ten minutes. When they returned, the chairwoman put on her most severe face and addressed the defendant.
‘Though what you did was foolish and has caused considerable disruption and unnecessary work for the coroner, his staff and the police, we accept that you were in a highly emotional and confused state after finding your wife’s body. In addition, you tried to spare her family the stigma of suicide – and you have not attempted to evade your responsibility for this crime by pleading not guilty. As you are an otherwise respectable member of the business fraternity, with no previous convictions, we agree to continuation of your bail until you are dealt with at the Assize Court, naturally with the proper restrictions on your movements and the appropriate sureties.’
There were further details of the conditions of his bail, then the magistrates filed out and the court broke up.
If Leonard Massey had not been a well-controlled lawyer, this is where he would have stood up and accused his son-in-law of being a murderer. As it was, he strode tight-lipped from the court with his wife trailing behind him and marched out into the street to find his car.
The two CID men trudged the short distance to the police station, annoyed but not surprised at the outcome of the case.
‘The bastard even got bail!’ muttered Evans. ‘And I expect that barrister will get the trial judge weeping and just rap his knuckles and tell him not to do it again!
‘Something might turn up,’ replied his inspector, though he did not sound too confident about it.
‘In future, every time I put oil in my car, I’ll be reminded of this sod getting away with it!’ growled the superintendent.
NINETEEN
Three weeks later, a letter arrived at Garth House which caused a celebration, prompting Angela to fetch the bottle of Yugoslav Lutomer Riesling which she had in her room. The whole staff, including Jimmy Jenkins, gathered in the lounge to drink out of a mixed collection of glasses, toasting Richard’s appointment to the Home Office list.
The letter from an under-secretary in the Home Office was terse and colourless, but the essence of it was that ‘if he was so minded, they would look favourably upon any application to have his name added to the list circulated to Chief Constables, as being medical practitioners suitable to be recommended to coroners as proficient in dealing with deaths which require forensic expertise.’
A retainer of one hundred and fifty pounds per annum would be offered on condition that the pathologist made himself available at all times or to arrange for another listed pathologist to act in his absence.
‘On call twenty-four hours a day for a hundred-and-fifty quid!’ exclaimed Sian. ‘I should join a trade union if I were you, Doc! Chaps sweeping factory floors get more than that for a forty-hour week!’
Her socialist crusading spirit was aroused, but Richard calmed her down by pointing out that he doubted that he would be called on very often, as he did not have a specific area to cover, but was only going to act as a back-up for other pathologists, as he had done in the Gloucester shooting.
‘I don’t know who fixed this up,’ he said ruminatively. ‘Brian Meredith and his brother have friends at court, so to speak, but so does Arnold Millichamp. And, of course, the Gloucester CID may have passed the word up to their Chief Constable.’
Whoever it was, the welcome title all helped towards consoli-dating their venture’s position in the forensic community. Several weeks passed and he had no other calls on his new status, but Moira sensibly suggested that as the summer holiday season had finished, other pathologists were no longer in need of a locum.
‘We’ll have to wait for one to break a leg or come down with malaria or something!’ suggested Sian, facetiously.
A few days later, the dangerous waters of the Severn estuary provided another body for Richard Pryor to examine at the Chepstow mortuary. Though badly decomposed, the police found a Seaman’s Identity Card in the remnants of the clothing and the index number was traced through the Central Register of Seamen. The victim was identified as a deckhand who went missing off Lundy Island two months earlier from a tanker taking crude oil for the Llandarcy BP refinery at Swansea. Richard found the body too far gone for a diagnosis of drowning and thought it a good opportunity to try out the controversial diatom test once again.
In their laboratory next morning, Angela once more showed Sian each step of the process. Small pieces of the tissues were taken, with precautions to avoid surface contamination with body fluids.
‘That’s to eliminate false results from getting diatoms other than via the bloodstream,’ she explained. ‘It doesn’t matter about the lung, because that’s going to be
contaminated anyway, down the windpipe.’
Sian watched as the tissues from each organ were heated in small beakers of concentrated nitric acid in the fume cupboard, a dangerous operation if not done with great care, as the brown fumes from the highly corrosive liquid spiralled up into the exhaust outlet.
It took a long time for the digestion to get rid of all the organic material, but when the extracts had cooled, Angela put a portion of each into conical-bottomed centrifuge tubes and diluted them with distilled water.
‘Couldn’t you use tap water?’ asked Sian, always cost-conscious, but Angela shook her head.
‘Not safe to do that,’ she advised. ‘It often contains diatoms that grow inside the pipes.’
The digests were centrifuged to throw what was left of the solids down to the bottom of the tubes, then she repeated this twice more to dilute the acid to harmless proportions.
‘Now let’s have a look at those,’ she said, taking the tubes over to the microscope.
Putting a drop of the final sludge on to a glass slide and dropping a coverslip on to it, she peered through the eyepieces for a few moments, twiddling the stage controls to move the slides around under the high-power lenses.
Then she leaned back to let Sian’s glossy head take her place. ‘Plenty in the lung! Have a squint at those. Good old Bristol Channel diatoms!’
When Sian had satisfied herself, Angela went through the extracts from brain, liver, bone marrow and kidney.
She was glued to the microscope much longer this time, but eventually got up and declared herself satisfied.
‘Thought we were going to draw a blank, but the marrow has hit the jackpot,’ she said. ‘You need to find a reasonable number of diatoms, not just one or two – then hope the chap hadn’t been eating cockles or oysters the night before!’
Her technician seemed very taken by the technique and wanted to practice for herself.
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